“Ah.  My old nemesis.  Stairs.”

This “garrison” is bigger than I thought it would be.  Apparently reaching from almost halfway into the courtyard, to the street surrounding the block.

After entering, we walk down a wide dimly lit hallway.  The smell of concrete and mold is thick and heavy.  Any paint on these old walls is long gone.  The once tiled floors, now mostly not so.

Our tour passes store rooms, shops, even a garage, before reaching the building’s center.  Plenty of improvised defenses, like gunports, razor wire, and barriers, have been added.

We find two rubble filled doorways that I bet were once elevators and a wide well used stairwell occupying the building’s central lobby.  The stairs reach both upwards and downwards.

Sigh.  Grew to really hate stairs in medieval land.  Though I’m sure it helped keep the girls in shape.

“B-big bro?”

Digger looks as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  While our tour guide, Mister Douchebag, has been joined by two other assistant assholes who have also clearly long practiced the ancient art of sneering-fu.

Same mishmash outfits I’ve seen on other “tribals” here.  It really is its own style.  A dirty stained assortment of leather, cloth, and denim that would look right at home in a Mad Max movie.

So why aren’t Digger and I dressed like them?  Our getup looks more like civies or campers.

The only difference is these “warriors,” have a bit nicer clothing and some pieces of body armor here and there.  Also?  Guns, each is armed.  Nothing heavy though.  Just pistols, knives, and axes.

“Sniveling shits…  Grateful we even let them eat…  Eat my ass and like it…”

While the two behind hate us quietly.  Dumbass up front is bitching non stop as he leads up flight after flight of stairs.  Apparently “Umeras” are not just hated by the “new chief.”

“Shank, please, keep peace.”

I’m getting annoyed and Digger must be able to tell as he keeps whispering next to me.

(2nd floor…  3rd floor…  4th floor…)

From the outside this building looked seven or eight stories tall.  The top floor had a good bit of glass left too.

I’m counting the stories as we climb.  Two sets of double doors at each landing are long gone so I can see into each floor as we pass.  They all seem to be housing.

Large rooms with beds, some other furniture, and families.  Dressed like campers at first but turning more tribal as we climb.  Kids look at us curiously.  Scurrying away when our douchebag guide yells at them.

Digger waves when we pass the fourth floor.  Some way to young kids wave back.  Maybe that’s where the Umeras stay?  Is what you can wear determined by your status in the tribe?

Floor six is in significantly better shape than the rest.  Doors even still in their frames.  Officer quarters possibly?  Tribal elders?

The concrete and mold odor thins as we climb too.  Must still have working ventilation.  Or a lot more holes in the walls.

Gotta admit this “tribe” is bigger than I expected.  Probably a good five hundred plus?  Counting a couple hundred “campers” in the courtyard and this is quite the operation.

(7th floor…)

Can tell there is another floor over this one.  Must be another stairwell somewhere.  Mister Douchebag notices someone and says condescendingly.

“What are you doing here?”

The stairwell opens into a lobby.  A couple of almost fully body armored tribal bruisers are loitering plus?

(Damn...)

One, certifiable, hottie.  Tribal style?  Shit.  All she’s wearing is a bikini with delusions of grandeur.

Tassels and other bits “seem” to be covering more but all they really do is tease the eyes.  Revealing then hiding again all the fun bits as she moves.

Bikini girl is shy too, blushing as her arms and legs cross.  Trying to cover what she’s already shown.

“Chief says go back to your room.  Got another bitch for the night.  Want a zap?”

Frantically shakes her head as I finally manage to tear my eyes off her quivering gotta be F cup tits. Honey skin, green eyes, with shoulder length copper hair swinging back and forth as I notice what’s around her neck.

(Collar?)

[Confirmation…  It is an Obedience Model E control collar.  Has multiple punishment settings including constriction and electric shocks.  Also an explosive charge for anti-tampering and anti-theft purposes.  With a rechargeable battery life of-]

(Turn on adblock Nina.  I’m not looking to buy one.)

The shrinking flower suddenly resolves herself and strikes back.

“I-I had a vision.  Th-the chief must know about.”

Tour guide gets a rapey look in his eyes, approaches, and starts pawing one of bikini girl’s tits as he leans over her.  She seems trapped in a flight or fight response.  Unable to decide.

(This girl needs some confidence.)

“Tell me?”  He’s oozing scumbaggery.  “I’ll stop by later.  Give that special reward you love.  Hmm?”

“N-n-no no.”  Stuttering girl stutters.  “No d-drugs.”  And shudders.  “C-can’t th-think and y-you make m-me do th-things to you.”

(Eww…)

Douchebag’s face turns sour and the hand fondling her tit squeezes, hard, then throws her to the floor.

“Chief calls you tribe’s witch cause you got mind-eye.”  Stares down at her.  “You're just a bitch shakin your ass.  Another runaway like these scavs.”  Who you think you’re pointing at?  “A princess spreadin cheeks for-”

“Emil.”

The older assistant asshole finally speaks.

“Chief had you beaten last time you left marks.  Said skinnin if you do it again.”

Asshole junior chimes in.

“Might even get a collar, boss.  You think Chief won’t?”

Can hear “Emil’s” teeth grind, even growls, but finally keeps himself from hitting or kicking bikini girl.

(So this is the witch.  Mind-eye?  Runaway?)

[...]

(Now you’re quiet?)

[Insufficient data…]

Throughout the incident I notice “witch” keeps sneaking glances at me.

“Tch!”

Emil the douchebag angrily stomps off and Digger helps bikini girl get to her feet.  We follow dumbass down a short corridor the two bruisers hang outside.  Stopping before a big metal double door at the end.

*clang* *clang* *clang*

Uses the butt of a knife to hammer on the door.

*shunk*

A port in the door slides open and so does one in the wall on our flank.  We get the eye from the door’s slot and a shotty pointing at us from the wall’s.  Lots of voices and a jazzy tune drift out.

“Hurry up dammit!”

The doorman ignores douchebag’s whining and gives me a tough glare.  Seemingly satisfied, both ports slide shut and the heavy doors swing open.

Inside is…

(Slave Leia?)

What I bet was a big meeting room or training room decades ago has been converted into a throne room.  Along the walls to the right and left are raggedy curtains mostly covering the windows I saw from the ground.

In between the windows are weak tinted wall lamps.  Dimly bathing the room in a yellow light.  Before those walls are some chairs and tables.  About half of them?  Occupied.  All of them watching us.

The chatter and music, stops.

Opposite our entrance is a throne.  Sort of.  A sad joke compared to what I used to sit on but thone like at least.  Cobbled together from…  Car parts?

In front of that throne is, yeah, Slave Leia.  The outfit and pose a match to what I remember from a movie a long time ago in a theater far far away.

Holding the other end of her chain though is not Jabba the Hutt.  That overgrown slug would look positively GQ compared to this…  Human?  Probably?

Seriously one ugly mother fucker.  Poor hobbit looking bastard got smacked around by the ugly stick all the way there, and back again.

“Sally?”

Digger’s question seems to shake up the dazed and confused chick laying in front of the throne.  Yeah, easy to tell what she’s been doing.  Damn, let the girl wash her face and hair at least.

Slave Leia, I guess Sally, doesn’t lose out to bikini girl.  Alabaster skin, blue eyes, with long black hair in a ponytail.  A bit shorter, thinner, and only swinging D cups, but she’s also years younger and even freshly defiled, looks damn cute.

“D-Digger?”

Sally seems to have a hard time focusing.  May have something to do with what's all over her face and or that fresh black eye.  Chief, on the other hand, has no problem zooming in with his peepers.

Wow.  When he looks at me, “I hate you” is written all over his face.  His voice dripping with scorn.

“What’s this slave doing here?  The Oxa stuff you in a whorehouse yet?  Which corner you working?  Maybe we’ll send you some business.”

Most of the peanut gallery laughs it up.  Seems they don’t have the highest opinion of me.  The band though stays quiet.

Wait.

(Band?  Jesus.  Is this a knock off Jabba’s Palace?)

A quick check of the floor shows no trap doors leading to large but slow and stupid monsters.  Whew.  Guy can’t be too careful these days.  Wretched hive of scum and villainy?  Table for two please.

Honestly?  Not.  Some of the spectators are clearly thugs with bad intentions but most just look scared or nervous.  Can hear distant tornado sirens still wailing.  Most look like civies or campers with only a few tribals mixed in.

Flanking the throne are less impressive seats with what look like older tribals.  Elders maybe?  Some of them are even wrinkly grey hairs.

The campers in the gallery are probably the leaders of those down in the courtyard.  Most of the civies have a merchant vibe to them.  Maybe those are their trucks downstairs?

The couple of tribal tables have their own style of getup.  Similar but also different compared to the others.  Colors are a bit different too.  Members of other tribes?

Lastly, now who are these two?

Wearing body armor under cloaks, faces hidden by full helmets, and their guns?  Are those assault rifles?   Damn.  Could have used them back in medieval land.  Would have made life much simpler.

Wary but cool with dangerous auras.  No one dares to crowd them.

[Caution…]  Those two are suddenly highlighted.  [Targets displaying Hunter idents.  Skills, equipment and enhancements are likely superior to yours.]

(Hunters?)

[Adapting…  The closest analogy to your previous life is adventurers.]

(Interesting…  Idents?)

[Identification.  Anyone ever employed by the city-state must be registered.  Personal Networks have the option to set their identity to publicly viewable.]

(Why?)

[Faster process-]

“Chief Degory!”  Our tour guide has some lung power.  “The ungrateful and unworthy Umeras have returned!  Bringing meager tribute!”

We’ve stopped in the middle of the room.

Two more sneer-fu assholes joined Mister Douchebag after we entered, so I’m now surrounded by five tough guys.  The bikini girl joined us and is standing close to Digger besides me.

Chief Fugly would kill me with his eyes if he could.  If that doesn’t work his gross ass face just might do me in.  Jesus, this guy really hates my guts.  Wonder what I did.

*grab*

“Slave.  Let go, now.”

Douchebag growls out the words.  I’ve got a grip on his hand, that was reaching for the KC 10mm on my right hip.

“You’re nothin now.  Just Oxa property.  A ghost.  No standin.  No status.  What the Oxa didn’t give belongs to the Chief.  And they wouldn’t give that to scum.”

While this piece of shit is bigger than me?  I’m more solid and have better leverage.  He tries to rip his hand away but it doesn’t budge.  I’m not even looking him in the eye.  My peepers are watching the rest of the crowd.

“Down on your knees.  Or I’m gonna visit that family.  Just kids now.  Maybe I’ll take them.  Show them how to please a real man.”

He’s come so close, I can smell his rancid breath.  The peanut gallery has noticed piss boy isn’t cooperating so are getting expectant.

My right hand locking down douchebag’s wrist lets go.  “Emil” grins victoriously.

“That’s better, slave.  Know your pla-hyeuk!”

*hauk* *hyauk*

Unfortunately for tour douche, I am now officially pissed.  I let go of his right hand just so my right could knife into his throat.  Collapsing and crushing it.

As his hands reflexively grab his choking smashed throat and he topples forward.  I’ve stepped in and started pivoting.  My right now drawing that gunmetal grey KC 10mm beast while my left pulls out his pistol on his right hip.

(The weight of plastic and metal in my hands.)

Bikini girl has already grabbed the confused Digger and pulled him to the ground with her.  Must be psychic since she started moving the moment I did.

Her outfit and now fully exposed lifted bountiful rear end, grabbing everyone’s eyes.

*Boom* *Bang* *Boom* *Bang*

Loud in this enclosed space, two 10mm slugs punch through the half chest plate of asshole number two.  The shots from only a few feet away actually pick him up and slam him back to the ground.

(Thunder of propellant igniting.)

Asshole number one catches two 7.5mm bullets that are a little high and left.  Causing him to spin as he drops.

I lunge forward while crossing my arms and dropping to my knees.  Sliding pass Digger and bikini girl.

*Bang* *Boom* *Bang* *Boom* 

Now hot lead is ripping into the newcomers to our tour.  Assholes three and four.  Who are both half way through drawing their own boomsticks.

(Feel of the recoil traveling down my arm.)

Number three catches the two 10mm’s in his stomach.  So he pitches forward as he is lifted up and then belly flops onto the tiles.

The 7.5mm slugs for four are a little off again.  Low and right, this time, ripping into his waist and left thigh.  Giving him the opposite spin as he tumbles.

*Bam* *Bam* *BOOM* *Bam* *BOOM*

Charging out from cubby holes on the right and left side of the door are two more tribals.  One has the shotty that was pointing at me earlier..

(Clank of the action loading the next round.)

But they are spraying and praying.  Feel a ripping sting as an arm catches a few pellets.  Only a minor bite.

*Boom* *Boom* *Bang* *Boom* *Bang* *Bang*

Each of them get three rounds.  Center of mass this time and they both collapse back.

My slide has come to a stop.  Dropping the pistols I go prone while pulling the black and brown “Felger” from over my shoulder.

*SLAM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

(Sting of the burning gasses.)

The metal double doors crash open as the two loitering bruisers smash through.  And immediately meet with shot from 15mm shells at close range.  Perforating their body armor.

What reaches the floor after being thrown back is near shredded

Drop the Hof 15mm now while rolling left as I sit up and rise to a knee.  This time drawing both sleek black Nivrutti P7 7.5mm’s.  Track and sweep for secondaries but find none.

(Christ I missed this.)

Most of the peanut gallery is screaming, crying, and or cowering, behind overturned tables and chairs.  A couple of those tribal elders flanking the throne are now on the ground, bleeding.

The rest are also behind their chairs now.  Except for three who are still seated and calm as can be.  Watching me closely.

The guards in the cubbys were the only ones who got off shots besides me during those sixteen mortal seconds.  And they were aiming that way.  Guess those seniors got unlucky.

The two “Hunters” are the only ones in the gallery still seated.  Hands on their holsters but they haven’t made a move yet.  Probably waiting to see how this plays out.

Some of the now bloodied assholes have passed out already.  At least three are dead or about to be.  A couple are trying to crawl away.  None are holding, nor reaching for, a gun.  Clearly not interested in continuing this fight.

*cough* *cough*

“K-k-kill y-you.  D-dead.“

*hack*

(Douchebag is still alive?)

[Analysis…  Target appears to have a level one or two physical enhancement.  However, it seems proper maintenance has not been performed, the module has been damaged, or the subject has poor compatibility.]

(So nanites can even heal a crushed windpipe?)

[Affirmative...]

(Cool.)

With calm and steady steps.  Don’t want to trigger another firefight.  I holster the Nivruttis, sling the Felger, and pick up the KC.

(Need a cooler name for the 10mm.  Punisher?)

[There is already a firearm with that name.]

(Well I’ll come up with something.)

Besides douchebag’s threatening.  Only the pained groans and whimpers of the wounded can be heard as I walk back to my tour guide.

He’s still struggling a bit to breathe but starting to recover.  Science is badass.

*cough* *hack* *cough* 

“Gonna skin… that slave.”

I stop a few steps away in case douchebag’s trying to bait me.

“Hey.”

He coughs up some more blood and is looking woozy.

“Hey!”

Can almost see the wheels turning in his head.  Even someone as slimy as him can tell I’m still too far away to jump.

The dizziness act vanishes.  Replaced by trembling rage.  Tour guide lifts his head and looks at me.  Staring at me with enough loathing to burn the soul.

In reply, I smile and speak just two words.

“Heal this.”

*Boom*