This is such a setting with fertile ground for many stories. But in a way I doesnt feel hopeless like other cyber dystopia. It's more nuanced with its crazy mishmash of settings rather than the status quo being set in stone it feels like this is just another Era in the world's history and at any point it could change. The idea of the heroes either no being around or just getting started gives it an ambiguity rather than a guarantee that good or evil will win. I want more from this setting.
Thanks! There are a couple of quests on SV right now that explore the setting from different angles that I think you might like. Light Quest, Rocket Quest, and Bound to Earth. If these quests or any other ones that crop up want to put up a link here in the Zoanthropy to share the love, then go wild.
Thanks! There are a couple of quests on SV right now that explore the setting from different angles that I think you might like. Light Quest, Rocket Quest, and Bound to Earth. If these quests or any other ones that crop up want to put up a link here in the Zoanthropy to share the love, then go wild.
We're currently going through a rough patch right now due to some IRL circumstances but if guiding a fledging Team Rocket (Or Rocket Group as it is known insetting) is up your alley, then feel free to give it a look!
River City was one of those standout hives of scum and villainy that encapsulated what the City might look like if the Big Three and their ilk weren't here to hold the center. As much as I had a distaste for them, the major megacorporations provided a necessary amount of stability to the zones they held claim over. If they were to vanish overnight, that would leave the gangs to squabble over the free zones and lord over them like petty dictators. At least until we all descended to neo barbarism like the feudal dominions of the Outlands. The only things that would get them to cooperate with each other would be the mutant hordes and chaos cults of the Pipeworks. Say what you will about Wily and Robotnik, but they're more preferable to the Koopa Kingdom or Black Moon Tribe rising up to butcher all of the surface-dwellers.
That vision of an even darker tomorrow than the one we already have is River City in a nutshell. The corps steered clear of it, writing the zone off as a total free-for-all where all the good protection rackets and hangout spots were in fierce contention between scores of local gangs with varying amounts of theming to them. It was as though they sat everyone down, made them watch The Warriors, and then had them take exams after it to make sure everyone was on the same page. The only way these colorful reprobates knew how to settle disputes was with their fists, bats, knives, chains, or anything else short of a gun. Firearms were frowned upon as a cowardly way to fight. You were taught the hard way what the gangsters of this war zone thought about them once they got their hands on you.
While most of these gangsters were youth in revolt that jumped into chaotic street brawls after a long day of school and/or dealing drugs, the more serious organized crime groups that set up shop in River City had greater ambitions than controlling one particular corner or the other. These mature gangs drew their recruits from the countless tough guys who graduated out of the teen gangs, but maintained a measure of power over the more numerous teeny boppers because they had more experience in playing the game.
As an example of the kids being one step behind, the Sanwakai tossed a pittance to the alliance of gangs under Simon "Slick" Yamada, who didn't know they were being bilked, to stay off their backs for a couple of weeks while they set up new NYAMCO-brand amusements in their pachinko parlors. Their leader Sabu then hired us out as condottieri to fend off their real competitors: The Black Warriors and Ground Zeroes. Both gangs had muscle that were reinforced by mutagenic drugs and cyberware, which was a convenient loophole to the "no firepower" rule. They had spent the last couple of weeks attacking Sabu's entertainment venues, and the new pachinko machines would have made for tantalizing targets. The Sanwakai had a duty to enforce their claim to River City, and any affronts to their legitimacy had to be dealt with.
Goro and Sabu were both leaders of '"chivalrous organizations" descended from the yakuza. The two of them had corporate interests and ninjas in their ranks, but the "neo-yakuzas" under ZEED Limited and the Rokakku Group were being wagged by the very big dogs on the other end of their short leashes. Seeking to maintain a relatively low profile and keep their heads down to avoid forced integration into either faction, NYAMCO settled in Ridgeside, and the Sanwakai bunkered down in River City. The first thing Goro did when he found out that his old friend was having issues keeping a pachinko parlor open on his own turf was offer the services of NYAMCO Defense. After all, attacks on a place using NYAMCO machines was tantamount to an attack on NYAMCO itself.
It was a shaky reason to send us all of the way here, but I suspected that Goro was playing the long game. He was paying off an old favor and trying to maintain good relations in case Sabu came out on top of this gang feud. The Sanwakai were a stabilizing factor in the zone, and a River City under Sabu's thumb might be perceived as worth the risk for the corps to come back. Reinvest in the area. Spread the wealth. A grateful Sabu might remember it was Goro who helped him become the leading force in River City.
Right now, the only thing this zone exported to the rest of the City were premium asskickers, so there was a chance for me to get something out of the trouble as well. River City was one of the less affluent zones, in terms of how much the individual could expect to make if they weren't fighting fit. The ones that could fight were still making less than minimum wage, in a corporate hellscape where the minimum wage was already through the floor. The rare exceptions were the cream of the crop, who could demand their own terms on lucrative mercenary contracts that I was all too willing to pay. Would it be wishful thinking to hope I might be able to poach talent out of this trash fire of a zone?
Hiring from the gangs was a catch-22; most of the people whose loyalty I could gain by beating the shit out of them tended to perform poorly in a system where the most violent option didn't always match the most effective one. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes open for any beat 'em up characters I could recognize while Bald Bull, Octoman, and Monty Mole were assigned to reinforce Sabu's grip on River City.
We all wore dark blue jackets made of a dense polymer weave that was deceptively light, breathable, and bullet-resistant, with the company name on the back in yellow. They were made by an armorer I've been trying to court away from the EggDyne zone of Armstone City, though I'd need to sling a good deal of compensation Mayor Mauler's way before he'd consider letting her out of the Serpent's Cage Island Maximum Penitentiary to work for me full time. Octoman's jacket was more akin to a vest, and my own was an open coat with the sleeves pinned back to make room for my arms.
It was the sort of assignment that I would have wanted more time, agents, and resources to handle. There were several mercenaries that I knew as Monty Mole who stated an interest in joining NYAMCO Defense, but I was only able to do so much to convince these freelance troubleshooters to give up their independence and stake their vaunted reputations on a P.M.C. that hasn't had a single successful mission under their belt. Should this job go well and news of our work spread, then I might be able to lure the Kuniang Martial Arts Team away from the sphere of the Chi You Men, or afford another visit to the woman who was one of the best fortune tellers in the City.
With the little time I had remaining before NYAMCO Defense shipped out to River City, I chartered a flight to Mahdad. The sweltering border zone couldn't be any older than a decade or two, but tweaks to the programming of the L-Series Manufacturing (or "Lemmings") bioroids to suit the tastes of the early settlers and weathering from the sandy winds of the Gerudo Desert meant that the area looked the part of having been there much for longer.
The fact that the Lemmings tended to integrate preexisting ancient ruins from the Hylian Age into urban planning when their coding went awry did wonders to infuse Mahdad with an extra dash of mystique. Who knew when you were entering the extremely historical quarter? The access to the Outlands meant it was one of a handful of places where you might see the natives of Hyrule, like Gorons or Moblins, intermingling with mankind. Talking, trading, and the like in the bazaar.
Intellectually, I knew that the Islamic architecture of the zone was only slightly more authentic than the Moorish revival buildings in Opa-locka. The robots repeated the blueprints they had been given without a care given for the big picture, which made the zone difficult to explore without a map due to the occasional repeats. Even so, Opa-locka was my only other point of reference for the style besides adventure films.
Mahdad also had some of the best coffee in the City, besides the Pao Pao Cafe in South Town. Ricardo Maia's cafe con leche was the best I'd had since I got here. Next to the coffee shop where I got a quick caffeine fix stood a less trafficked business, with a blazing red hamsa hanging above the door.
There was no sign. I had to pay a third party just to get her address. Trying the handle, I stepped into the darkened chamber, twitching when I triggered the loud shopkeeper's bell. The interior was well-decorated with a variety of exotic trinkets and sigils to ward off evil. Or make a decent secondary revenue at the crafts fair.
"As-salaam 'alykum!" a sweet voice greeted from the next room over. "I had foreseen your arrival in advance. Come in, come in!"
I paused, then remembered that I had yet to confirm that this version of Rouge had actual powers yet. She wouldn't be the first charlatan I'd run into with the habit of overhyping their supernatural talents. Trusting people at face value that they "foresaw me" would make me more gullible than her usual clients.
I needed a spellcaster, an esper, a user of PSI, someone with the Edge, or a scanner. Whatever they call themselves, they were the will workers. Cold readers need not apply.
Magic was real. Obviously. Using chi was only one flavor of magic. Having a couple of people that could do that was great, but if NYAMCO Defense was going to last, then only having people who could do that wasn't enough. I needed to diversify the company's palette.
The next room was a secluded, candlelit chamber, where Rouge Ganna sat at a rounded table with a variety of divination tools. The dark-skinned, curvaceous woman had brown eyes, one of which was covered by her hair. In the back, Rouge's hair was tied into a large, singular braid. Her genie blue bra and purple harem pants from the game were replaced with a crop top and skinny jeans that left about the same amount to the imagination.
At her energetic insistence and gesturing, I sat on the other side of the table.
"There we are! Now, how can Madam Rouge help you this enchanting evening?"
One could consider that having to ask gave her one point on the "faking it" scale, but I wasn't going to be rude. She was being really friendly. Even if she was mundane, going full Doubting Thomas and trying to debunk her wasn't going to do me any favors. You attracted more flies with honey than vinegar. A psychic who could forecast the future, even if the details were fuzzy, was worth her weight in gold.
"I was looking for some direction," I said half-honestly.
"Then you've come to the right place!"
"Great. I'll uh, take the deluxe package."
"Excellent choice, sir!"
The room was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't analyze the room for any hidden traps or mechanisms that would let Rouge activate the usual smoke and mirrors these places used. These days, anyone with a decent special effects budget could afford a hologram projector. The hologram wouldn't work at long ranges, it'd always be intangible, and the cheaper ones could be a bit see-through, but that was the step-by-step process for "summoning" and exorcizing a hostile spirit. Toss in a mechanism to shake the room or toss items around like a poltergeist for flavor. That was all more than convincing enough if you were trying to hoodwink people who already believed.
As near as I could tell, none of those bells and whistles were here. I was getting my hopes back up. Rouge took my hand and walked me through the process of reading my palm.
"Are left-handed?" I nodded. It was the first hand I thought to offer. "I can tell that you are an earth palm. Practical, realistic, and more comfortable with what can be proven than that which cannot. Is that correct?"
I wasn't expecting her to be that blunt about it. Was she used to confronting skeptics?
"That's not too far off, but I'm open to being proven wrong."
She let out a good-natured laugh.
"Humble, too! That's good. I'll start the reading with your left. Each of the lines on your hand reveals details about yourself that are inherent, and those that have been learned."
"I'm following so far."
"Let's start with the heart line," Rouge said as she glided her finger over one of the lines near the top of my palm. "Your heart line states that you are caring and understanding."
Not buying it.
She moved on from the heart line to one of the lines in the middle of my hand.
"The head line says that you have an interest in reading. A mind that is no stranger to creative flights of fancy. Would you happen to be a writer?"
That was a lucky guess. I'm wearing glasses.
"Only as a hobby."
She accepted the answer with a smile.
"For the life line…" Rouge hesitated for a moment, and then continued. "You are cautious in those you let close to your heart. I see manipulation in your past. As well as those in your present. The latter were of your own choice, while the former were out of your control."
Manipulations of my own choice?
I didn't say a thing.
After that, she raised my palm and more deeply scrutinized a handful of lines going up and down the middle of my palm with a frown.
"Your fate line. Lines."
Her jovial expression had melted away, replaced by a more contemplative one.
This was not how I was expecting this to go.
"Yes? What about them?"
Rouge struggled to get the words out. Whatever she saw on my hand had caused her a great deal of distress.
I tried to look at what she found so interesting with my hand, but it looked more or less the same as it had been since I'd become a zoanthrope. Whenever I changed or regenerated from an injury, it left minute changes that were beneath my notice.
"Your fate line was not a singular line, but one that stops and starts anew. I thought they belonged to a man of an uneventful life. Perhaps even a charmed one. But your fortunes changed unexpectedly, and irrevocably. Tragically. As if an occult hand had taken your destiny off its original course and left you astray in a whirlwind of… Chaos."
I drew my hand away, stunned. I could explain away the rest as the fruits of a fantastic cold read, but not something like that.
"That's the long and short of it," I admitted. "Are palms all you can do?"
"No. There are many ways to see the future. Palms are personal. The cards, universal."
Rouge Ganna, otherwise known as the Scorching Enchantress, was the genuine oracle. She stood up from her chair and picked up a crystal ball arranged on an ornate shelf, idly gazing upon the image in the faint light that shone from it.
"My crystal ball is the most clear, but the most demanding. Mere days ago, it foresaw the arrival of a stranger whose fate line I could not see. He would make me an offer of power, of fortune, of glory. And a temptation of a prize that I would find difficult to resist."
Her previously lighthearted mood fell away. I stood up to reassure her that this wasn't some demonic pact.
"Miss Rouge, I think you might be catastrophizing this."
"I have prepared myself the best I could for what you have to say. Say it."
Rather than explain myself, I laid a small, red gemstone onto the table. The stone was only slightly larger than a marble, and completely natural. That was to say, it was polished like a pearl when it was dug out of the ground. I couldn't speak of the magnetic effect it had light a spark in Rouge's eye, because she was the only one that could feel it. Whatever supernatural qualities the stone was looking for in its beholder, I didn't have them. Being a zoanthrope was enough for me, and I wasn't gonna go rummaging around for six more of these hard-to-get trinkets to try out a pet theory if I didn't think it would work.
"What is it?"
"Crystalized magic. They call it materia."
What better way to bribe a character from Power Stone than with another magic rock? Materia were the cousins of chaos emeralds, found beneath the planet's surface and in meteors in orbit of the Hylia System. Sufficiently large ore could produce the same output as WilyCorp's fabled "energy elements". Maybe they were all one and the same. The stones were a strategic resource to several major corps, each trying to make the next big superweapon with which to wipe each other out. These small ones were below their concern, and fighting over them became the domain of the bit players.
When my contacts with their foot in the door with Shinra Electric came up dry, I had to pull in a favor with Tobi to help me locate an unclaimed materia in the Pipeworks. After a few weeks of keeping an ear to the underground and digging where she said to dig, she found one that I could "liberate" from the Brotherhood of Nod. The Nod chapter that claimed the red materia was hard at work trying to turn it into a dirty bomb, and I wanted to step in before they either pulled it off or ruined the thing trying.
I hated going down into the Pipes, but the subterranean depths were a region of the City to which I was the most adapted. I could dig my hands straight down and travel directly there, without using the Drillers' service elevators or the old plumber routes. I could identify safe routes in and around the pipes by listening to the hum of the planet.
Besides, that Nod base was one accident away from a total collapse before I got there. They had that cave-in coming. A couple of hours digging through the remains with a geiger counter later, and I was one materia richer.
Rouge took the materia in her hand, studying it closely. Her dark hair spontaneously rose upwards and glowed in the candlelight, as though it had its own light source. Then the ends began to spark up. Only now could I see the fire that burned within it the tiny confines of the stone, waiting to explode.
"What would you have me do?" she asked warily. "This stone… it's power calls to me."
I left my card on the table, and some documents from my case that she could look at, before taking the materia back into my possession.
"This is a significant decision, but not a binding one. Or one with strings attached. Give it a week to consider, and call me with your answer."
"I can accept those terms," Rouge said cautiously.
Satisfied that I'd finally found someone who could cast magic, and a pyromancer at that, I paid for the palm reading and left. When I was gone, the candles in the chamber went dark. Rouge was able to extinguish them all with a wave of her hand.
I don't know what she'll say, but I do know the answer I'm hoping for.
I didn't have everyone I wanted, so I worked with everyone I had. The plan was for NYAMCO Defense to perform the security detail on the Sanwakai's gambling parlors and disco clubs during the nights, when most of the action happened, while their usual men handled the day shift. We'd be in town for a week at the minimum, and anything past that would begin to put Sabu in Goro's debt instead.
Some timeline. Democracy died, and disco survived.
We spent the first night outside the perimeter of the Disco Almanic, one of the Sanwakai's most popular nightclubs. It was at the Grotto Mall, which was lined with a variety of stores and restaurants with a view to the River City waterfront. There was decent visibility in case anyone came at us, but we hadn't seen anyone yet.
"Where's the action?" Mask X complained. "The poindexter said this zone was full of punks I could hit."
"Give it time," I said to the thinly-guised Bald Bull.
Octoman eyed me curiously. He and Bald Bull didn't have a snowball's chance in connecting my masked and unmasked identities on their own, so they both treated Monty Mole differently from John Hudson. Bald Bull with begrudging respect, and Octoman with trepidation. I was an unknown variable.
"Are you sure?" Octoman asked, pressing for more information. "I'd hope people have the sense not to start a fight with the three of us standing outside the door."
I'd spent more than enough time here enough to know that people in River City didn't think that way. While Sabu hired us to protect his properties, it doubtlessly crossed his mind that our presence here would serve to lure out the more reckless lieutenants of his enemies into fights where we can deal with them for him.
We weren't his people. Thus, we were slightly more expendable if the worst were to occur. Goro could be reimbursed in case we needed to be sent back to Ridgeside in a deku pine box. The calculations were cold-blooded, but the math added up all the same.
"That's not how it works around here."
Octoman shrugged, causing the rack of combat knives on his bandoliers to rustle. The uplift soldier was more proficient with firearms than he was a knife, but when you swung or threw several of them at once, accuracy stopped being such a big deal.
Naturally, the trouble with the locals started not too long after I said that. As though on cue, several bikers approached from the alleyways between the buildings and approached the adult arcade on their cycles. The gangsters wore purple boilersuits, face masks, and headbands with kanji or the Rising Sun. They rode in on customized, Japanese-style bikes. They were in stark contrast to the leatherbound road hogs of the Black Warriors gang, who had a notable preference towards American choppers and muscle cars.
Mask X let out a wordless chuckle as they got closer. Octoman tensed up, tentacles subtly drawing towards his sheathed blades.
When they got closer, I was able to more clearly see their leader. I eyeballed the hoodlum as being in his early twenties at the oldest. He sported a blue jacket and an orange rockabilly pompadour, a hairstyle that was a constant feature in these biker groups. He stuck out by the virtue of the rank and file of his gang being rather nondescript.
"You three look new," the leader of the motorcade said as he stepped off his bike. On his back was a wooden training sword, or bokken, with nails sticking out of it. "In town for business or pleasure?"
"Business," I answered, my body blocking the entrance.
"State your reason for being here," Octoman said.
"I've got reason with Sabu. Step aside."
Kids these days. No sense of self-preservation.
"He isn't here."
The man Sabu had operating the inside was a middle-aged pit fighter with a bad leg and bleached hair named Kinji. I didn't know where Sabu was at the moment, but I found it unlikely that he'd want some punk to barge in and risk ruining the night for all of the patrons. The reason the clients were in there was that the gangs were out here. They were also there for the bar and the topless dancers, but the point stood. If Sabu wanted to talk with this guy, he wouldn't do it at a place that made its bones from setting up an atmosphere that pretended the rest of River City didn't exist.
The biker didn't like my answer. His face contorted in rage.
"Bullshit! Go in there and tell him Shinji of the Blue Emperors needs to talk, you ugly rat."
Ahh. Looks like he's the biker from the first Kunio-Kun game. That series was the coelacanth of side-scrolling beat 'em ups. Years pass, but the sprites and mechanics stayed the same for long enough to loop back around into being retro.
Been called worse by people I thought would be more tolerant of mutants and uplifts. They're the ones I'd leap across the table and beat bloody, only when I knew that they could take it. I could tie Shinji into a pretzel, but he's hardly worth the effort. He might actually be stupid enough to think I'm a rat, so I didn't acknowledge the insult.
"We can pass along a message," Octoman offered diplomatically. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to slit this guy's throat if it came to it, but the olive branch was amicable.
"Fuck off, tako! Sabu said he'd support us if we moved into Sticksville, and now Nishimura's threatening to sic the Dragon Twins on us! Clear out the damn disco if you have to!"
The Dragon Twins?
Those two had to be Yamada's top enforcers. If they were being used as big sticks for the gangbeat diplomacy going on in Sticksville, that meant the Blue Emperors weren't in Slick's confederation. That was interesting. Did he not want to bend the knee to a junior, even if it meant having to ally with the Sanwakai?
On further reflection, this wasn't any of my concern. The last thing I wanted was to get tangled up in River City politics when I had other zones to worry about.
Then again, who the fuck trained the Dragon Twins? If they were rumored to fight like the Lee Brothers, then who taught them Sou-Setsu-Ken? Sousetuken was like J.K.D. and kenpo, only kicked up to eleven. You couldn't just go to anyone to learn the moves.
I needed to look into this.
"You got cotton in your ears, ya dumb freak? I'm talkin' to you!"
The arrogant punk wasn't budging under the weight of my glare. He gained points for bravery, and lost those points for foolishness.
"Go home, Shinji."
Mask X smiled, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. I could hear them through the gloves.
"Boy, you have no idea how much you'd make my night if you keep pushing your luck."
"You wanna test me, old man?" Shinji threatened.
Bald Bull let out an angry snort.
"Make it quick," I ordered Mask X. "The client might need him in one piece."
He rolled his eyes.
"What about the rest? Do I need to switch to the kiddie gloves for them, too?"
Shinji swung his bokken around.
"HEY! You don't get to talk about the Blue Emperors like we ain't even here!"
"Doubtful," I replied to Mask X. "Shut him up."
"With pleasure," he said with a savage grin.
Shinji swung his weapon a bit too close to the heavyweight video boxer for his own good.
"I'm right here, you fucking--!!"
Having finally had enough of us at the same time Bald Bull heard enough out of him, Shinji received a swift right hook to the side of his head. The expertly-thrown punch to the temple knocked the gang leader with delusions of grandeur out cold in a single hit.
The rest of the Blue Emperors drew their weapons and charged us on their bikes, revving up their engines and jousting at us from up and down the roads of the rough and tumble strip mall. None of us were particularly intimidated by their gaudy shock and awe approach. Bald Bull tore the punks off their bikes and beat them down with brute force. Octoman disarmed the gangsters with more precise cuts and slashed their tires. I did a bit of both, opening my paws to rapidly batter the bikers with less-lethal palm strikes.
It was hardly a workout.
"You have nothing to gain by fighting," Octoman said to a goon that was armed with a knife. He was five knives short of the amount that Octoman was pointing at him. "Walk away."
Before the young man could take Octoman's words to heart, Mask X rushed in with a swift jab to the head and took them down.
"This town is great! No referees or cops getting in my way!"
Octoman said nothing, sliding his knives back into place after the fight reached its inevitable conclusion.
We had sent the Blue Emperors packing in short order, with the goons still able to walk dragging their boss away and limping home to pick their wounds. Whatever beef they had with Nishimura's outfit, it appeared that the Blue Emperors wouldn't be able to continue their push into Sticksville until they recovered. Then when they return, I imagine Shinji will be a bit more respectful in how he approaches the Sanwakai for help.
Skidmarks and wrecked bikes strewn across the ground aside. After the fight ended, the Grotto Mall went back to normal. The people were so desensitized to random acts of violence that this relatively self-contained affair was hardly a drop in the bucket.
I laid down the final bike in a pile by the road.
"Anyone harmed?" I asked the NYAMCO team.
"What do you take me for? A lightweight?"
"I see that your warnings weren't exaggerated," Octoman said. "Is every night going to be like this?"
"Most likely."
"That was too easy!" boasted Bald Bull. "Bring on the rest!"
I had a feeling this was going to be a long week.
After the incident with the Blue Emperors, we'd determined that the three of us acting as a singular unit were overkill when it came to dealing with gangs like Shinji's brigade of rodeo clowns. Slick's gangs were currently appeased by the Sabu's dealings, so we didn't need to worry too much about them pulling anything unless they're gearing up for all-out war. In which case? We're out. The NYAMCO Defense squad needed to conserve our energy for the more serious gangs that threatened to clear out the showrooms by force and set them on fire, which was not seen as a declaration of war. It was common practice.
I had a bad feeling about who the Black Warriors were sending to deal with us. Considering how big the Black Warriors were in the adjacent sections of River City, it'd be weird if one of their heavy hitters didn't show up at some point.
We switched to groups of two, with a fresh person relieving the person who'd been there the longest. There were also days where we had to switch to new venues, as Sabu tried to predict which of his businesses were at the most risk of being attacked that night. A bit of unpredictability to our schedule prevented the Black Warriors or Ground Zeroes from charting a plan of attack that was more detailed than hitting us when they saw us.
Bald Bull spent his free time in the bars and pubs, if only so that he could get buzzed as a pretense to jump headfirst into more fights. Octoman used the chance to check in with the babysitter and wave to the kids at the hotel's vidphone terminal. The other reason I went with Sabu's idea of changing up the shifts, besides the pragmatic ones I provided, was that I'd noticed Bald Bull's brutishness and Octoman's air of stuffiness while on the job were starting to rub each other the wrong way. More time away where they didn't have to work together would do us all good. Once NYAMCO Defense has more agents at its disposal, they won't need to be paired up often.
There had to be someone around here that I could turn to NYAMCO. Even if it's, I don't know, that Williams guy with the baseball bat. Or Linda the part-time dominatrix. As long as they weren't working for the bad guys anymore, it's not like I was too picky.
The next group of note to try their hand at testing my patience was a gaggle of thugs led by a wild-eyed man in studded leather with a shock of spiky pink hair. He was tall and wiry, with a deceptive amount of muscle if he could heft around that sledgehammer of his.
"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked the approaching tough guy.
"I'm Trash!" the hammer-swinging weirdo proclaimed. "You're a big rat! Fight me!"
Trash ran at me with the sledgehammer before I could answer. Expecting that he'd just rush me the second he was done dropping his name, I caught the hammer by the neck before Trash's hammer could reach my head.
"Whuh?"
I laughed. It was a sinister sound to hear flow out of my inhuman jaws, and Trash was briefly roused out of his drug-induced mania enough to realize what he was asking for.
"Yeah. Okay."
My tolerance for people running up to me with the intent to kill had atrophied since I got off the street and redeveloped a taste for a semi-functioning society. Now I don't put up with it from people who aren't going to meet me halfway and make it worth my time.
I slugged Trash in the chest, taking him out in one hit. The rest of his entourage rushed me as a mob, falling not too long after him.
I tapped on the door of the club with a claw.
"Call them an ambulance," I said to the yakuza man who answered the door.
He nervously nodded, and dialed the number.
The Sanwakai ran the emergency services, so response time was swift when we called for cars to pick up the bodies. I couldn't guarantee it if the survivors ever made it to the hospital, considering that these were members of Ground Zero being delivered to their enemy. I was confident that most of them ended their night at the morgue. Unless they went turncoat against Martha Splatterhead, the only part of them guaranteed to get an extended lease on life are their harvestable organs.
Trash's sledgehammer felt rather small in my paws as a weremole, but it had a good weight to it. I felt it was to my liking after a couple of practice swings on the cavalcade of wannabe gang-bangers walking into the meat grinder that was me standing out in public, and held onto it until it broke from overuse.
By the time the sledgehammer became useless, my shift had come to an end. Bald Bull returned from another evening of tasting River City's cuisine and brawls. The zone might have a chance of dragging itself out of its economic rut if the tourism board considered re-angling River City as the food and mutual fighting capital of the world.
"This place is great!" Bald Bull exclaimed. "I can't wait to go on vacation here!"
I don't think I've ever seen him this happy before. Bald Bull was so excited, he forgot to put his luchador mask back on before resuming his post. Not that it made much of a difference in practice.
He gave me a pat on the back.
"Mole! Do yourself a favor and try out the pubs!"
"It's midnight," I reminded him.
"I know! This city is incredible!"
"Do you still have your commlink?" I asked, gesturing to the WilyCorp Kitamura clipped to my belt.
The devices were a reliable brand of multi-way, full duplex "codec" radios, with guaranteed service as long as we were all in the same zone. The codecs were a lifesaver in a world where communication was otherwise restricted to landline, overpriced satellite phones, and pagers. With the three transceivers on the same encrypted frequency to keep out eavesdroppers and hackers, we were only ever a call away.
"Yes yes, I have the baby monitor. The worst I've seen so far was a fat man named Fats. He came at me like he thought he was King Hippo! The rest should be easy pickings."
We did a changing of the guard, and I was free for a while to explore River City for myself. As myself. Seeing that Monty Mole was currently affiliated with Sabu and the Sanwakai, this was one of those circumstances where it might be better to walk around without it until I was back on duty.
If it could be helped.
I went behind an alley so I could change back to my normal size and shape, conservation of mass be damned. I flipped my jacket to the green side, zipped it up, and extended the sleeves. With a yellow clip-on tie from one of my pockets, the disguise was complete. I'd be able to roll them back up again if there were any surprises on the way to the Flatirons.
The first thing I wanted to get out of the way was a fairly early breakfast. The Rise & Shine cafe seemed like a safe bet the last time I was in town, so I'd go there for coffee and some food to hold me over for the time being.
After that?
The Dragon Twins. Ryuchi and Ryuji. Or Randy and Andy. Whatever. They needed someone who was taught with the ancient scrolls to teach them Sou-Setsu-Ken, or they somehow got their hands on the scrolls themselves. I haven't heard a peep about Billy and Jimmy since the Black Warriors blew up their dojo last year, and I paid good money to info brokers to make sure I was one of the first people that found out when people like them were back on the grid. So who was it?
It only took me a few seconds to come to the unfortunate conclusion.
God dammit, Sonny.
To find the man who trained the Dragon Twins how to fight, I had to look for the man who taught me how to fight first.
That's the fourth chapter down! I have a total of 8 chapters saved from my NaNoWriMo, but the slump has been from me trying not to drop them all at once, wanting to do additional revisions, and getting swamped in other projects. I tend to lose track of time around this year.
With that being said, I intend to drop the rest of the chapters of this fic before the end of the year. After that? I might make a 9th chapter to give this story a sense of closure, because I can't say how much time I'd be able to devote to this as a full-time project.
The Scorpions Dojo on the east side of River City, past the Capitol Ave bridge, was not for the faint of heart. The training regimens were brutal, the costs were astronomical, and the grandmaster who ran the place was a jaded alcoholic who treated his students like redheaded stepchildren he never asked for. Nevermind that you were the one paying him for the opportunity of learning martial arts from one of the famous Lee Brothers.
"I'm trying!" I said between gritted teeth.
Not the famous Lee Brothers who tore up the streets of River City and made the zone respect them by force. Not the cool-tempered Billy Lee, nor the hotblooded Jimmy Lee.
No, I was stuck with the one that redefined the meaning of "Drunken Master".
"That's not good enough! HARDER!"
I struck the hard stack of stone again, giving it all I had. The only cracks on impact that I could feel were from my end. As it turned out, stone is really fucking hard to punch!
"FUCK!" I cried out as my knuckles bled. "How is this helping me learn how to fight!?"
"It fortifies your bones and your spirit," the master explained, irritated that I even asked. "You're halfway decent with the kicks, but you aren't gonna be able to punch worth shit if you aren't willing to make your spirit harder than the stone you're hitting."
The master of the Scorpions Dojo was a man who ought to be in his prime. He wore a yellow wifebeater and jeans that were as disheveled as his greasy mullet. The master still had the hard muscles that came with a hard life of combat and decades of training your body towards the peak of physical excellence, but that rigid lifestyle had fallen to the wayside as his dedication wavered. There were dark circles under his eyes, an unshaven beard on his face, and a great deal of abdominal weight from excess drinking on his gut.
He was Sonny Lee. The sibling that Billy and Jimmy left behind on their way to the top.
"But how?"
"Do you ask a fish how they fuckin' swim? Or the bird how they fly? No, because it comes natural to them. If you want to be a better fighter, you need to make punching through that rock as natural as it is for animals to live, breathe, fuck, and kill. Got it?"
That was insane!
"But--"
"No back talk!" my master barked. He tossed me a wad of bandages and the rest of the first aid kit. "Patch yourself up, grasshopper. You're done for the night."
I could smell the defeatism on his breath. He didn't bother to hide the bottles around me, as he knew I was his only student who wasn't going to whine to my parents and get shuffled out to a "safer" dojo outside of River City. Like Dan's dojo in Monsteropolis. Dan Hibiki's rates at his Saikyo-ryu school were dirt cheap, the abilities his father instilled in him were genuine, and he wasn't gonna hurl insults at children. He worked fine for most people.
I couldn't risk training under that dumbass, because all evidence pointed to him being such a poor sensei that he'd leave me worse off than when I started.
With something having happened to the main characters of Double Dragon before I got to River City, that left Player 3 here to ride on their coattails. You too could learn the famous Sou-Setsu-Ken techniques if you were willing to put up with the teacher. Not even the power-hungry boss of the Black Warriors wanted to bother with this guy, and he was supposed to be obsessed with this kind of thing.
After going a few rounds with him in spars, Sonny struck me (in addition to with his fists) as the kind of guy who was great at what he did, but not perfect. Not like Billy and Jimmy, two Sou-Setsu-Ken masters who were godlike, while poor Sonny was only excellent. That kind of thinking was a Sysphian climb that could drive a person insane if they didn't know when to stop comparing themselves to those unfeasibly talented people who did things that felt impossible to them with breathless ease. If they could do it, then why couldn't I?
What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I good enough? Why aren't I perfect?
The vicious cycle of envy and failure to meet unmeetable expectations, if not treated with a healthy dose of reality and social contact from people willing to bring you back to reason, could eat you alive. Consume your soul, like it did Sonny's.
It didn't have to be that way. I considered talking to him about what I knew, to try and get him on the right path towards doing some good around River City. Or at least get him resources for his addiction. Whenever I tried to help him, he'd just ground me harder into the dirt and force me to get back on track with my training. Sonny Lee was ready and willing to deliver a hurricane kick to anyone who threatened to pull him out of the bottle, so I went back to using him for his expertise. What I paid him for in the first place.
I wasn't here to master Sou-Setsu-Ken, an art I doubted Sonny Lee could fully mentor me in with his current state. Let alone do so in a matter of months. I'd need a hell of a lot more than that to be a master of any combat style, with Sou-Setsu-Ken taking at least half a decade. Sonny was my physical trainer and combat instructor, with the goal of helping me reach a point where I wouldn't be completely defenseless without transforming. The training would also sand off the rough edges I'd picked up in street fights when I did change into a weremole, as I couldn't always rely on brute force to win the day.
Instead, Sonny made me hit the brakes and relearn the fundamentals. He said my form was so bad that I'd need more time in town to become anything more than another easy mark, "enhancing drugs" I used or not. He dangled the chance to learn some Sou-Setsu-Ken moves over my head as bait to keep me hooked on another session.
I kept telling myself that I wasn't here to learn Sou-Setsu-Ken, but the bait worked. Every fucking time. Maybe I was an easy mark after all.
I washed my bleeding hands off in the bathroom sink, sparing a slightly baleful glance at my master. I could take more punishment during my training because I knew I'd heal quicker than most, but it was at times like this that I felt I was being taken for a ride. That Sonny didn't know jack or shit about martial arts, and he was just tricking me to drain out my cash reserves. Same for all of the brats who came in expecting to be pampered, and instead got their teeth scattered across the floor like a pearl necklace.
Then, now and again, Sonny would give me advice or show me a trick that made all of the wasted cash and aggravation worth it.
As I was leaving, and Sonny Lee had already retreated to his private bar on the second floor -- otherwise known as his apartment -- I glanced back at the stone. Past the bloodstains, there was a small, but visible crack where my final punch landed.
"Did I do that?"
I got up the next morning prepared to see how much more of that I had in me.
While I wasn't expecting things to be exactly the same as I left them upon my return to River City, I was shocked to see Sonny Lee's dojo was out of business. More than out of business, it was completely renovated. The first floor was converted into a Merv's Burger joint, while the second was presumably used by tenants who paid their rent on time.
I made some inquiries, asking the people in the nearby buildings that were still open after dark if anyone knew where the prior owner of the property went. The building was still standing, so it's not as though the Black Warriors or a band of dojo stormers wrecked the place to find him. It wouldn't have been completely out of character for Sonny to up and leave when the money dried up, so where did he go?
I reached the end of my questions at the start of a tombstone.
HERE LIES SONNY LEE
THE THIRD DRAGON
These days, the only thing Sonny had to his name was a plot at the River City cemetery. The man was said to have died of a heart attack, but his body was laid in a section of the grounds reserved for the street warriors who died with their boots on. The expenses had to have been handled by one of his brothers in hiding, wherever they were now. They obviously had a strained relationship with the third son of the family, but there was no way Billy and Jimmy would've been so callous as to let Sonny rot in an unmarked grave.
You could be a master of Sou-Setsu-Ken, but there wasn't a fighting technique out there that could save a man so dedicated towards drinking himself to death.
As coarse as it sounded, I doubted things would've been different if I stuck around. By the time I was starting to feel that I was making improvements, Sonny Lee rushed me through learning two of the special moves from his family scrolls and threw me out. The alternative was risking I'd get strong enough to drag him out of his death spiral by force.
Sonny or not, I wasn't done learning how to fight. My second master was an unrepentant sybarite named Chinnen, who dressed like a zen monk while drinking, eating, and fornicating as much as he pleased. He was a viceful kenpo master who only became a monk for access to their powers, and he wasn't going to let their advised lifestyle for adherents hold him back. I needed someone to finish my training, and I approached the corrupt sage with a small fortune to take me the rest of the way. He took it as a challenge to see how much punishment my altered body could take before it broke.
By the end of the year, I was able to defend myself in human or weremole forms with a fusion of Sou-Setsu-Ken, Chinnen's vicious strain of kenpo, and my own take on street boxing. The interspersed cycles of meditation and furious action meant I could maintain my weremole state for extended periods of time, though I always had to return to my human form if I wanted to properly heal the "right" way. The mole was given shovels for hands, and I had gone to Chinnen so I could beat those plowshares into swords. It was an irony that fascinated the master, and he perceived the digging beast so closely nestled in the riches of the material world to be an adequate expression of my "inner self".
Chinnen also ended up betraying me when he thought I'd be of more use to him as a gift to EggDyne in exchange for stock options, so I didn't put too much stock in his ramblings. After overhearing his plans through the thin walls of his profane temple, I spiked the kenpo master's wine with malboro extract and disemboweled him before he could put the decades of experience he had on me into practice. For all of his faults, I preferred Sonny.
I didn't know if I could call Sonny Lee a friend, and I didn't have anything to say to the grave that wouldn't make me sound like a tremendous asshole for saying it about a dead man who couldn't defend himself. So I kept what it was thinking to myself.
What a waste.
The only thing I did know was that pouring one out for the guy would've been insanely disrespectful. A good way to get my ass haunted, if nothing else.
I was walking away from the tombstone when I faintly detected a set of footsteps approaching from behind. Someone was trying very hard to sneak up on me, but these days my senses leaned closer to the abnormal range than not. They were being quiet, but the fact that they were touching the ground at all gave them away.
I casually slipped my hand past my codec and into my pocket, taking out a yellow, circular tablet that was about the size and shape of a communion wafer. There was an indent in the middle of the tablet that I could taste after I slid the tablet inside my mouth.
"Did you know the master?" the young man called out to me from behind.
My rudimentary tremorsense as a human was prone to missing the details. When I turned around, there was not one person there, but two identical men that looked eighteen or nineteen years old. They both wore matching muscle shirts. One red, and one blue. The men had their brown and blond fauxhawks done up into gnarly spikes, with bright highlights on the upright ridges that matched colors of their shirts.
Aw, hell.
"I trained under Sonny Lee for a few months," I said to them, and it was the honest truth.
"Master Lee said there was another student," said the man in red. "You would be him?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Did you need something?"
"After you left, we came along and exceeded his highest expectations," finished the second in blue. He let out a dismissive sniff. "You don't look like much."
I kept my posture relaxed, but internally? I knew these two were the Dragon Twins on sight, making them one of the most formidable fighting duos in River City since Billy & Jimmy made themselves scarce. Being the runner-ups to a title like that was no laughing matter. They weren't the final bosses of their own games; the Twins both hit harder than the so-called '"final" challenge, and you had to deal with the two of them at the same time!
"Looks can be deceiving."
I don't have a clue what set them off yet, but my sense of oncoming violence was going off something fierce. I knew they were going to try and fight me. Right here, right now, and they didn't look like fans of taking turns.
The one in red started talking again.
"Once we heard that you had been sniffing around the Flatirons to uncover our master's fate, we wanted to see if what he said about you was true."
They both took a step forward in flawless sync.
Shit!
I looked around the cemetery for any avenues of escape. The damn place was surrounded by walls! How far ahead did they plan this?
"What'd he say about me?"
"He said that you possess a special power that, combined with the Sou-Setsu-Ken, would make you a worthy successor to his style!"
He knew I was a zoanthrope!?
"And we want to test your claim to ultimate power!"
Sonny, you prick! This is the worst time to find out you secretly liked me!
"But I never--!!"
The teen in blue crouched down, and his brother jumped on top of him to come at me with a flying kick! My tongue pressed down on the tablet in my mouth, causing me to experience a burst of adrenaline as the fluid stored in the ring-shaped drug delivery system rushed through my tissues and entered my bloodstream.
Ring was a high-octane performance enhancer that, on paper, was no more dangerous than drinking a couple of energy drinks to get through the day. It increased your reaction time, upped your brain activity, and gave your nervous system a kickstart. You felt refreshed and focused after one or two, even if your doctor wouldn't advise taking that much caffeine and sugar in such a short period of time. You brushed the concerns off, because there were always much worse things you could be doing to yourself.
Ring was one of those worse things. The best and scariest thing about taking it was that Ring was like drinking all of those energy drinks at once. It had a shocking amount of B vitamins and was advertised as sugar-free, while understating the fact that it used proprietary amphetamines to force anyone that took it into a trance-like flow state. At least until you received a pain response strong enough to kick you back to normal.
I was able to buy a dose of Ring at the drugstore. It was in a locked case behind the counter due to the sheer cost, no prescription needed. That was more an indictment of what passed for drug control in the City than any guarantee that the drug was safe to consume if you could afford it. Being a zoanthrope helped me recover quicker from black eyes and the side effects of drugs, but the not-so-low chance that taking Ring might give me a heart attack and a seizure was the reason why I saved it for rainy days like this.
Time began moving again. The kid was moving a lot slower now that the Ring kicked in.
Now.
Back to the action.
I sidestepped away from the oncoming jump kick from Red. Blue came at me with an extended fist. I had to dodge that, too. They were definitely trained in Sou-Setsu-Ken. Their fighting skills were better than mine, and they certainly trained longer than I did, but they had a wilder approach to it. Like Sonny kicked the bucket halfway through the refinement phase. They were filling in the gaps with what they picked up as they ripped through the baddest dudes of River City.
The Dragon Twins weren't to be discouraged. Red and Blue kept trying to hit me while I attempted to run away, with Blue preferring punches and Red going for more kicks. They jumped across the headstones and gravemarkers, using them as stepping stools to keep up. The twins wanted to get a solid blow in so they could trip me up and take me out.
Which wasn't happening. Ring made you feel like you were going a million miles an hour.
With a catch.
No matter who won, I was definitely gonna be pissing blood after this fight was over. The difference between taking popping a Ring and letting the Dragon Twins wail on me was whether I'd be pissing blood in my hotel room or the intensive care unit.
"Did you kill him?" I said quickly as I dodged a pair of simultaneous strikes.
"Hardly!" Red said as he jumped high and spun around midair, trying to knock me down with a hurricane kick. I rolled under and nearly nicked his nuts with a sucker punch on the way past him.
"He was on his last legs when we started our training!" continued Blue, who tried to catch me in an uppercut. "We think he knew his time was short!"
I twirled around the rising uppercut and whipped Blue with a spinning backfist. I was too wired to be touched, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. I was only keeping my head above the water against them, when what I really needed was to make my escape.
I remembered to blink, and then blinked. My heart was going too fast. The enhanced metabolism had a downside: I had a very short window of time before the Ring wore off. Assuming one of them didn't knock it out of me first.
It was time to switch tracks. I slowed down when I reached the ideal position to bait them into an attack, spreading my arms out wide.
"Hey Bimmy and Jammy! If you two are so good, then why are you playing second and third fiddle to Yamada?"
The Dragon Twins visibly bristled at both sentences.
"My name is Ryuchi!" the red one said confidently, as he jumped high for another kick!
"And I'm Ryuji!" shouted the ticked blue one, who rammed both fists my way!
Together, they shouted their next rehearsed line.
"AND WE'RE THE STRONGEST FIGHTERS IN RIVER--!!"
I ducked away at the last second, as the Dragon Twins launched themselves into the brick wall surrounding the cemetery. Sonny Lee must've gone soft in his twilight years, because the teens screamed in pain when they hit the bricks.
Now's my chance!
I lowered my defensive stance and prepared to sprint out of there while they were distracted, but I faltered. The jolt of adrenaline from the Ring felt like it was being sucked out of me with a vacuum cleaner. The crash hit sooner and harder than I was expecting. Instead of taking off to safety, I was knocked forward by a hyper knee to the back from Ryuchi and given a hard elbow to the stomach by Ryuji. They recovered like lightning, and now I was the one on the ground instead.
I dug my hands into the dirt as Ryuchi and Ryuji stood over me, the former getting a good look at my face. His eyes widened.
"Are… Are you on Ring!?" Ryuchi accused. "I can see it in your eyes, you bastard!"
"You dare mock the Dragon Twins by cheating us out of a fair fight?" Ryuji hissed.
My hands dug deeper, the makings of claws appearing on the tips.
"Fair fight!? You're fighting me AT THE SAME TIME!"
The Dragon Twins circled around me. I swiveled my head around, trying to keep both of them in my line of sight and failing. I didn't think I could stand like this.
"Now I see what the master saw in you! A fellow addict, spiraling down the drain!"
"Haven't you heard? Winners don't use drugs!"
Okay, that was the last straw. No more Mister Nice Zoanthrope. I rose up with a terrible roar and pushed them both away from me, fully transformed into my weremole state!
"What the hell?" Ryuji gasped.
"It's his power!" Ryuchi said. "This is what we've been waiting--"
I wasn't waiting. I rushed forward with a terrible ferocity to engage them both at once, using my massive paws to deliver punches harder than they could block. My legs were reserved for maximizing my mobility, with a fierce kick thrown from a handstand when I thought they were focusing too much on my upper body. Unlike many of their foes, I already had the experience of fighting a Sou-Setsu-Ken user beaten into me.
I'd flipped the tables, and the Dragon Twins were the ones on the defense now.
"Such speed!"
"Such power!"
This wasn't a sparring match, I wasn't planning to recruit these chucklefucks, and the only reason I wasn't using my claws was that this graveyard had seen enough desecration for one night. In all other ways, I wasn't holding back. My hands were bigger than their heads, and a hammerfist blow that landed home would crush their skulls. A poke of the eyes would go through their sockets and come out the other end. If they hadn't figured out how to reinforce their soft tissue with chi, then they were dead. Simple as that.
Instead, the only thing I broke when my southpaw impacted Ryuji's face was his nose in triplicate. I shouted a kiai to solidify my spirit and shatter his three times over.
"STONE HANDS!!"
Ryuji screamed as he fell to the ground, and so did his brother Ryuchi. I stomped on Ryuji's hand while he was down until I heard the tiny bones snap.
"BROTHER!"
Ryuchi hesitated, stunned by how quickly I took out his brother after they had talked so much shit they couldn't back up. I zeroed the distance with a midair roll and made the twins a matching pair again with a trio of kicks to his chest. My foot trampled over his rib cage thrice.
"DRAGON FEET!!"
Then I smashed my fist down on his foot, breaking it.
The twins went to the ground, howling in pain and bleeding all over. Inside and out. This fight was over, and they were far too hurt to go another round. Medical science in the City was far above that of Earth. If they got to a back-alley doctor with pilfered Metpharm hardware, and if they were half as good at Sou-Setsu-Ken as they thought they were, then they should be able to walk these otherwise career-ending injuries off with time.
Assuming I let them walk away. For now, I had them at my mercy.
If I kill them now, they'll never bother me again.
I quelled the sudden, intrusive thought. They were out of this fight, and killing a helpless victim wasn't the same as killing in the middle of the action. It was wrong.
Besides, I couldn't kill these little shitheels for political concerns.
What, kill them so Slick can send the whole town after me in revenge? No thanks.
I turned back to normal. Shifting to beast mode granted me a temporary second wind, as always, but my body was sore all over. Stone Fist and Dragon Feet hurt like a motherfucker. Sonny Lee did everything in his power to torture those "special moves" into my muscle memory before he died, and they stuck. The Ring wasn't helping things, either. My wounds were only going to be so quick to heal themselves after exerting myself, but not as slow as their wounds were gonna be to fix.
"What kind of monster are you?" Ryuchi said in horror. I placed a foot on his chest, applying pressure to emphasize my next point. "Ahh!"
It felt like I broke a couple of ribs down there, and the night was still young. I could break a couple more if he forced the issue.
"The kind of monster that doesn't like to be provoked. Don't do it again."
I stepped off Ryuchi and kicked him onto his side.
"You won't get away with this!" Ryuji whinged through his broken nose. "W-We'll train harder than ever before, and kill you to prove our strength!"
I walked away.
"Whuh? Get back here! COWARD!"
"Ryuji, don't!"
I turned around.
"You stake your life on that?"
"I do!"
Ryuchi, while a bit more reluctant, backed up his brother and supported his death with.
"Then so do I!"
"Good. Because if you make me fight you again, I'm taking them."
I walked away, switched back to beast mode when I was out of the cemetery, and then dug my claws into the earth. Being careful not to leave a trace of where I was headed, I dove into the soft ground and burrowed through the soil until I could find a quiet place to pass out in peace. Which ended up being the park.
There was no way that was going to be the last I heard of the Dragon Twins. While I likely left an impression on Ryuchi and Ryuji of being a "formidable warrior" or another lethally foolish notion along those lines, I was just glad it was over.
I hope they try to jump me outside of River City, where the gun ban isn't an issue. Next time I see them, I'll have a guy shoot them in the face with a shotgun. One blast each.
My well-earned, impromptu dirt map lasted until sunrise.
Here's the next chapter! As I said in the prior update, I have three more of these in the bank, and I'd like to get them all out of my system. This has been a fun project for NaNoWriMo, though I feel the siren call of new stories (and updating older ones) on the horizon.
I had a ton of fun writing this fight scene, though. Good practice, since I don't always get the chance to play around with martial arts. Might have to change that in the future.
So our protagonist just knocked Slick's two best fighters out of commission huh, wonder how much that will affect his confederation. Will people sense weakness and seize the opportunity to knock Yamada down a peg?
The first thought I had, once I was out of the ground, was that I hoped I got a bonus for putting Slick's top attack dogs in their place. Hospitalizing Ryuchi and Ryuji would complicate his ambitions for taking over River City, and thus I deserved some extra compensation for the trouble of doing so on my downtime.
Then that whole fight and shaking off the Ring won't be a total loss.
With the combat drug out of my system, I was left feeling tired, grouchy, and covered in topsoil. I ripped up my shoes beyond usability, which I'd only realized after cutting my foot on a broken liquor bottle. Had to buy a cheap pair of sneakers at a ZEED general store, along with a few other amenities. Stooping outside of the store were the temps I hired for the journey back to the hotel.
I walked up to the entrance of the Tradewest Inn in Crosstown, flanked by two battle-hardened delinquents from the River City Girls Alliance. The sukeban had long skirts, surgical masks, and bloodied weapons, all of which were decorated with colorful pins and stickers to match their neon school uniforms. For the low, low price of the mobiums in my emergency money clip, this pair of fighting gals beat down every attacker of opportunity standing between me and a well-deserved rest.
My beast mode needed time to recover from my encounter with the Dragon Twins. If I pushed it too hard, too fast, then I could be locked out of it for hours.
"Here's the hotel," the girl with a blue bob cut and a green blazer said as we approached the large, reinforced doors. "Now pay up."
I handed her the rest of the payment. First half when we started, second half on arrival. The blue-haired sukeban handed the wad of bills to her friend so she could count. The second girl had a blue jacket and a bright orange ponytail.
"Looks like all of it!" the redhead said genially.
Behind them, I could see a man in a trashy coeurl-print vest running at us with a plank. He was muttering something about wanting to see blood.
"Hold please."
I flicked a gas station kunai from my jacket pocket between where the two girls were standing and straight through the offending gangster's eye. A clean kill.
"Holy shit!" the girl in green said when the stream of red spewed out behind her.
A mostly clean kill. The man spasmed until his brain gave the final sign-off that he died. The two girl gangsters looked at the body, then at each other, and then back to me.
"Thank you for your patronage, Mister Hudson-san!" the peppy girl cheered.
"You're welcome."
The two of them had potential. I considered giving them the NYAMCO Defense pitch, but it was a thorny enough task to ask if they were available "for hire" without getting bludgeoned. They walked away, too giddy with the prospect of spending their well-earned payout to bother checking the man's wallet for a tip.
"That was easy money!"
"Let's go get some Merv Burgers!"
I informed the front desk about the corpse outside and headed upstairs. When I got to my room, I ordered some food so my healing factor had proteins to chew on, took a cold shower, and changed into a spare set of clothes with a non-shredded jacket.
Definitely need a custom suit.
Now refreshed and presentable, I went down to the data terminal in the main lobby. The door to the gray box slid open with a hiss of cold air after I inserted my ZEED Shadow Card into the slot. Inside, the terminal had a rounded monitor, a mouse, a caustic odor from second-hand smoke, and a keyboard, across from a short bench. I often found myself using these on business trips, because the alternatives were the cyberdecks slung by hackers and crackers. For everyone who, there were desktops and terminals.
Descending into the booth, I skimmed through what passed for an internet around these parts. The River City network was a bare-bones listing of local shops and a primitive bulletin board system. Should I be inclined, the terminal would let me vidcall anyone in the zone without accruing long-distance charges. Instead, I punched in the code sequence for NYAMCO and waited for the terminal to reach Ridgeside.
"Any second now."
The terminal would work faster if I had a datajack, or so I've been told. I'd never experience the "electronic ecstasy" of plugging into cyberspace, something I wasn't too broken up about. The code monkey I hired to find out what Metpharm still had on zoanthropes was rendered comatose by a nasty strain of Black ICE.
Trying to peek behind the firewall of a corporate mainframe was risky business, and I transmitted some zenny to his buddies in the Bit Busters to keep Chip on life support in case he pulled through. My patronage was the closest thing those script kiddies had to health insurance, so they owed me that much.
The loading bar moved… incrementally.
"Any second now."
I began an impromptu meditation session to pass the time, feeling out the blossoming damage to the chi flow around my spine, chest, and stomach. Those were regulated by a couple chakras I couldn't remember the names of. The bruises from my fight were fading already, but the heart strain from the Ring would take longer to bounce back from. I'd have to avoid that and Berserk packs for a while.
One more night, and I'm out of here.
Eventually, I was connected to the NYAMCO headquarters and set up a vidcall with the boss. However, instead of seeing the face of Goro on the screen, I saw Mewchi at his desk with a suitably feline grin.
"How's River City treating you?"
"Mewchi?"
"Hey John! Dad's with the Volkmires right now, but he said I could take his calls! Pretty sweet, huh?"
The meeting with the people from Ultratech was this week? It must've slipped my mind.
"That's great, Mewchi. I'll keep it to the brass tacks because the rates out here are sky high. We've had a couple of incidents with the local gangs, but nothing we couldn't handle."
Mewchi frowned.
"Come on, is that really all you called for?"
"What else did you want to know?"
"Everything! Who'd they fight? What blew up? Anyone died yet?"
"No one on our side."
I let slip what I considered safe to say over the line. Mostly about the variety and number of weirdos we'd had to fend off. I was choosy with my details, making it sound as though my story was second-hand.
"Hey, how does Monty Mole fight?" Mewchi interjected. "I know Mask X is a boxer, and that Octoman guy is good with his arms, but the mole mutant's a ghost. No footage, no nothing. Only the aftermath."
I was reminded of Mewchi's reaction to the news about Monty Mole being one of ours now.
"Claws, mostly. Seems to know martial arts. Mind if I ask you a question back?"
"Sure?"
"Where did you hear of Monty Mole?"
Mewchi's posture stiffened up.
"Did you not hear what he did to the X-Syndicate mutants muscling into Madfox's turf?"
My memory was a bit hazy on the exact incident he was asking about.
"You mean the Decapz? They were only inducted into the X-Syndicate a year or two ago."
"Yeah, it was right before that when Monty Mole chopped them up into little slices and fed them to the yoshis."
I didn't hold anything against mutants, in spite of many interactions I've had with them ending in death and dismemberment. After all, I was a mutant too. One that could usually pass as human, which meant I could duck out of a lot of anti-mutant legislation. I was empathetic to the mutants I knew were simply trying to get by, and I planned to hire them for NYAMCO when we were stable.
That being said, the propensity for cannibalism among mutant gangs was, for lack of a better word, alarming. The Mutant League only put the kibosh on the practice after I put the screws in their worst offenders. The X-Syndicate implicitly gave Max D. Cap the green light to keep doing it by inviting him into their ranks. As long as it went down behind closed doors, the other members of the largest gang alliance in the City turned a blind eye to one of the most reprehensible outlets for their human trafficking rings.
Instead of pointing out the X-Syndicate was creeping up to the top of my shit list, I said something more palatable.
"As I recall, Madfox made a better offer for Mr. Mole's services. Nothing out of the ordinary for a mercenary."
Mewchi's eyes opened in surprise at my admittedly too clinical answer.
"John, is leaving the heads of your enemies out on pikes standard mercenary practice?"
Not having thought of that mess in some time, I was put on the backfoot.
"Well, not normally, but--"
"The mole gave Geldra the same horror show treatment when they were trying to set up shop in the tunnels under Ridgeside. Dad kept the pictures out of the local papers, but it was all over Space Channel 5."
"You watch Space Channel 5?" I inquired.
It was the top orbital broadcaster. Premium coverage of world events via satellite. There were better stations if you wanted the news without a corporate skew, but Space Channel 5 had the exclusive angles of its scantily-clad host, Ulala.
"Don't change the subject," Mewta said irritably, lightly embarrassed by the implication. He pushed his chibi statue of Ulala on his desk out of frame. "Monty Mole did us a couple favors, and then you started working for us around the same time. I didn't think anything of it back then, and now I do."
"Oh."
Mewchi sighed, betraying no small amount of weariness on his face.
"Look, I'm not gonna shed any tears over those hooded freaks getting what was coming to them, but I'm not dumb. I noticed a lot of really nasty types around Ridgeside disappeared, and the ones they found weren't much better. First, it was Geldra. Then it was the Wild Dogs. And then, people say he took the bounty for Scissorman. I only put it together when dad made this defense wing official that he's been working for us longer than last week."
I winced, not quite able to face the camera. I knew it couldn't be put off any longer, but why did it have to be now, of all times?!
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, but you have to understand--"
Mewchi waved me off, but I could tell he was having issues processing the whole thing. I had, in fact, been lying to him and his sisters for as long as I've known them.
"I get it, okay? Top secret shit. Never would've figured you were the type, but I guess that meant he picked the perfect guy to be Monty's handler."
Handler?
Does he not…?
"Y-You're right," I falsely admitted. "I've been the go-between for a couple of lower-end mercenaries. Getting them jobs they wouldn't otherwise. Monty's been my top guy."
"Who else?"
"Aero. The Bobbins Brothers. Bionic Lester. Couple of others you wouldn't know by name. This was from before we met, and it's why I was brought on."
This wasn't a complete lie being spun. I wasn't only a part-time fixer for myself. A lot of my clients were illiterate, being born into poverty or otherwise barred from getting an education, so I ended up helping them between jobs anyway. Earned me a lot of goodwill with them, something I planned to catch in at a later date.
Still felt horrible about lying to my friends now.
"So, guess that your old job running the rackets was some kinda cover?" Mewchi ventured. "For you handling our new hatchetman?"
That's the long and short of what I've been doing for Goro, during the gradual process of coming out of the shadows as John Hudson.
I rubbed my arm nervously.
"Kinda? The fantasy sports line was my idea, but Nakamura's been a lifesaver in preventing the office from catching on fire whenever I've had to step away."
Conjure the image of the most stereotypical Japanese salaryman to mind. Black hair. Dark blue suit. Opaque glasses. Joined NYAMCO out of college. Frequent karaoke fiend after hours. Lives for the company. Will probably work himself to death selling pachinko machines for the company, in spite of my efforts to try and get him to loosen up.
That was Nakamura. He did a good deal of "my" work for me while I was playing catch-up on the cutthroat financial scene of the City. It wasn't an easy job, so I paid him off with a compensatory salary, free drinks at the bar, and a promotion to my old position.
"Mewta hasn't put this together like I did. Not yet. I think Mew-Mew did."
"How can you tell?"
Mewchi shrugged.
"I just get the feeling. We're family, but she's always been kinda hard to read, you know?"
"Yeah."
Another silence.
"If the three of us are gonna be taking more responsibilities in the family business, and you know the kind I'm talking about, then I think we need to know if that kind of violence is what NYAMCO Defense is gonna be about."
He was right.
"You want it straight?" I asked.
"Yeah. Straight, no bullshit."
As a solo operator, living each day in fear that I might be captured, I needed to let people think I was a psycho mutant with an exceptional mean streak to survive. It was a novel approach, as my enemies rarely knew how to react when the tables were turned. The trick worked, even if it meant I had to act like what Tyron tried to mold me into.
Is that what I want to be my legacy?
That I was the bigger monster?
"NYAMCO Defense is going to be above-board," I said clearly, looking Mewchi in the eyes as I spoke. He didn't want me to sugarcoat anything, so I didn't. "As above-board as you can be on this shithole of a planet. We're there to protect Sabu's assets. There's gonna be some guys running out there to get themselves killed, but they won't be any of ours."
"John, Mew-Mew said she isn't worried about this whole thing, but Mewta and I are worried. I mean, you're a baseline in one of the murder capitals of the City!"
I could see where they were coming from. Late-gen uplifts didn't require as many augments as their parents to function, but the triplets all had sharp senses and retractable claws as cats. Beyond that, Mewta had a datajack that popped out of her wrist, Mewchi's bragged about having subdermal armor in the past, and Mew-Mew… maybe a monowire? Compared to all of that, I did look defenseless.
It was understandable and laughable, all at the same time.
"I'll be fine," I said more forcefully. "I appreciate the concern. I really do. But we're only gonna be in town for a little bit longer. Once I'm back in Ridgeside, I can tell you guys what I've been working on. Get you more involved, if that's what you want."
It had to wait. I couldn't tell them the truth over a damn vidcall.
Mewchi's ears tilted downward, and his whiskers flicked back.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"No holding back because you think we're not gonna be ready?"
Mewchi has that backwards, but I needed to rip this bandage off months ago.
"No holding back."
"I'll hold you to it," Mewchi said, looking more at ease. The prior tension, alleviated. "Good luck out there, John. We'll celebrate when you get back."
"Thanks, Mewchi."
I ended the call and hit the hay. I'd need to be at full energy for the last surprise River City would drop on me.
While I wasn't fully recovered by nightfall, my instincts turned out to be right. The Black Warriors were planning one last attack, and I had the "good luck" of being stationed outside of the large pachinko parlor being targeted by their heaviest hitter.
A hulking figure with an unnaturally orange pallor and bulging, veiny muscles. Bald, with a black handlebar mustache. Darker than his facial hair was the sclera of the man's eyes, which saw the world through a pair of eerie white pupils. The enhanced strongman went shirtless, which allowed him to show off the excess protrusions of bone that grew around his arms and up his spine. They jutted outwards, underneath the skin.
Adorned with big, spiked bracelets and a gleaming skull belt buckle, Abobo was perfectly in sync with the image of overwhelming force the Black Warriors gang were all about. He was hitting the mean streets of River City, one dent in the pavement at a time.
He's another Level 1 boss. I can take him in a fight, without going overkill. No sweat.
That's what I told myself as Abobo walked towards the gambling parlor with heavy footfalls and a heavier swagger. When people on the street saw him coming, they turned and ran. When the people inside the building realized he was on his way, they made for the exits in the front and back.
"What're you supposed to be?" Abobo asked me, looking downwards. Almost crouching. "A talking badger?"
Don't attack yet.
"I don't look like a badger."
"Yeah you do!" Abobo insisted.
"Badgers have black and white stripes on their heads," I explained, gesturing to my absence of those markings on my head. "I'm a mole."
"But, moles are small and… Bah, whatever! The Shadow Boss said I gotta wreck this place and knock the Sanwa Gang down a peg. I don't like putting the hurt on dumb animals, so I'm gonna need you to buzz off while I do my thing. You dig me?"
I drew up my claws, which were only so much bigger than Abobo's bone spurs. He looked like he took enough mutagenic steroids from the black market that the side effects stuck.
"I don't dig you. Is there any way I can interest you in switching sides?"
"What, join Sabu?" Abobo laughed at the idea of it. "Shadow Boss would be pretty pissed if I started pulling stunts like that, don't ya think?"
"I'm a mercenary with my own outfit. Currently seeking talent."
Abobo chuckled.
"You've got guts, little man! I can respect that! But after the Black Warriors take out the competition, we're gonna own this zone!" He brought a finger to his head. "People say I'm dumb because they're jealous of my killer bod, but to walk away from a good deal like that for a no-name like you? Now that'd be stupid!"
Abobo drove his right fist towards me!
"Have it your way!" I said, as I jumped backwards to dodge the swing of his haymaker!
I kicked off the old wall of the pachinko parlor, probing Abobo's defenses with a savage series of swipes over his exposed flesh!
"Ha! That tickles!"
The stabs didn't go far, my attacks unable to pierce Abobo's reinforced skeleton. Still, raking his skin caused Abobo to grit his teeth; As long as he had nerve endings, he could feel pain. Abobo continued to swat at me with his giant arms, but I was faster than the orange brute and I wasn't going to make this easy for him.
"Stay still, mole man! You're only dragging this out for yourself!"
He wasn't wrong. At this rate, I'd run out of steam before he did.
I disengaged and watched closely for Abobo to make his next slow, ponderous move. Instead, he brought a large, callused hand to his chin.
"Wait a sec! You uplift fellas are only half animal, right?"
The question was enough to get me to lose focus.
"Are you joking?"
"I'm just askin'!"
"Then let's go with that. Sure!"
I aimed my next swipe upwards when Abobo launched himself forward much faster than I was expecting!
"Then I only gotta feel half as bad about doin'--!" Abobo dropkicked me through the window! "THIS!"
The kick sent me to the other side of the parlor, which was filled with bright lights and loud noises that irritated my senses. I blocked the worst of the blow with my arms and pulled a ukemi to land back on my feet, jabbing my hands into the crumbling tiles so that I'd slow to a skid. There was a small, but dedicated handful of gamblers still testing their luck against the one-armed bandits.
"LEAVE!" I snarled.
The gamblers fled the scene. Abobo tried to step through the broken window, found it too small, and then pulverized the wall so he could go through it instead.
"Still feelin' like you had to warn me, short stuff? Be a sport and stay down."
Abobo began trashing the place. He unrooted pachinko machines, shook them for all they were worth, and then smashed them between his hands like a one-man wrecking crew.
I shook off the glass and picked up the comlink on my belt, fiddling with the buttons until I found the one that let me speak.
"I'm being attacked by Abobo of the Black Warriors," I whispered, using the time I had to relay my situation to the others. "Octoman, Bald Bull? Report in."
"The Black Warriors have hit us as well!" Octoman said briskly over the line. "Over!"
"Why don't you bring those tentacles of yours a bit more close and personal?" a woman on the other end crooned. I heard the crack of a whip. "I promise to go gentle!"
Sounded like Octoman was fighting Linda Lash.
"These weaklings think that outnumbering me will let them stand a chance!" Bald Bull growled, his annoyance reading loud and clear.
"So you won't need backup, then?" I asked. I heard a squelch of static on the Kitamura. "Mask X? Over?"
"You like my radio so much, smart guy? THEN WEAR IT!"
Bald Bull punched the person who stole his comlink… and the comlink he was holding.
"I'll be back with you in a few minutes," I said to Octoman.
"Acknowledged."
I slid the transceiver back onto my belt. It appeared that the Black Warriors were putting in the extra effort to make sure at least one of their attacks tonight stuck.
Looking over my surroundings, I saw rows of pachinko machines lining the walls, bolted-down stools at the machines, an extension cord poking out from behind the counter connected to a wall fan, and scattered balls all over the floor.
Seeing that it was going to be impossible for the building to end the night unscathed anyway, I hacked a stool loose, eyed Abobo's ribs for a gap, and jammed the sharpened steel end into his lower back like a push pin.
"OW!!" Abobo yowled. That one went deep, and he couldn't act like he was invincible anymore. "That's it, you damn runt!"
Abobo raised both his fists in the air, and his upper body began to expand like a balloon. He was rapidly-generating new muscles over his chest, arms, and face until they fit snuggly atop his warped skeleton.
"Funny rat wants Abobo, funny rat GETS ABOBO!" the mutant powerhouse shouted, his voice rendered strange and distorted by the extra strain on his vocal chords.
The overdeveloped musculature was brought down on the building with the force of a bomb, shattering titles and exposing the foundation. I was sent upwards by the shockwave, and Abobo grabbed me so he could slam me back into the ground like a ragdoll.
I felt my arms, chest, and back strain under the pressure and burn with cell division. My head throbbed the same way. He wound up another punch and, healing factor or not, I knew I couldn't afford to take another hit of that magnitude. I sunk a paw into the exposed ground and shoved a clump of dirt into his eyes, driving Abobo away.
"GRRAH!"
With the increased mass on his arms and head, Abobo found it harder to maneuver his limbs towards his face and clear the dirt. Abobo made loud tremors as he stomped around the parlor, trashing blindly to try and find where I'd gone. In the time it took to stop and clean out his eyes, I'd already driven my claws through the dirt and burrowed all the way to the large bubble of air forming beneath the road outside. The ground River City was built on was full of gaps and sinkholes like these I could take advantage of.
"GET BACK HERE! ABOBO NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!"
I grabbed one of the water pipes threading through the pachinko hall and redirected it to the cave under the asphalt, which was a lot less stable after I chipped at its ceiling. Once my trap was set, I popped out of a hole on the other side of the road.
"OUT HERE, ABOZO!" I shouted to the enraged Abobo, one middle claw raised on each paw. "COME AND GET ME!"
His vision recovered, and I could tell because seeing me give him the finger two times over caused Abobo to enter a blind fury. He bulldozed through the wall and went straight at me.
"ABOBO TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS!"
Taking one fateful step onto my trap, the road beneath Abobo's feet collapsed into a D.I.Y. cenote with water that went up to his waist. Not one to be deterred, Abobo grabbed onto the sides of the pit and attempted to climb out. His immense weight was too much for the edges of the pit to hold his weight.
"ABOBO NOT AFRAID OF WATER!"
"Let's try for five seconds," I mused, as I walked back into the pachinko hall.
Abobo stomped his feet even harder, unaware that he was only digging himself deeper.
"FIVE SECONDS NOT ENOUGH FOR RAT TO RUN! YOU WAIT UNTIL ABOBO IS--!"
I came back with the extension cord from the building, without a head, and dropped the exposed wire into the pool. Abobo let out a scream as the volts ran through his biology.
I counted along.
"Five Mississippi, four Mississippi, three Mississippi…"
No matter his size or strength, as long as Abobo was still about seventy percent water, electricity was gonna sting. Skin and bones were awful conductors, but that metal stool and his other accessories were great for sending the charge into the rest of his body.
"Zero."
I pulled the cord out. Abobo's body was smoking, covered in electrical burns all over his body, yet he was still standing. Which was why I still had the cord in my hand, waiting to see what he'd do next.
Once Abobo settled into a series of twitches, he visibly deflated upon figuring out that his life was in my hands.
I wished that it was a figure of speech. Eugh. His fluttering eyes darted to the extension cord, and then to my nametag.
"Hey, hey! Monty, right? I think we got off on the wrong foot!"
"Uh huh." I lowered the cord towards the water. "I get that a lot."
"DON'T do anything hasty! I'll put in a good word with the Shadow Boss! We can get you money, chicks, anything! I bet that nose of yours can put away a lot of blow, eh?"
"What's the name of the Shadow Boss again?" I asked idly. "It slipped my mind."
As I spoke, I let the cord dangle towards the water's edge. The occasional crackle and spark sputtered out when the wire made contact with the waves from Abobo's movements.
I wasn't a huge fan of torture, for a couple of reasons. If Abobo didn't have anything useful, I'd leave him there and move on to another one of the Shadow Boss' lieutenants.
"Willy Mackey!" he shouted after another shock when the cord tapped the water.
"Very good."
In the original arcade game, the Shadow Boss was Willy Mackey. However, in the NES version, Willy was the frontman for Jimmy Lee. I was sure I could take Shadow Boss out with a trick like this if he was Willy, but if Jimmy Lee broke bad, there was no way I was getting any closer to that clusterfuck than I already am.
Abobo's confession confirmed that Mackey existed, and that Abobo thought he was in charge. Only so much to work with there.
"What else do you want?" he said, exhausted.
"Give me the frequency the Black Warriors have been using to coordinate the raid. They do what I say, and you're free to go."
Reluctantly, the scorched gangster gave me the numbers I needed to tune my comlink to. I entered them into the Kitamura.
"This is Monty Mole to the Black Warriors," I announced to the gang.
"Oh?" Linda moaned in surprise.
"Get the fuck off our radio!" a man with a guttural voice howled at me. I had to move it away from my ear with a pained wince. "Or we'll kill you!"
"Stop screaming. This is a turf war, not a goddamn daycare."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Monty. Mole. And stop interrupting. I'm not here for your poor attempt at trash talk."
"Say that to my face, you--"
I rolled my eyes.
"Someone shut up the screaming infant and listen. Closely. I have Abobo in my custody, and if you do not immediately withdraw your forces attacking the Sanwa Gang, I'll test out how many Mississippis it takes to stop his heart. Pass that along to Shadow Boss. Over."
"You are bluffing!" a different man said haughtily. "Abobo would not be so easily beaten."
"Chin, the sick freak stuck me in a death pit!" Abobo shouted, when I tilted the communicator in his direction.
"Did you all catch that?"
I heard another noise that was probably an affirmation from Linda.
"Mmh. Sit tight, Mister Mole. Same to you, Abobo. Don't go anywhere~"
I waited patiently for a follow-up response. Preferably one that didn't sound like Linda's tryouts for a phone sex hotline.
"So that's your plan?" Abobo asked, his breathing heavy. "Try to use me as a hostage?"
It was ironic, considering how this was supposed to go. The Black Warriors take Marian, the Lee Brothers fight through an army of goons to get her back.
"The Black Warriors do kidnappings to extort money and favors out of people all the time. Standing outside for one of the Shadow Boss' favorite leg-breakers to arrive so I could use you as a bargaining chip saved me the trouble of searching."
Abobo let out a frustrated grunt.
"Damn. Guess I underestimated you."
"I'm glad we're on the same page."
The comlink fired up again, and I heard Linda's voice through the line.
"Aww. Tough break, Abobo."
"What?" he said, in genuine surprise. It was as though you told him that his dog didn't go to the farm zone when he got too old to walk. "Tough break? The fuck does that mean?"
"The Shadow Boss doesn't play by anyone else's terms. I'm sure a big, strong man like you can get out of there without any help from little old me. But if you were to ask nicely, I could saunter over? Maybe if you beg, I'll come faster?"
Abobo railed against the sides of the sinkhole.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Mister Mole?" Linda intoned, ignoring her ailing ally. "Abobo lost, so kill him if you want."
"That's it? No threats of revenge?"
"Black Warriors respect power and success. Abobo was a dead man the second he lost. Only way he could build himself back up now is to take you out. Then all's forgiven."
It was their idea of fairness, and they stuck to it.
"Anything else?"
"Sure. Got one last thing to ask you."
"Yes?" I answered.
Was this going to be a message from the Shadow Boss?
"What're you wearing?"
"Linda, don't quit your night job."
I disconnected from the sputtering Black Warriors line and turned to Abobo.
"Do you still think that Mackey cared about your loyalty?" I asked him. "Basic pachinkos are a hundred zenny a pop, up to a thousand for a specialty one. With a good three hundred machines to a parlor, Mackey sold your ass out so the others could cost Sabu anywhere between thirty to three hundred grand per stop. Whatever you thought he wanted you around for, that's how much he thought your loyalty was worth."
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" he roared. "He respected me for my strength, and I'm still stronger than you! Come down here so I can BREAK YOU IN TWO!"
I threw the extension cord away and drilled back into the ground. When I redirected the water pipe, the sinkhole drained out, and Abobo fell to his knees with a loud thump.
"Wanna test that theory?"
I tossed a pill bottle at Abobo's feet. He picked it up and examined it.
"What is this?"
"Monomate. Fast-acting. Should be enough to get you out of here. Head back to the Black Warriors and tell them you overpowered me, if you really think you can work for a gang that'll dispose of you when it suits them."
I walked away, towards another site the Black Warriors were hitting.
"Do what you will after tonight. It won't be my problem unless I'm hired for you to be my problem again."
I left Abobo to stew on where to take his life next. If he was smart, he'd leave the Black Warriors, and at that point? Didn't care.
All that was left was the cleanup.
After the dust had settled, I did some extra digging and found the guy who was annoying me over the radio. He was an obese wrestler wearing the top half of a welding mask and armor held together by leather straps. The big guy's name was Burnov, and, after our little chat, I figured that the so-called "Human Bomb" would benefit from an etiquette course.
When I ambushed the man from beneath a stash house, beat him senseless, and buried him up to his chest in dirt, I left a couple of books on the subject within arm's reach.
By the end of the week, the damage inflicted to the Sanwakai's venues was significant, but not as significant as the damage we did back. The Black Warriors had lost Abobo, the Ground Zeroes suffered a drain in no-name manpower. Slick couldn't cry foul about what I did to the Dragon Twins, because he'd have to admit they were put in traction first.
Our success was exactly why Sabu wanted to see me at his office in person. He was a tall man with a brown perm, and broad lips in a perpetual frown. The man wore a brown business suit, a gold chain around his neck, and a semi-automatic pistol in his pocket. One of the countless Soviet-style weapons they've been smuggling out of the Kazakh Federation. Sabu didn't give a damn about the "no guns" rule around River City, and only paid lip service to it in order to reduce the amount of them he didn't control.
Honor was a flexible thing like that.
"Your group exceeded my expectations," Sabu complemented, if in a backhanded manner. "The Black Warriors will need time to mount another offensive on this scale. Time that I don't intend to give them before we counterattack."
"It's regrettable that several of the pachinko parlors were damaged in the process of saving the businesses as a whole."
"The losses couldn't be helped." Sabu said coolly. The neo-yakuza boss slid me an envelope across his hinoki cypress desk. "Your squad deserves additional compensation for a job well done. Send Goro my regards."
I wasn't so gauche as to pop it open in front of him. I accepted the envelope with a polite nod. This'll be split between Bald Bull, Octoman, and Monty Mole for a job well done.
With that, our business was over.
"One more thing," Sabu said as I reached the door. "A word of advice."
I stopped.
"Sir?"
"Word will spread of NYAMCO Defense's efficacy, beyond River City. Remember that reputation is a double-edged sword. Your performance will reflect on NYAMCO as a whole."
It was a simple warning. Now that our corp had teeth, our enemies would smell blood in the water if those teeth cracked or broke.
I thanked Sabu for this wisdom and departed from his office. An hour later, I met Octoman and Bald Bull at the boxy, six-wheeled Mule I purchased exclusively for NYAMCO Defense operations. It was a professional military truck for a professional paramilitary outfit. I expected it to come in handy after Goro ironed out the Ultratech deal.
"I was surprised that the Sanwakai were taking the damage to their property so well as to give us a bonus," Octoman commented, tentacles at the 10 and 2.
I reimbursed him for medicines he bought to heal the lacerations he sustained against Linda. Business expenses.
"They were relieved to have their stores in one piece," I explained, as I entered the seat next to him. "More importantly, their rivals are gonna be laying low for a long while."
"We should come here again next week!" Bald Bull said as he got into the back.
Bald Bull was covered in bruises, having turned down the restorative drugs I offered, and was raring to go for another round against the gangs on the house. He had also, by this point, lost track of where he put his mask.
"Where is Monty Mole?" Octoman asked me.
"Performing extra recon duty," I said. "He'll catch up."
Octoman appeared to accept the answer at its face, though I may have said the same thing when we entered the zone. Octoman took us through the checkpoint around River City, and after that, we were Ridgeside bound.
I need to tell him and Bull about me being a zoanthrope, too. Keeping a secret like that when we're going to be working together is gonna be too much trouble. Too dangerous. Stupid. Just wanted to wait until after this so that I knew they wouldn't flake.
This gig, for all of its struggles, was the easy part. The hard part would be sitting down with my friends and explaining everything I'd been keeping from them.
This chapter you've read, in some form or another, was hiding in my drafts for a couple of months. It was done in time for NaNoWriMo, sure, but I wasn't satisfied with the output. Felt like I was rushing and making stuff up by the seat of my pants to hit that 50k word goal. At that point, I knew that I had to put the NaNo and work on other stuff again. Like Ruby Haze.
This wraps up the River City mini-arc. There's more I wrote after that, but I have new ideas and want to express them differently from the next chapter that was "supposed" to come next. So I'll need to take my time and chart a new course.
As I said elsewhere, the goal for this fic is at least 50k words. I still want to hit that original goal. Then we'll see what happens next. Zoanthropy has been a fantastic way for me to workshop new ideas for this mishmash of a setting.
This chapter has been brought to you by the following patrons and beta readers: C-Moon, Crosswire, Draconic Hermit, Dr.doom360, Justquestin2004, and N'Oni!
Huh. I fully thought this was done. You kinda prefaced the story with it not ending with a climax, so when it went into an extended hiatus, I thought that was the end of the story.
Now we're getting into some interpersonal conflict. The reveal of Monty Mole would be quite juicy.
