Reversal of Fortune Part 1

Through the rain he thought he caught a glimpse. A tall figure in an over coat, a low and wide brimmed hat obscuring its features. The figure was moving directly towards him. He tensed visibly though no one was to see it. People jostled past thinking of credits, obligations and survival. Their eyes to the ground and their thoughts lying ahead of them, never stopping to see the drab and lifeless now.

The figure passed over the road oblivious to the traffic in its perpetual grid lock. The figure was close enough for him to catch glimpses of teeth and red scales on the darkened face. As it mounted the gutter, he took a wary step back before he could stop himself.

He cursed himself for a fool, an experienced Operative shouldn't be so easily cowed by imposing looks. But why should he no flinch? The one now standing before him was a murderer, a killer, a stealer of lives, such that he had never met before.

"Operative Frail?", it spoke. The deep and grim tones boomed out against the constant drive of the rain and the hum of patient cars.

"Yes, Operative Gel'Kil I presume?"

"Yes." A meaty fist bristling with claws extracted itself from a pocket holding papers "Here are the forms for my inclusion, sign them!"

"Ah, should we discuss your qualifications fir..."

"I have been able to wield a Kak since age two. I took my first kill when I was four and won my first ritual combat when I was five, taking the lives of six opponents. By age ten I had mastered the seven style fists and proven my worth bare handed on the jungle world of Hertdak. I graduated from Orange Crush in the field of death squad at the top of my class. I have completed over a hundred and fifty six individual BPN's in my short career. Forty blues, a hundred reds, five greens on Dante and three blacks. I have a career body count of ten thousand and seventy seven. That is only a portion of my lifetime body count." The huge hand swept back the hat, revealing the Shaktar's face in all its scarred and scale worn glory. The tall alien's eyes burrowed deep into the small Ebon's face. "Try not to question my ability again."

Frail stood for a moment, his words lost under the Shaktar's verbal onslaught. He was relieved to find his voice

"Sorry. Here, pass the papers."

Gel'Kil thrust his fist forward. Frail gently took the papers from the yielding hand and smoothed them out. Steading his hands, he began to read.

Gel'Kil snorted, "What is wrong?"

Frail continued to scan the paper, "Oh, nothing. Just reading through before I sign."

A claw slowly hovered over the paper, pointing at the bottom of the sheet.

"Here is my name, Gel'Kil, and Operative ID. Here is where it says seventy percent of the total consolidated bonus. Everything is in order. Now sign."

Frail's emotions flowed from fear to indignation. He was unaccustomed to being treated with such disrespect. His felt a hot flush and he raised his head to look straight in the Shaktar's eyes. His nerve wavered slightly at the sight of those malignant orbs.

"I... I will read the entire contract before I sign, I thank you so very much!"

A rumble rose within the Shaktar's throat. "Are you questioning my integrity?" A click followed by a shrill humming erupted from under his cloak. Frail knew the sound of death when he heard it.

He mustered his breath, "Ah.. ah no."

"Good. Sign then."

"Um... Yes."

Frail hastily scribbled his name and ID at the bottom of the form. The shrill humming stopped. He wished he had brought more than his two 603's. One sight of those and the Shaktar was sure to kill him out of disgust. He pulled the top sheet of the contract off and handed it to Gel'Kil, who stuffed it unceremoniously back into his pocket.

The hat slid back into place. "We will find shelter and food. Then we will discuss the progress of this BPN. Come now."

Before Frail could protest, Gel'Kil had started moving up the street. The crowd, though distant in thoughts, wavered and moved aside ahead of his looming stature. Frail mentally shook himself and hurried off, trying to catch the killer before the sea of people closed in behind him.

He called out, "Mr Kil, Mr Kil please stop"

Gel'Kil did stop, abruptly. He turned and grabbed Frail by the throat. The grip tightened, choking Frail's air supply. His face and eyes started to turn bright red as blood.

"That is the third time you have insulted me in two minutes. My name is Gel.Kil, not mr, not sir. Just Gel'Kil. You will not survive the night unless you learn respect."

The hand was retrieved and Frail crumpled to the floor. He gasped for breath as Gel'Kil stood there, waiting. Slowly Frail gathered his composure again. He thought hard about what he should say as he stood up.

"Gel'Kil, I do not mean to impose on your patience but..."

"What you say and what you do are two separate things. Don't lie to me."

"Yes, yes whatever you say. I was only trying to warn you, we are very close to the next objective of the BPN. I would not want you to stumble upon it unprepared."

Gel'Kil grabbed Frail again, by the arm this time. Frail was thankful. They lurched to a nearby awning. "This will do, now talk. We are to locate a Darknight terrorist warehouse and sanction all subversives present. What have you accomplished so far ha'taz?"

Frail did not understand the last word. However, he decided to ask about it later.

"Well... yes, I've been tracking one of the subversives quoted from the BPN for two days. In that time he has made contact with over twelve people in this sector. I have observed illegal ordnance on all involved..."

"Which led you to believe they were subversives. I was told you were out numbered when you made your assault?"

Frail wasn't looking forward to this part, "Actually, my former colleague and I were attacked by gangers before we found the warehouse. We fought them off but he died shortly after."

"Why didn't you heal him, your profile mentions ebb healing?"

This worried Frail, he wondered just how far the Shaktar had dug into his background. He dropped his eyes to avoid giving anything away, hiding under false shame. "I had to use it all on myself."

Gel'Kil rumbled to himself. "Not what I want to hear. So go on, you must have had a break if you called me in?"

Frail met Gel'Kil's eyes again. "Yes, one hours ago he met with a number of others and they all moved to a bar near here. They haven't moved since then. I think they may be about to move off to the holding area. That's when I called my financier. He obviously got in touch with you for me."

Gel'Kil snorted, "Well, lets go put you well honed instincts to the test eh? Hate for them to have left by now.". A toothy grin emerged under the shade of the hat. Frail felt like a rat in a pig nest.

"Ok.. Ok then, this way"

"Oh lead on fearless leader, lead on do!"

Frail felt his temper rush again. The Shaktar was obviously mocking him, but he could bear it for now. Too much was at stake for him to alienate his only chance at pulling this off.

They moved quickly along the crowded suburban streets. At this level, the muck and oil of the run off from uptown was still fairly thin. The worst was saved for downtown and beyond. Here one could still get splashed and not worry about disease and toxins. Skyscrapers latticed with walkways and suspended autobahn's rose up on every block, this part of suburbia was on the edge of uptown. Here, every two uni subsidiary tried to cling on to the greatness of the big players, like Karma and Dark Lament. The constant drone of the unmoving traffic added to the claustrophobia. The eternal rain perpetuated the cold and the greyness was overwhelming.

The pair covered two blocks before Frail stopped. He indicated an alleyway across the street, a dimly lit crack between concrete mountains. "The Bar is down that alley. That's where the terrorists have been hanging out."

Gel'Kil rumbled to himself, "I could just stumble upon it eh? Lots of shivers in this area. Try to keep gun fire to a minimum, we won't want to be disturbed."

Gel'Kil moved off. Frail had to run to catch up as he passed through the traffic. A shiver approached from the other side of the street shouting at the pair.

"Hey freak boys, haven't you ever heard of crosswalk?"

As he approached, Gel'Kil flashed his coat. Frail only saw the shiver stumble back, he couldn't see around Gel'Kils' bulk.

"Sorry sirs, don't mind me. Carry on." The threat was gone from his voice, Frail wished he could see the shivers expression under his helmet.

As the darkness of the alleyway enveloped them Frail drew level with Gel'Kil. "What was that about, are you naked or something?"

Gel'Kil snorted, or chuckled, Frail couldn't tell which. "No, I showed him my SCL Badge and ID. He backed down, as he should."

"Badge and ID? Aren't they the same thing?"

"You'll see what I mean soon enough."

Frail was concerned at this. He could tell boasting when he heard it. Something in Gel'Kils' tone gave it away, he was tough talking. He was also taking the lead to much. Frail was worried that the imposing alien's bravado may cause his plans to backfire.

Foul tasting steam rose from drains and cloyed the air. In the dim light they could just make out doors, some boarded and some locked, most made of steel. A bass thrum boomed out along the walls further ahead becoming audible over the fading noise of the main street. A static melody of white noise soon followed. A pink neon glow became apparent, advertising their destination. As they approached, words formed from the vague cloud of light.

"The Tit and Slit Toss Pot. How seductive. These humans, such imaginations eh?"

"Uhh... yeah, they're real breeders."

Gel'Kil snorted. "Ha! I have sired over fifty offspring in my time. These weaklings can only manage four or five before the challenge overcomes them. Some can barely handle one, how pathetic."

"Oh really. So how many of yours do you see regularly?"

Gel'Kil paused. "Two".

Frail noticed the sudden strain in his voice. "I see, do you have a harem on the home world?"

"No, most have died in the five year ritual. Eleven died on Dante last year. I was so proud when I got the news."

Frail was slightly shocked to hear this. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Less talk, more work."

Frail almost caught himself shedding a tear for the Shaktar. He leaned closer to get a view through the bar window.

The floor of the Tit, Slit and Toss Pot was almost two metres lower than the alley. Smoke clouded and obscured the distant corners of the room, flashing lights barely visible. Tables and chairs littered the floor, of various makes and colours. A small, unworthy bar was visible to one side, a fat brain waster slouching against it. On a small stage, a nimble but flabby ebon woman gyrated and spun against a rust patched pole. Through the murk Frail guessed her age around thirty. Human flotsam and jetsam was strewn about the floor, each keeping to his own little island of wretched sleaze. Few unis were evident in the dancers scanty stringer.

Frail imagined their mundane being, a life lived of simplicity, chaos and hopelessness. He caught his second tear in as many minutes. Gel'Kil examined the patrons differently, sizing up the possible competition. Most of the aliens were small and fragile, wearing labourers uniforms. No suits, no armour, no deathsuits. He was satisfied.

"Where are our marks?"

Frail moved to point but Gel'Kil lashed out, holding his arm back.

"O.. Over by the door, four of them. Let go please." Gel'Kil released the stricken arm and looked back to the bar. A group of four burly humans was clearly evident. They hunched over the table, mouths moving in conversation, eyes oblivious to the sad display on the stage.

"They've picked a solid table, ten cent styro with a five mil steel cover. If they plan to use it for cover in case of attack it won't be bolted down. Low probability of other terrorists, I see no concealed weapons."

"Isn't that kind of the point?"

"To the untrained perhaps. Watch you mouth.. So what is you plan fearless leader?"

Frail suppressed another shudder of indignation. Before the night was out he would probably shoot his mouth off at this upstart warrior. He hoped he didn't. "Well, we wait here until they make their move. Then we follow them back to their base. We can scope the turf and lay down a mix for assault, yeah?

Gel'Kil stood unmoving for a moment. He turned to Frail,. The red scales of his face were lit up by the pink neon, a visage of grim malevolence. Frail could see the cold, wooden stare clearly.

"You're so now and hip." He snorted again. "A fantastic plan fearless leader. One brimming with tactical detail, courage and poor use of slang. I have an alternative."

Frail furrowed his brow, "What?"

Without word or sound Gel'Kil moved off swiftly. By the time he was through the door no one had noticed him. By the time he had leapt down the stairs, one of the suspects had raised his head. As the group looked round to see what their friend had noticed, Gel'Kil already had a hand under their table.

With a heave Gel'Kil flipped it over. Two were caught under it and the others scatted. Gel'kil planted his foot into the base, pinning two.

Several patrons of the bar had turned to see the spectacle.

A flash of colour and a power disc was embedded in the floor, which was unfortunate for the man sprawled there. Some of the onlookers cried out in horror, others slid quickly under their tables. The rest turned to see what the commotion was about.

The other man pulled a holdout. A MAC knife materialised and sheared his hand off. The holdout triggered as it crashed to the floor and its payload raced through the dancer.

Frail completed his calculation as he was coming through the door. For a brief moment, time slowed as his reflexes accelerated. He saw gouts of blood flying complacently through the air, crimson droplets drilling tunnels in the feelgood pall. Frail mused on an ancient Ebon proverb, 'Only Blood holds life'. It reminded him of another ancient teaching of Shaktar origin, 'One is only alive when in combat'. He mused on how similar these wisdoms were.

His eyes lazily swept the room, fixing on the stage. The dancer was slowly flying backwards. An expression of serene awe was spread on her face as she drifted. Eyes wide and mouth agape, leaving a wake of bright crimson dots. The splashes of colour moved Frail inside for a brief moment.

A loud clack dragged him back to the present. The bartender levelled a bully boy, illegal, at Gel'Kil. Numbers raced at impossible speeds through Frail's veins as he held out his hand. The bartender noticed Frail and swung the barrel towards him. The Ebon felt a bolt of fear run through him. He misjudged the path of numbers stretching out in his head,. The build up of flux dissipated with an invisible, noiseless pop.

The trigger was pulled. A shot whizzed through the air, illegal solid. Frail felt his deathsuit harden as the bullet clipped his side and punched through the wall behind him. The sting of it flooded his abdomen and he fell backwards. He clutched the wound, blood was flowing slowly through the rip in his deathsuit.

A Vibro Disc spun away across the distance and planted itself firmly in the bar. The bartender yelped and ducked out of view.

A hand came to rest on Frail's foot. He swung his free arm to beat the owner back but it was too late. A MAC knife protruded from the mans chest. His eyes were glazed and his features slack. Frail looked up and caught Gel'Kil's fangful grin.

"Too slow fearless leader. Now go and get that fat Ka'Kha."

Frail looked plaintively at Gel'Kil, "I'm wounded."

Gel'Kil laid a meaty paw behind Frail's back. "Barely" he said. With a shove Frail was up and stumbling across the floor. His wound forgotten, he looked around desperately for the bartender and his shotgun.

Frail noticed the patrons as his eyes swept the room. Some had ducked for cover but most had simply changed seats and were enjoying the new show. Sex and Violence were the laws of good entertainment.

No one was helping the dancer.

Neither was Frail concerned for her. He moved around the bar in a blur. The fat man was cowering behind the bar. He saw Frail looking down on him.

The bully boy barrel turned, but Frail was much faster. With Ebb enhanced speed and sudden desperation, he slapped the barrel down. It went off and a fat foot was turned to pulp, the round ricocheting into the bar. A grimace leapt onto the brainwaster's face followed by a scream. He clutched desperately at the bleeding stump and started rolling on the floor in agony. Frail was surprised, he didn't feel a thing despite the gruesome display.

His muscles relaxed as his enhancement burned up its flux. He bent over and scooped up the shotgun. Pain flashed up his side reminding him of his wound. Adrenaline and fear had suppressed it till now. A few short sums and the flesh knitted together. His deathsuit would have to wait until later.

Applause filled the room. Frail returned to Gel'Kil. The Shaktar had the two men still pinned with one firmly in his grasp, hand to throat. A patron stood, clapping enthusiastically. He moved to Frail and patted him on the back.

"Good work, reminds me of my young lad."

"Well thanks citizen, sit back and enjoy the encore."

Frail felt buoyed by the praise. He was not familiar with battle glory. He found it to his liking.

"What of the bartender fearless leader?"

"He's not going anywhere. Unless its in a circle."

"Excellent, now. Where is your base subversive?"

The mans face had already started going purple. A few strangled sounds escaped but little else, especially not an answer. But it was exactly the answer Gel'Kil was looking for.

"I can't hear you, speak louder. Where is the base?"

The other man looked fearfully at his choking companion. "He can talk your squeezing him to hard!"

Gel'Kil backhanded him, teeth clattered along the floor. "Please wait sir, your interrogation is next. Now you, where is the base?"

The throttled man felt his strength ebbing. He looked imploringly with bloodshot eyes at the hulking alien. He was on the edge of death and Gel'Kil could taste his panic in the air. It was a pleasing thing for him.

His last moment drew near and the man started to squirm. The table actually moved slightly with his throes. The crowd started cheering, eager for the kill. Frail noticed that Gel'kil's scales were flushing.

A snap and crackle heralded the end. A sudden twist and the Shaktar had finished the job cleanly. Professionally. The limp and lifeless head lolled and lay on the other mans'. He started moaning pathetically.

"Now sir, your interrogation." The horrible hand reached out. "Where is the…"

"Sector four thirty one-A. Level fifteen. It's a hidden warehouse, access is via the sewer. Pipe seventy two north. Please, please, please let me go."

Gel'Kil stepped back and the man slithered out from under the table. The patrons were unhappy at this turn of events, some started booing.

Frail felt his stomach settle at last. In all the excitement he hadn't had time to notice his fear and revulsion at the carnage. "What now, do we give him to the shivers?"

"No fearless leader, that would be far too cruel."

Gel'Kil walked forward and scooped up a scrabbling leg.

"Gentlemen. This man is a subversive and a traitor to SLA Industries. The company that feeds, pays and protects you is not good enough for him. He has sabotaged your lives, stolen your money and killed your children." The moans of protest transformed to affirmations.

"So why don't you honour the names the greatest contract killers. I give justice to you, the faithful citizens."

Gel'Kil heaved and the man flopped along the floor into the midst of the patrons. They didn't care for the Shaktar's words, only his offer. Some pounced, some broke bottles for weapons, some stood to watch and all felt bloodlust. For a few moments, their lives weren't going to be so pathetic.

The door of the bar closed, muffling the mans screams and the mobs howls. Gel'Kil breathed deeply and saw to his recovered weapons. He produced a cloth and started to wipe them clean.

"You performed well fearless leader. Who would have know it was in you?"

"What's that?"

"Such brutality. I would have had that shambling beer pig on his feet and given him a blade. But that's my own style of indulgence I suppose"

Frail shrugged, "I didn't want it that way. An I'm not that good with hand to hand weapons."

"I know, just as I know you will need something better than those 603's in your shoulder holsters. I don't think unarmoured civilians or serial killers will be greeting us later."

Frail was starting to feel violated by Gel'Kil's sharp observations. "Ah, ok. Will you be lending me something?"

Gel'Kil slowly shook his head in time with the strokes against his power disk. "You will not be dirtying my weapons with you touch Ebon."

Frail felt his blood rise again and almost retorted. Almost. Temperance and the sight of a shining yet battered power disk held aloft in the neon light changed his mind.

Gel'Kil completed his labour of love, the MAC knife vanishing into the trench coat. "Come now fearless leader, we have much to do before we move to the assault."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, we have a small mountain of paperwork to complete, you must turn in that bully boy and we need to get the shivers onto this scene. They're mostly useless, but a cut in the belly if they don't think your including them in the aftermath. Always the scraps, never the fight." Gel'Kil shook his head and pulled out a cellphone.

Frail frowned. "Who are you calling?"

"A tribesman. Level fifteen is quite low for suburbia so we need to make a quick housecall first."