A dozen miles from the tribal throne room, its opposite can be seen..

“Confirm unit status 4B5 at-” “Hover 32, assume new heading of-” “-received, and verify weapons free.”

Where one is dimly lit and dirty.  The other is bright and spotless.  In one is a riot of clutter and clothing.  While the other is neat and uniform.  There is nearly barren of technology.  Here is full of screens with manned control and com stations.

And where the former has its sides displaying stained torn curtains.  The latter is covered with fresh clean banners and regalia displaying cross like religious symbols.

At the end of this room is not a throne.  But a podium.  Where one man stands, listens, and directs the rest.  On the outskirts of the slums, that hall is full of violence and scheming.  Deep within the outer city, this chamber is full of purpose and reverence.

Instead of the Rockrats tribe.  This space belongs to the Basilium orthodox sect of the Three Divines faith.  And behind its podium is an elderly man dressed as one might expect a bishop or cardinal to be.

Surrounded by aides and guards, he watches over his busy subordinates as they monitor the developing battle to the east.

From the side of the room, a door opens and a woman enters.  Marching regally to the podium.  Her piercing blue eyes and long blonde hair stunning, as always, even to those who know her.

She is the Paladin, Lady Kirova.  A rising star in the sect and acknowledged as one of its strongest disciples.  Her white, with silver highlights, body armor’s glow seems to part the aides and guards before her like the Red Sea before Moses.

Stopping beside the podium she respectfully bows to the man behind it.

“Commander Father, the Vigilant Valkyrie squadron is ready to deploy.  Why have we not been dispatched?”

Pausing his work the aged senior turns to the girl.

“Disciple Daughter, it appears we will not be needed.”

The young lady looks confused.

“Not be needed, Father?”

“Yes, my child, the heretical sects’ bidding was quick and aggressive.  And with the incursion being minor?  The city may not raise the numbers.”

Sounds of teeth grinding is heard by the old man.

“Oh my.  While the heretics are not this sect’s friends.  Junior, you must remember they are not enemies either.”

The pride of the Oberkatsu Basilium reigns in her temper.

“I apologize, Commander Father.”

The senior sect member continues.

“We cannot have another incident where the orthodox and heretical disciples spend more time fighting each other than the mutants.”

The female superhero chooses to remain still, and silent, causing the bishop-like figure to sigh.

“Daughter Kirova.  Return to your unit and standby.  Be assured that if the city calls, you will be deployed immediately.”

The paladin girl bows again and marches back out of the room.  A bit stiffer now than when she entered.  The militant clergyman looks, sadly, at her one more time before returning attention to his subordinates.

The psionic powerhouse exits the room and walks down the corridor.  Now flanked by two adjutants.  Both wearing the same style of white body armor.  The younger of the two, a girl who looks far too young to be wearing armor, speaks angrily in a high pitched voice.

“Let me guess, our superiors are going to leave all the chances for reward and glory to the demons?”

The older of the two, a large woman, whose white armor has green highlights, glares at her junior.  And replies with a voice both deep and wide.

“Mind your words, Sister, you are one of the guiltiest from that incident.”

Before she can snarkily reply their leader stops and turns to face them.

“Yes, we are trapped by politics again.  How about that other matter, Sister Reia.  What have you found out?”

The loli with the blue highlighted white armor tilts her head.

“Senior sister.  It's only been hours since you tasked me with this.  How could anyone possibly find something is such a shor-”

The muscular green lady interrupts her.

“Which means you have found something.  You should tell your sister before she beats you up again.”

The blue girl rolls her eyes.

“Fine, yes, I found something.  Records in the slums are usually incomplete and inaccurate.  If there are any at all.  But?  This genius found a hub near there.  Just so happens someone matching his description entered a clinic earlier that day.”

Both her sisters cross their arms.

“”And?””

“Geesh.  Alright.  Umera, Jaxon Umera.  That’s the smelly boy's ident.  Happy now?”

Lady Koriva’s turns to the east and whispers.

“Jaxon…”

Both adjutants’ eyebrows rise when they notice the sudden blush on their captain’s face.

---

Twelve miles back to the east, next to the Rockrats throne room, there is a smaller chamber.  Only a dozen or so chairs can fit in this room and they are all facing inward.  Forming a circle.

Only three of the chairs in this also dimly lit room are currently occupied.  Each with an assistant, bodyguard, standing behind them.

A well dressed man faces the aged tribal woman and speaks.

“Honorable Elder Nemes.  After tonight’s performance, I can see why you asked to speak with me privately.  But why is a Hunter here?”

The fully armored, even the head and face is covered, mercenary speaks with a heavily filtered voice.

“The Heshen clan will pay double for him.”

The tribal elder jumps a little as she registers what was just said.

“D-double?”  Trying to stay calm.  “I a-apologize esteemed hunter b-but the warrior has already been sold-”

The heavily armed and armored mercenaries suddenly asking to attend this supposedly secret meeting was confusing enough.  Now attempting to buy what was already sold?  Added to her upset state.

“Then the Heshen clan offers triple.”

Grandma Nemes’ brain froze.  The now dead chief had sold Jaxon at the cheapest price the elders would let him get away with.

Even before today’s incident.  The oldest Umera left was deadly with a knife and considered one of the tribe’s best warriors.  That the chief had sold him at all was considered shameful by many.

But now outsiders, who had just been passing through, were offering triple the price without even knowing what it was to begin with.

Any elder would know the Rockrats Tribe could not afford to offend the Oxa Gang.  They’re far stronger than the tribe.  But angering a large Hunter Clan like the Heshen?  Even more insane.

“I-I am s-sorry-”

The faceplate turned to the well dressed “civie” and interrupted the tribal woman again.

“Then the Heshen clan offers triple to the Oxa.”

Petra Nemes felt relief as the pressure from the mercenary’s gaze moved away from her.  The Oxa representative however seemed undisturbed from gaining it and answered simply.

“No.”

“Quadruple.”

“No.”

The beleaguered Rockrats woman felt her heartbeat climb as the atmosphere in the room turned ice cold. The Oxa and Heshen bodyguards both slowly moved hands towards their guns.

Unfortunately for the gang members, the Heshen’s primary was a ready slung combat rifle.  It would take barely a moment for the gun to shift into a firing position and start spewing metal fire.

Impressively though the sitting Oxa did not show the slightest bit of concern.  Finally the sitting Heshen’s filtered voice cut through the tension.

“You noticed.  Didn’t you.”

The at her wits end elder, who just witnessed her grandson’s death, had nearly been killed herself, and barely avoided a tribal civil war, spoke without thinking.

“Noticed what?”

She immediately regretted the ability to speak as the gazes, and pressure, from both the mercenary and gang member swung towards her.

“Compatibility, tribal.”  The hunter mansplains.  “Tell me old woman, why do the gangs always recruit their cannon fodder a week before they go to war?”

Ignoring, or not registering, the merc’s disrespectful tone the elder could only reply with a blank look.  How could she possibly know the inner working of the gangs?

She can hear the hunter “tsk” before continuing.

“Compatibility.  It takes time to adjust to even level ones.  For most?  Days.  For some?  A week or two.  For a few?  Never.”

“B-but, h-he just t-toda-”

“For no one?  A day.  No.  Less than a day.”  A waved hand.  “And even after adjusting?  Their compatibility won’t even be close to one hundred percent.  Maybe not even fifty percent.”

The elder’s face gets paler as the hunter’s mansplaining goes on.

“The percentage can gradually improve but that takes even more time and may require special training to better sync man and machine.”

The sitting Oxa just nods.  Seeing no reason to interrupt the mercenary.

“Was that boy a gunslinger?”

At least this she could answer.

“N-no, honorable hunter, he was a knifer.  O-one of our best.”

She really didn’t want to admit to these outsiders that Jaxon was, in fact, their best knifer.

“Understand now?”  Claps hands once.  “A tribal boy adjusted to a major upgrade in less than a day.  Plus moves so smoothly that his compatibility must already be in the ninety plus range.”

The magnitude of her grandson’s blunder begins to sink in.  The Oxa rep nods again and finally speaks.

“So, distinguished member of the Heshen clan, how could we give up such a diamond in the rough?”

You can feel the smirk behind the mask in the merc’s reply.

“Because that jewel is poisoned.”

“Excuse me?”

For the first time, the Oxa’s expression begins to look annoyed.  And you can tell how pleased the Hunter is by this even through the filter.

“Oxa cannot hold on to such a prize for two reasons.”  Two fingers are raised.  “One.  I recognized some of the moves he used.  The boy already knows martial arts.  So someone is training him.”

The gang member’s eyes narrow.  No tribe would have a skilled martial artist.  If they did they wouldn’t be just a tribe.

“Which one?”  Curious ganger is curious.

“Gunkata.”  Confused expressions.  “A rare martial art focusing on evasion and counters.  Unique since it incorporates both firearms and prediction algorithms.  For a boy that young to be able to use it?”

The answer didn’t need to be spoken.  Both the elder and ganger knew that meant someone is probably training him.  An unknown outsider.  And in this world?  There is nothing more dangerous than the unknown.

The Oxa, starting to break out in a cold sweat, asks.

“A-and the second reason?”

You can hear the smirk in the voice again as the merc leans forward in their chair.

“I know where he’s from.”

The senior woman is confused enough that she forgets to keep silent again.

“Isn’t he from the Umera Orphanage?”

“Yes he is.  But I know something about that place from before it fell.”

The Oxa can feel a headache coming on with a sinking feeling and rubs his nose as he replies.

“What do you know…”

“The real backer for the Umera Orphanage was not a church or a corps.”  Hearing that grin again.  “It was a sect.”

And the headache hits.

“A sect?”

“Yes.  Turns out a particular sect had some projects so taboo.  They couldn’t keep them in the city.”

Corporations and religions performing illegal experiments was nothing new.  Pretty much an open secret.  Still, there are some lines you don’t cross.  And if you do?  You keep them as far away as fucking possible and bury them deep.  Really deep.

Sects tended to be the crazier branches of religions to begin with.  Especially the heretical ones.  If one of them crossed the line so far that even their fanatical asses felt the need to hide it in a slums orphanage?

The stuff of nightmares.

You could practically feel the hunter’s grin in that filtered voice was now reaching from ear to ear.

“Sooner or later the ones who made that boy are going to come for him.  And those types?  Really frown on leaving witnesses.”

Emotionally, both the elder and ganger hit rock bottom.  The merc might be lying but the massacre they saw tonight made it sound possible.  The triumphant feeling hunter leaned back and crossed his fingers.

“So tell me ganger, tribal.  What do you think your chances are against a sect?”