*flop*

What’s left of douchebag’s head, followed by the rest of his body, flips backward and messily comes to rest on the floor.  Right in front of that rusty auto parts throne.

The tornado-like siren, still barely audible in the nighttime distance, is now the only noise heard in the Rockrats’ throne room.  Even the wounded stifle their pained groans, for fear they will be next.

Considering the near hundred people in here?  That silence is all the more impressive.  The smell of blood and gore, piss and shit, plus sulfuric burnt propellant, my new odor trifecta, seeps into nostrils.

While dim lighting keeps the shadows soft and sprayed blood dark.

The audience along the left and right sides of this oversized room divide their attention between me and the throne to my front.  The row of tribal elders sitting to the right and left of that chair do the same.

Currently though?  It is an empty throne.  The former occupant?  Busy cowering behind it.

Reaching over I pull the backpack off of Digger.

“Hey chief!  Come get your prize!”

The tossed pack lands loudly next to douchebag’s body.  Its contents spilling out.  Valuable supplies scatter across the blood that’s pooling under our ex tribal guide.  But no one moves.

I might have been a smidge too trigger happy.

Could probably shoot through the chief’s chair but would rather not.  This little fuck has pissed me off.  Want to be looking him in the eye when I end him.

After a few seconds, a frustrated scream sounds from behind the throne.

“Dammit!”

A fugly bastard shakily gets to his feet and slowly walks around to the front of his tribal seat of power.  Beady eyes glare at me with just as much loathing as the tour guide I just put down.

He's wearing a feathered headdress that looks straight out of a cowboy and indians movie  Bare, and pudgy, chested under a sleeveless vest.  With loose pants and some sort of combat boots.

Belts and armor crisscross the ensemble.  Can see two pistols and at least one combat knife.  What’s underneath though?

A short pale quivering fleshy saggy gross example of humanity.  Man of the year award winner for “nepotism and inbreeding is bad m’kay” magazine.

Under those beady eyes is a too wide mouth and too flat nose.  Making me wonder if mommy got drunk at a toad bar and tricked daddy into thinking the tadpole that came out nine months later was his.

If I hadn’t already decided he was a corpse in waiting?  Might even feel sorry for him.

Suddenly the bastard’s expression changes, like he’s realized something, and those beady eyes swing to the peanut gallery on my right.  

Don’t dare shift my attention but I bet he’s looking at one of the merchants.  A too wide grin spreads on his face.  Guess this falling man just found a rope to cling too.

Ignoring me, this mighty midget chief turns his full attention to the gallery.  Curiously he does a fist in palm, like from a kung fu movie, bow in that direction.

“Esteemed representative of the Oxa.  The Rockrats tribe humbly asks you to punish the disrespectful behavior of your property.”

(Look who suddenly got all elegant and polite.  Nina, is this a problem?)

[Unknown…  Even as a member of the Oxa.  That does not mean they will have access to your slave module.]

There is a pregnant pause before a deep, oriental(?), voice sounds from my right.

“Brave chieftain of the honorable Rockrats.”  Sarcasm much?  “Of course we would take action but I see no property of the Oxa here.”

(Eh?)

[Adapting…  While you have been sold to the Oxa in exchange for the equipment and the enhancement?  They have not taken possession of you yet.  In other words, he will not interfere.]

(Why?)

[Analysis…  He probably wants to see more of your personal product demo.]

Sigh.  Fine, let’s give him more show.

A few paces in front of me the color has completely drained from fugly’s face again after finding himself back at square one of “I’m fucked.”

He scans left and right.  Panning across the peanut gallery and line of elders.  But there’s no support to be found.  The colosseum has turned on him.  Shoulders slump as he returns his gaze to me.

“So close.  You were the last one.  Sold, killed, or broke the rest of your brat pack.”  Thumbs at Sally.  “Even her boyfriend handed her over to me without a fuss.  Fak dad.  Even dead, you still get in my way.”

Toad steels himself and begins slowly moving hands towards his pistols.  About to pull the trigger of my KC 10mm when a chain is flung over fugly’s face and gets pulled tight around his neck.

*heuk*

“Sally!”

Yep.  Slave Leia is aware again and with a look of pure hatred on her face has jumped onto fugly’s back.  Doing her best to choke him with the chain he put on her.

*SLAM*

Unfortunately, the exhausted girl is not up to the task.  Chiefy grabs one of her arms, easily pulls her off, and throws her to the floor hard.  Where she lands roughly and lays still.

“Sally!”

Digger is about in a panic and tries to go to his friend.  But bikini girl holds him down.  Probably knowing that this is not over yet.

“Stupid whore!”  Frogger looks down at her and thumps his chest.  “Rank two upgrade!  You are nothing com-”

*Boom* 

(Dumbass.)

A flash, and a 10mm caseless bullet punches into the side of the Rockrats chieftain.  Piercing through a piece of armor that was in the way.

Never, like fucking ever, lose focus on anyone with a gun pointed at you.

*Boom* *Boom* *Boom* *Boom* 

And thanks to Nina’s info about the healing power of nanites?  Myself being able to brush off getting shot twice today.  And witnessing how fast douchebag recovered?

I’m not giving someone with a better enhancement than me any god damn chances.

Four more 10mm slugs rapidly follow the first.  Putting more holes in him and turning a last ditch effort to dodge into a tumbling ball of flailing arms and legs that crashes back into the throne.

*heuk* *cough* *spit*

The shuddering dying frogman is bleeding from, well, everywhere.  His peepers doing their damndest to put some sort of curse on me.

Me?  I’m impressed this cockroach is still alive.

[Leaving him alive may be a goo-]

(Doubletap.)

*BoomBoom* 

The slide of my KC 10mm locks in the open position as the last two rounds in the magazine are consumed.  Their slugs crash into fugly’s face and pulp his skull like a watermelon hit with a sledge hammer.

Bits of bone, brain, and blood, fly up and out.

Smoothly I eject the spent mag and slam a new one into the hot metal.  Releasing the slide to load a fresh round.

The room is deathly quiet again.

“Sally!”

Well, was, for a moment.

Digger, the broken record, is finally set free by bikini girl and runs to chain gang bang girl.

“Sally?  No no no no.  Please no.”

The best scounger in Tinpan Alley gently cradles the expiring girl with one hand while shoving pills in her mouth with his other.  Also breaks some open and slathers the metallic slime inside across her many wounds.

My show’s audience though remains silent.  Now dividing their attention between the still armed me and the dying girl.

Finally an old, and unarmed, lady on the right end of the elder line stands up.

She has a feathered headdress too but it's a lot less impressive than toad’s was.  All the elders’ are.  Got a similar tanned leather sleeveless vest.  Though this one has a t-shirt underneath to cover, C cups?

Around her hips and legs a wraps a skirt that nearly reaches a pair of moccasin looking boots.  Only a couple of pouch belts crisscross her and no armor.  Got some wrinkles but, honestly, she’s a solid B or maybe even A rank gilf.

Can never be completely sure how good the food will be, until you taste it.  Granny’s face pans across the peanut gallery.

“Guests of the Rockrats.  We apologize for putting our quarrel on display.”  Other elders start standing.  “Do not be concerned.  We will defend you until the swarm passes.”

As if waiting for her words.  Were they?  Another dozen tribal warriors calmly enter the room.  Spreading out with hands on holsters and keeping me in their sight.

Oddly though, I don’t feel any hostility from them.  Maybe they didn’t like the chief either?

(Guess it's time to end the scene.)

Holster my 10mm and an old guy from the left end of the elders’ line claps his hand twice.

Bizarrely this seems to signal everyone that everything’s under control now.  Situation normal.

(This must have just been a slight weapons malfunction.)

[?]

Tribal looking waitresses, yeah it's a weird getup, come out from doors behind the elders and serve drinks or help right the overturned tables.

The warriors either take up the prior guards posts or carry out the dead and not quite so dead.  A few slaves, got collars on, begin cleaning up while the band starts playing and the gallery gets noisy.

Smoke even starts rising in the softly lit chamber as a number of folks light up pipes and cigarettes.

(God, I could use a smoke right now.)

Huh.  Just how often does this sort of thing happen around here?

As the crowd gets back to their nervous chatter, siren’s still wailing, the old lady walks up to me and speaks calmly.

“Jaxon Umera.  With this your vendetta against Chief Sandor is closed.  The feud between the Umeras and Nemes is over.  I, Elder Petra Nemes, declare it over.  Do you agree?”

(Nina?  What the fuck?)

[Analysis…  The chief’s ident was Sandor Nemes.  Several other elders are showing idents with the Nemes name.  The chief’s actions against your family could be seen as a war within the tribe.]

(But the way Digger acts, the Umeras are nobodies.)

[Adapting…  Your actions today raised the Umera’s value.  Even if they do not want to, the Nemes must show respect or risk other families turning on them.]

(Fucking politics.  Always preferred just killing everything in my way.)

[You also seem to be the oldest remaining Umera.  Making you the head of the family and the one to decide whether the feud is really over or not.  Both family head’s must agree.]

Old lady Nemes is keeping her cool and speaking quietly so the peanut gallery doesn’t notice.  Several other elders though are watching closely.

“Umera’s Patriarch.  Please.  We will do whatever we can to compensate you for what my grandson did to your family.  You’ve shown your power but anymore and other tribes, maybe even the Oxa, will start cir-”

Geesh, enough nagging.

“Fine.  I’m done.  For now.  But if you don’t make this right…”

She nods and bows slightly.

“I understand.  Please follow your injured sister to the healers.”

The calm collected tribal grandma turns to bikini girl.

“Witch.  You sh-”

“I warned you about the price you would pay.”

Grandma Nemes’ face turns sour for just a moment before becoming expressionless again.

“So you did.  The Nemes will fight your vision no longer.”

Granny bows, turns and walks back to a group of elders.  Yep, that rear.  Those hips.  Definitely bangable.

Bikini girl wraps herself around my left arm.  Pillowing it with her somehow both firm and soft F cups.

“I-I, uh…”  Nervous girl, nervouses.  “My n-name is Ka-Katina.  Katina Smetanov”

She keeps catching my eye but immediately blushing and turning away.  It's pretty cute.

“Jon Bar-, I mean, Jaxon Umera…”  Eh?  “Do I know you?”

“It's you.  It really is you.  I did not dare believe at first.  Been waiting so very long.  Been so lonely.  But your eyes.  When you killed that filth.  Judgement and wrath.  Eyes of fire and blood that I can never forget.”

A crazy smile lights up her face as tears well up in sparkling, somehow fanatical, jade eyes.

“All those violations.  All those humiliations.  Everything.  Worth it just to feel the master’s touch again.  Be at the savior’s side again.”

Slave Leia has been put on a stretcher and is being carried out with Digger hovering by her side.

(No way.)

Bikini witch starts pulling my along behind them and I’m too fucking stunned to put up any resistance.  No, not bikini girl.

(No fucking way.)

Not witch.

(Impossible.  Isn’t it?)

Not Katina.

In the dark deep distance.  Outside and far beyond this oversized hall.  The faint sounds of gunfire and explosions reach my ears.  Along with something more, beastial.  Roaring?

But I can’t register any of that right now.  All I can see is the vaguely familiar but impossible girl beside me.

“...Frankie?”