Life hadn't been kind to Anderson Milay. Born to an austere family on a backwater planet where the only hope to pay your bills or put food on the table was to break your back for a mining company. Or turn to crime, but corporate enforcement knew better than to allow such a strangled populace as the one on Terseta V any leeway to carve out an illicit foothold. Poverty bred desperation, desperation bred crime, and the easier way to deal with such an inevitable outcome was to already have a system in place to mitigate any deviation from wage enslavement. Systems such as in house enforcement crews that were more than happy to correct anyone who thought they'd try and start a… side business.

  So when Arington came along with a recruiter spouting some nonsense about seeing new regions of space, learning useful skills, and getting off planet, Anderson hadn't hesitated to leave the empty mining community behind.

  In retrospect, he should have stayed.

  Arington wasn't much better; Long work hours, subpar pay, cruel authority… Joining these Keelhaulers had meant to signify him finally tossing off the shackles of servitude, all at the behest of a former council enforcement agent turned deckhand. Which… probably hadn't been the best person to glean life advice from. Koorka Station was supposed to be their big break, a den of crime and loose corporate regulations where they could stop being the ones pushed around and start doing some pushing themselves. The space station was known for it, infamous even, for granting the weary new chapters in their lives.

  Now, here he was, secured to the deck of their hangar turned headquarters by mag-boots that were quickly being distributed by his hurried fellows in the dark. There were no lights, no artificial gravity, and no comforting hum of air recirculation from the vents far overhead. Still… they had good leadership, they'd only lost a few guys as they tried to carve out a spot for themselves on Koorka Station… surely, they'd get through this too?

  "Check your suit seals!" The boisterous holler prickled his skin… that man, Jarle, the former enforcer with his cybernetic limbs, gestured and pointed and barked… He wasn't much different from the old bosses. "They'll be opening the airlocks and spacing our air! Check your seals! Make sure your mag-boots are tight to the deck!"

  Numb fingers encased in thick gloves ran around the connection points of his helmet, it wouldn't do to die to vacuum before at least getting a shot off on his attackers. There had been warnings, from the crew and the locals, that they were stomping around the wrong playground and were bound to step on toes they really shouldn't. Jarle hadn't listened, had insisted they needed to set down roots as the Keelhaulers or they'd be run down before the cycle was over by corporate enforcement teams from Arington. Their only hope was to make it unprofitable to follow up on the loss of cargo and breach of contract, to make it dangerous to pursue them.

  "Here they come!"

  A weakly blinking light over the closest airlock, the primary entrance, sputtered as the last vestiges of power from the backups drained. Someone was slicing an entry override…

  "Brace!"

  Anderson grit his teeth, squeezing the unfamiliar rifle to his chest with one hand and ducking down behind the barricade of cargo crates beside his fellows, each and every one of them wide eyed with adrenaline. He prepared for the inevitable rush of escaping air and flying cargo that would be sucked out into deep space, along with anyone whose mag-boots let free…

  Here it came…

  Only…

  It didn't…

  Slowly… Anderson peeked over his sanctuary to gaze at the large airlock door, more and more Keelhaulers doing the same, as the shining lights finally died.

  Anderson wasn't a stranger to high stress situations, being a deckhand wasn't exactly safe after all. However, when those airlock doors slammed open far faster than he thought they could, his mind and body froze. Several spheres rushed towards their position, their trajectory straight as an arrow in the zero gravity, to explode only feet from his face with a blinding light that seared his eyes and piercing booms that would have had his ears bleeding were it not for his helmet.

  Then came the gunfire.

  Like snapping zippers the hot metal raced by his head, pinging off the crate he quickly ducked behind as men to his left and right fell in screaming heaps. Columns of men rushed into the hangar from every airlock, now open to pour in nightmares, each one flanking along the walls in orderly formations he recognized from training as they poured on the hate.

  "Get the fuck up and return fire!" Jarle shouted, his own rifle barking a repost to the encroaching Rippers. Several fell, as he'd ordered anything that could be used a cover to be removed from the areas around the entrances, silent as the night as they bled out on the deck. More replaced them, like ants roiling from a mound, all laying down fire in much the same manner as Jarle had been trying to teach them. More Keelhaulers met their end, Anderson biting his tongue until the coppery taste of blood filled his dry mouth. If he were to die this day, it would be as a man. Terrified, to be sure, but on his feet.

  With a croaking roar that scratched his throat, the former deckhand turned amateur gangster rose, squeezing the trigger of his rifle with all the righteous fury of a man who had lived under the chains of Roarks his entire life. Who had known nothing but the leathery taste of corporate boot in his mouth as they stamped him down with low pay and restricted travel.

  His aim was true, the rounds slamming into the first man foolish enough to waltz straight through the airlock and refuse to take up formation aside it.

  Yet the impacts did nothing…

  Black segmented armor… lenses that gleamed dull in the growing dark… and a leering painted smile from ear to ear…

  Then pain…

  Anderson found himself coughing as he stared at the strange, armored man. His arms were much like Jarle's, replaced with terrifying cybernetics that moved nearly faster than his eyes could follow.

  Clenched in his hands was a revolver, massive and bulky, that rocked the man back on his mag-boots with each shot…

  Another cough…

  This time, Anderson blinked at the red mist that covered the inside of his helmet.

  "What…" It was the last thing before the hole in his chest took his life, the exit wound large enough that he hadn't even felt his lungs exposed to the air.

  So ended the journey of Anderson Milay.

  Miner.

  Deckhand.

  Misguided freedom seeker.

  ***

  Jack didn't wait for the man to go limp, awkwardly folding forward towards his still connected boots, before moving onto the next. He'd been dealt several gut shots but the old armor was holding up as well as it ever did, and the distraction was more than enough for the Rippers to push the Keelhauler's position.

  "Get intersecting sectors of fire goin'! Every even number team fire at will, all odd number teams wait for their reload! Cover and maneuver on that forward position!" None answered Jack's orders over the comms, not verbally at least. Instead, the Rippers followed without hesitation, gaining ground even as two more men fell under the Keelhauler's retreating gunfire.

  Similar scenes played out across the hangar as the former deckhands were accosted from two sides, their positions faltering even with superior numbers as the inexperienced men saw and drew blood for the first time.

  The Rippers had no such reservations.

  Actuators and servos whirred in Jack's limbs as his implanted eyes painted targets for his arms to snap to, his revolver roaring thrice more. Each round bore a Keelhauler to the deck before the cylinder ran empty. Thumbing the release, Jack jerked his revolver to slide free the still smoking casings while plucking a grenade from his suit's belt, tossing it towards the rear of the Keelhauler's position as he advanced.

  "Move your legs, Rippers! Take some ground!" His distorted voice rang over the din of gunfire as mechanical fingers slammed home fresh rounds faster than organic digits ever could, the hard case on his chest allowing for the shortest distance his hand had to travel in order to reload when he brought the empty weapon in close. "Taran, give me a sitrep."

  "Gainin', slow like. Sanders, reinforce tha' right flank 'afore we get pinched ya daft fuck!"

  Hot metal rained down on Jack's helmet as he slid into cover behind the pockmarked line of crates strapped to the deck, the far side riddled with the bodies of dead Keelhaulers. Cries for help went unanswered as Rippers joined him, coordinating their fire in intersecting cones of lead death at the retreating deckhands turned gangsters.

  "Got 'em on the ru-glk!" Blood bloomed into the air behind a Ripper as a round bore through his suit, and neck, like a morbid rose, his body limp on his still engaged mag-boots.

  "Heads down, these are just cannon fodder!" Jack blindly fired over his cover, shuffling down the line while ensuring his boots always stayed flat to the deck. It was amateur to try and use the zero gravity to get an aerial advantage in the middle of a gunfight, you'd simply draw the ire of every enemy gun your way and die riddled like a sieve. "They're fuckin' funneling us." Sparks skimmed off the mechanic's helmet as he risked a peek over cover, quickly ducking back down to study the screenshot his sensor suite had taken.

  Lines of Keelhaulers awaited them in a maze of cargo containers that stretched double high all the way to the distant wall, strapped down and quickly welded in place. No doubt there would be a crew of men waiting to gun down anyone who tried to climb over. That left the funnel in the center, a kill zone of hot metal and certain death guarded by fireteams of much rougher, and older, looking men. The initial weak defense had been a fake vanguard to pull the Rippers to the front line of cover, forcing them to either brave the trapped container maze and fight on Keelhauler terms or turn tail and regroup. Either choice wasted time neither side had. The thought brought a smile to Jack's face…

  "Blood and grit it is. Concussives and smoke, leapfrog up! We dyin' today, boys!" Whooping with glee, Jack tossed several of his own concussive and smoke grenades towards the Keelhauler position among a wave of others from the adjoining Rippers.

  Heart and legs pumping, the starship mechanic surged over his meager cover and into a wall of incoming fire. Rounds pinged off his shoulder, his leg, his chest, in clouds of sparks and slivers of rent metal that drifted away, untethered by gravity. One ricochet buried itself into the side of a nearby Ripper, boring him to the ground as he lost his footing, unable to properly set his mag-boot for the next step, only to be trampled by his fellows who were forced to focus on return fire in an attempt to avenge his loss.

  Alerts flooded Jack's vision as his helmet painted Keelhaulers hidden in the sudden conical plume of acrid smoke, thermals engaging to guide him around corners and reveal small cut outs in the walls of containers used as kill boxes.

  KRA-KOW

  A single shot each, guided by his cybernetics, took each hopeful target as they slipped rifles and scatterguns through the tight openings, eager to gun down the encroaching swarm of cackling gangsters. Like a pack of starving hyenas, they formed on Jack's six as he cut a path through the smoke and brain rattling explosions, the Keelhaulers more than willing to use fragmentation and trip mines, uncaring to protect their own cargo.

  One Ripper's legs vanished in a flash of red mist and pulverized bones as he dashed ahead, Jack leaping over the IR painted laser his helmet alerted him to. Like lemmings, the line of men following behind followed in kind until one was simply too slow, taking him and several around him to a similar slow death.

  "Taran, we're pushin' through a kill zone. Losin' guys left an' right! This would be easier if'n we had just spaced 'em!"

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  "We be pickin' at 'em. We ain't runnin' into that death trap! We can't space either, remember the deal! Ya get ya pinger an' the Rippers get the guns! We can't go chasin' spaced cargo across the cosmos with our piddly little shuttles!"

  "Pussy!"

  Air whooshed from Jack's lungs as the hammer fall of another round impacted his chest, nearly dropping him to his knees. Though he stumbled, the mechanic pushed on through watery eyes, a Ripper gunning down the man who had shot him center mass. There wasn't even time to thank the stranger, not even time to offer a nod, only a moment to let his helmet feed targeting data to his arms and let the cybernetics fly.

  KRA-KOW KRA-KOW KRA-KOW

  The final stretch bore naught but a maddening crisscross of weapons fire, debris and blood and spent casings floating towards the ceiling like a macabre cloud as Keelhaulers and Rippers died en masse.. Jack bore the tip of the spear, charging ahead of his less armored comrades to take the encroaching fire on his chest plate like a living battering ram. Vision vanished as he tore through the final smoke cloud, face to face with the main cordon of Keelhaulers. Anger and fear reflected in the helmet's dim lenses, former deckhands and hopeful fools gazing into their own eyes as the infamous proprietor of the Stripped Bolt descended upon them like a rabid animal.

  With a twirl of his finger, Jack's revolver find itself safely back into its holster, freeing his hands for work. Metallic fingers closed around the barrel of a rifle held by a man too eager to prove himself valuable. Tugging hard, Jack ripped the weapon free from the his startled grasp while lancing forward with a scything jab. Polycarbonate shattered like broken glass, Jack continuing on through the helmet and into soft flesh underneath, the bones snapping under his alloy knuckles with a crunch like a crushed shell. The unprepared Keelhualer's head lolled on a suddenly loose neck, his limp body crashing to the deck as he tried to scream through the shards of helmet visor embedded into his throat and eyes.

  Jack simply stepped over the man, flipping the stolen rifle around to pour angry fire into the tightly packed formation still slinging rounds into the long cones of smoke behind him. Sparks flew from his armor as the Keelhualers fortunate enough to have been on the opposite side of the cargo container trench turned their weapons upon him, dull thuds ringing out like miniature gongs as rounds impacted his side.

  Rippers sprang from the smoke, spurred on by the presence of one of Koorka Station's outer rings icons.

  "Keep your heads, boys! This is where the fun starts!" Jack hollered with a whooping laugh, encouraging the foolhardy men deeper into the maze. "Taran, give me an update."

  "Movin' up slow. Scatterin' 'em with grenades but we gonna run out soon."

  "Give 'em hell then! Ammo is cheap today!"

  Jack lagged behind the ever-growing group of Rippers, their collective confidence soaring as Keelhauler response began to wane. There was still far to go yet however, and more than one bright eyed gangster fell prey to their own enthusiasm. Piling corpses, their loyalties in life no longer a subject that mattered, mingled upon the deck in a growing pool of blood that drifted untethered by earthly forces. Glassy eyes stared beyond the steel walls and chaos, out into the black between the stars and beyond time. Jack ignored them, following the Rippers slow march forward.

  "Tik'Tik, bird buddy, still alive? How's your end going?"

  "Hangar oxygen at sixty percent and falling, all these ballistic weapons are eating up the air." The Vector squawked from his hiding place well behind the main assault force. "Emergency power is minutes from dying, we'll lose lights soon and have to see via evacuation klaxons."

  "Now the fun really starts." Jack leered, filling his lungs with the stale oxygen from his suit. Adrenaline surged in his veins as he rejoined the still pushing Rippers, now able to hear Taran's force pinching the Keelhaulers from the distant side. A hammer and anvil, picture perfect and well executed. In an attempt to box in their opposition, the Keelhaulers had also erased their own vectors of egress. Jack watched with a thin smile as several tried to climb the very containers they'd set in place, only to be gunned down from behind as they made themselves targets. His stolen rifle barked a report, finishing off the routed deckhands, before rejoining the main force at a bottlenecked kill zone. Here, the containers had been angled and latched so only one man could pass through at any time. One Ripper, his eyes crazed by some inhaled narcotic, let loose his mag-boots to try and sail over the impasse in zero gravity. What was left of him from the answering hail fire the moment he peeked his head above the man-made corridor continued to drift limply towards the ceiling.

  "Taran, we're stuck at a chokepoint, y'all farin' any better?" Jack's knees bent as the ZIP of overhead rounds pierced the lull in fire, Keelhaulers poking at the stonewalled Rippers with inaccurate fire.

  "Nope, we be seein' the same. Losin' guys here, what be the call?"

  "Gonna lose 'em all jus' sittin' around! Ram every fuckin' concussive ya got through the choke and flood 'em!"

  "Ya fuckin' tryin' to get us kil-"

  A rictus grin spread across Jack's face beneath the increasing heat within his helmet, his teeth bared and nostrils flaring, as he tossed the procured rifle aside. Rippers jeered and hollered as they watched Mad Jack pull every grenade he still had, others following suit, in a broiling hive of madness and glee. Jack didn't even need to say anything as he tore the pins free, slapping the grenades through the tight opening and watching them sail straight and true through the zero gravity. A veritable sea of spheres followed behind, nearly every Ripper copying their team lead with accompanying howls of excitement.

  Blinded by his presence, the accrued crowd of Rippers charged headlong into the chokepoint, sliding one by one through the gap like soldiers charging a pillbox.

  The roar of Keelhauler weapons nearly drowned out Jack's thoughts. Most of the shots were poorly aimed, the men who made up the phalanx erected on the far side of the containers still reeling from the concussive onslaught. Many pressed their hands to the side of their helmets in futility, their ears and noses bleeding within.

  Rippers leapt, stepped, and hopped over the growing pile of their fellows' corpses, their own volley far more accurate regardless of their animalistic behavior. Jack's own boots lifted lively over the still warm body of a man who'd taken a rifle round between the eyes, his morale soaring as he saw Taran knifing into the Keelhaulers position from a distant angle.

  This was it, the final push for king of the hill.

  Foregoing his revolver, Jack stormed ahead with hands raised, clapping them together as he reached the Keelhaulers line in tandem with his own men. What had once been a firefight descended into a bloody brawl, the quarters simply too tight to continue accurate fire. In a desperate bid for defense, the former deckhands had boxed themselves into an area no larger than a cargo shuttle, barely enough room for fifty people.

  Jack's armored hands came together on the helmet of a Keelhauler who looked no more than a mere twenty years old, his visor shattering under the power of cybernetics designed to manipulate ship parts. The spray of blood and skull painted the jester grin on Jack's helmet a splattered red, his arms moving with mechanical efficiency that broke ribs and snapped necks.

  Bellowing a roar that filtered through his helmet's speaker as a distorted electronic wail, Jack clotheslined the next 'Hauler with enough force to slam the man's head into the floor, red seeping through his teeth as he scrabbled at his throat in pain and fear. A reflection of movement in the dying man's visor warned the mechanic of the next in line swinging for his liver.

  A hammer fall of pain nearly sent Jack to the deck as the stock of a rifle impacted his side, his legs wobbling as the air left his lungs. A swift uppercut snapped the man's head back, the gun turned club falling from his hands as Jack's seized his suit at the chest and turned, planting his boot and tossing the Keelhauler over his shoulder soundly to the deck where Rippers finished him off with a flurry of shivs and knives, opening both him and his suit to the dwindling air of the hangar.

  Were you to ask the surviving men of this day if Mad Jack was invincible, they would say yes, however the reality was much different. Deep aches peppered the man's chest beneath his durable armor and the connections of his implanted arms throbbed with red hot agony. His legs felt like jelly, his knees trembling, and a vicious headache bloomed behind his overworked mechanical eyes.

  Jack had taken the role of shield too far…

  "Tik'Tik, sitrep, how we lookin'?"

  "Air is nearly gone, keep your helmet on. Inner rings are scrambling fighter craft and response teams soon, I can't stall them anymore. Breaking off an entire freaking hangar will do that. We've got Arington Freighter inquiries pouring in and most likely a corporate enforecement team inbound through the FTL gates. We need to finish this now." Jack chuckled, sighing as the Rippers descended on the last desperate group of Keelhaulers, Taran at the head of the pack.

  "Haahaaaa, give us five minutes, we-"

  Words died in the man's throat as Taran gunned down a Keelhauler screaming through a scraggly beard, the inside of his visor speckled with spit. He was focused, determined, and single minded on the push…

  Jack had seen the man who whipped up behind Taran with a simple pistol.

  He'd seen him in the video from Mo'Ona's recon… the man who had attempted to train a bunch of overworked deckhands into some semblance of a fighting force.

  Jack didn't yell when the side of Taran's helmet blew open, a weightless spray of red and gray blooming from his head like a wet crimson rose.

  No hollers or grunts or cries of dismay, no denial of what his eyes were seeing…

  No.

  Mad Jack charged.

  Rippers and Keelhaulers alike fell to the wayside as the armored brute tackled through the lines towards the augmented man, his two dull metal legs setting and single cybernetic arm snapping Jack's way to pummel the encroaching man with pistol fire. His free hand, a flesh and blood arm, held a radio in a white knuckled grip that suddenly went dark, his teeth baring in a feral snarl as he tossed the offending item away. Rounds sparked off Jack's helmet, alarms blaring in his suit as one impacted the bicep of his right arm, denting the metal and shooting a piercing pain into his shoulder.

  Nonetheless, Jack reached the man with a sprinting elbow that was hastily blocked by the responding metallic arm. A sound of steel alloy on steel alloy rang across the battlefield like a wartime gong, Jack following up with a quick jab, cross combo that were both similarly blocked. Sweeping the pistol up under the lip of Jack's helmet, the nameless Keelhauler attempted to end the fight quickly, his breath whooshing from his lungs as a wide haymaker from the mechanic nearly doubled him over.

  KRAK!

  The round bounced off Jack's helmeted forehead, cracking a lens and tumbling away into the field of debris and bodies above as Jack's hands clenched around the man's organic arm before slamming his boot down beside the 'Hauler's own, flinging and ripping him off his feet. Anger flashed in his eyes as he fell, impacting the deck with a heavy thud, his arm still outstretched in Jack's grip.

  And Jack twisted… He twisted until something gave, only a slight moment of resistance stopping him.

  What had once been a rage filled snarl turned to a pained wail as Taran's killer found his final remaining organic limb cracked and splintered in its socket, his final hope and dream of being a free man flashing before his eyes as Jack tossed the limp tube of flesh and bone aside, held together only by the sleeve of his suit.

  Jack's descending fist was the last thing he ever saw, boring through his visor to pulp his skull.

  The man's death did little to lessen the ringing in Jack's ears, the sight of Taran's body still standing boneless in his mag-boots one that would join his nightmares for quite some time.

  It was as if a switch had been flipped in the Keelhaulers, the sight of their leader and figurehead dead beneath Jack's armored form tearing what little fight still remained from them. Weapons were tossed, hands were raised…

  Mercy wasn't shown.

  Jack turned his back on the slaughter of the surrendering Keelhaulers as the Rippers exacted their revenge, going to the body of a man he'd once called friend. Tik'Tik stood beside Taran's still standing corpse, the Human's glassy eyes gazing at something far beyond anything either of them could see now. The bird said nothing, his beady avian eyes conveying all Jack needed to hear.

  Another corpse for Jack's goals.

  Another validating bag of meat that proved everything Tik'Tik said about him was true.

  "You should… you should probably grab your pinger and get out of here before Arington arrives…" Tik'Tik backed away from Taran's deathly still corpse… backed away from Jack's blood covered armor…

  "Yup."

  Silence stretched between the two before Tik'Tik turned…

  And ran.

  "J-Jack… if you… I'll leave Koorka if you ever ask for my help again." The little Vector could feel the Human's eyes on his back, feel the soul sucking presence of Mad Jack watching him flee.

  "… Yup…"

  Jack was gone before the fighting was over, before the culling had finished. At the end of the day, hangar bay fifty-six beta held no Keelhaulers and one missing pinger… No one asked where Jack had gone either. Content to let beasts walk away while they descended on the cargo left behind.

  ***

  Lix tapped her taloned paws upon the deck, her fangs chewing at her claws as worry gnawed within her breast. More than once she'd pulled up comms to demand an update from her Human, and each time she swiped the screen away in her vision. If he was in trouble, distracting him could cost him his life. If he wasn't, she'd see him soon.

  Hopefully soon, that is…

  The Gerthtrude held vigil over the disconnected hangar like an avenging angel, her massive PDC turrets bristling at the void. Koorka Station itself was keeping her occupied well enough. The moment Jack had started his operation did her comms panel light up, demands for explanation coming across the wire every five minutes nearly on the dot. So far, Lix had stalled suspicion by claiming she had been tailing Mo'Ona during a test flight of several new systems, just in case the little rat pilot ran into any trouble of course. They had simply been in the area when an entire hangar bay burst loose from the bottom of Koorka Station, how awful! As a good citizen and Samaritan, she and her rodent companion had decided to lash the station with magnetic tow cables and keep the massive cube of steel from drifting away!

  Lix didn't think they'd bought a word of her weak cover story, but no one had moved to stop them.

  "Captain Lix to Koorka Station flight control, can I get an ETA on emergency response vehicles? I'm burning my own fuel here…"

  "Koorka Station to commercial private vessel Gerthtrude, be advised, station authority scrambling assistance shortly."

  Annnnd… that was that. The line went dead, leaving the raptor to smile nervously at Mo'Ona's visage on a side screen. He simply grinned back, giving her a tiny claw tipped thumbs up. Neither dared speak over the comms about the goings on inside the hangar for fear of the Inner Ring catching wind. No doubt they'd be monitoring the channels.

  It wasn't until the sight of a Human pulling himself along one of the Gerthrude's tow cables, one armored in black, that Lix's heart began to slow.

  "Thank the stars, Jack you thin lipped fuck…" The Kux'lar's elation grew when she noticed her Human tugging a moderate sized crate behind him. Mo'Ona chuckled as she vanished from the comms panel, her paws carrying her quickly to the too small lift and down into the cargo bay just as the airlock klaxons began to shriek.

  "Jack!" All her elation turned back to worry and fear as the man all but fell into the cargo bay, the heavy crate thudding to the ground now that gravity had a hold upon it once more. Lix couldn't care less about the score, lurching to catch the exhausted mechanic as he tripped, her powerful legs holding him somewhat upright while her weaker arms shivered under the weight of his armor. "Jack! Jack! Get that helmet off, are you hurt?"

  "Just my pride… got the pinger though. We're all se-"

  "Worry about that later, you need outta this gear so I can at least check you over."

  "No, love, I can take care o' this. Unhitch the Gerthtrude and get us back to the Stripped Bolt first." Jack waved the raptor off with a smile that went unseen inside his helmet as she began to lift one foot, then the other, in a sort of worried little dance. "Ya can yell at me later," He continued, his voice soft. "When we're home."

  Lix narrowed her eyes, her head tilted at that angle that always warmed Jack's heart.

  "Jack what's… something's wrong…" Their eyes met, Jack's hidden behind his lenses… held for several moments… then broke. Jack looked away first. "It was bad in there, I mean of course it was, but… how many did we…" The Kux'lar trailed off, her claws wringing together as her tail lashed in agitation.

  "Taran…" The wringing stopped…

  "N-No… fuck…"

  "Yeah, I got the guy but… Taran's gone."

  "Fuck… fuck… Taran is… he…" Lix shook her scaly head, wavering on her paws. "He was so nice to me… gave me my first gun an-" Moisture built in the Kux'lar's eyes before she growled, a hissing like metal sheets sliding upon one another. "I… time f-for that later. Right now we n-need to get back home and get you looked at. I'll call Lily on the w-way there."

  "Don't invo-"

  "Gnah! You've got more than a f-few bumps and bruises. I'm calling Lily, end of discussion, c-captain's orders! Now you just sit there and rest a-and… and uh… leave the rest to me."

  At that, Lix suppressed a sob, leaned down to lick the surface of Jack's helmet, and turned on her paws back towards the cockpit. Her steps started weak and shaky, but grew with confidence after a paw came up to wipe at her wet eyes.

  "Skrunkles! You still on the line? Let loose and meet up back at the Stripped Bolt!" Jack watched her go, ensuring the lift was fully out of sight before unsealing his helmet with languid hands. One by one, each clasp and buckle and zipper came away, plates falling to the deck to reveal a heavy-duty jumpsuit underneath. Air hissed between the man's teeth as he pulled down the final, heaviest zipper, bearing his chest pocked with purple bruises like the surface of a moon. Beneath the damaged skin, a rib felt… off. Most likely fractured, or so he hoped.

  "Stars damnit that smarts…" An aerosol of painkiller was clenched between his teeth before his ass even hit the deck, his chest heaving as he inhaled deep the relieving mist inside. Liliana would have shot him dead herself if she had seen him simply huffing an entire container, but needs must. His shoulders, and the cybernetic connections for his arms, had long since passed the point of pain and had descended straight into throbbing numbness. Once he came down from the adrenaline… well… he didn't want to be able to feel much of anything at all…

  Taran's face, glassed over by the presence of death, hadn't left Jack's mind since he'd seen his old friend's head blown apart. It wasn't his first loss, nor would it be his last most likely… yet it hurt all the same. So very few were left from the old days, and even if Taran hadn't counted amongst the old crew, he still held history on Koorka Station.

  Another body…

  Another corpse…

  Another on the list of Mad Jack's path of destruction…

  Slowly… Jack turned his gaze to the heavy crate next to his bruised and battered body, his fingers gripping his inhaler like a cigar as he leaned to pop open the metal latch. The pinger wasn't very large, only slightly girthier than his upper body and about seventy pounds…

  Their little key into the Last Stop Staryard… A key Taran had died for. Sure, the Ripper had known the risks… had even demanded his cut… But all those dead, for these seventy pounds of metal and wires? Jack knew it would be worth it in the end. Worth it for Lix… worth it for himself to go back…

  Lix…

  Lixistruzsias…

  She'd be angry when she saw the extent of his injuries, livid even, the thought of her angry face and bared fangs bringing a pained chuckle to his lips. Perhaps she'd nip him? Most likely…

  The thought of her reaction when she discovered the nature of the Last Stop Staryard, however, melted that mirth away like ice on the surface of a sun…

  End of Act Two