2.

Rogue and I followed Mylo and Silver across the split separating the desert from the inside of the plateau, stopping at the ledge with the blue canopy and looking at the distant scrap-base. It was, what, a one-hundred-foot drop? Maybe one-fifty? That wasn’t so bad, right?

Silver walked over to the ledge and took aim.

The zip-gun fired.

A black cord whizzed towards The Mopes, stabbing into a building suspended on a grated platform.

My heart jumped, not with fear but with excitement.

Silver pressed the zip-gun's side button and out popped another cord. He wrapped it around the bough of the blue canopy, pushing his leg against the bark for extra force.

The bough wouldn’t budge no matter how much weight was put on it, and that comforted me, because it meant the wire couldn’t snap or loosen; we couldn’t fall. No chance in hell.

I tightened my backpack straps and squirrelled to Silver and Mylo, fixing my zip harness and making sure the buckle was tucked out.

Rogue followed me. I knew her footsteps better than anyone, light but quick, like an assassin.

I looked beyond Mylo's shoulder and saw a light flash in the distance. The outsiders must have heard the zipline, not that it mattered. This was a raid, and no amount of space-grade weapons could protect these bastards from what was to come.

Or can they? I laughed quietly. Guess I’ll have to find out.

Silver zipped down first, then Mylo.

I attached my buckle to the line, and when I took off, feeling that cool night air blow into my face, Rogue shouted:

"Woooooooo!"

“Witch of the West, baby!” I was barely able to hear my own voice through the upward current of air.

By the time I neared the platform, shots fired. I popped the buckle and slid across the grating, hitting my head off something solid and heavy. I shook away the pain and picked myself up.

This is how it starts.

Directly in front of me stood an electrical box graffitied with penises, smileys, and phrases like 𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙍𝙋! and 𝙎𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙃'𝙎 𝘼 𝙁𝘼𝙏 𝘽𝙄𝙏𝘾𝙃! Red and blue wires twisted out from a hole at the top, hanging over the edge.

Silver and Mylo were shouldered behind it, and from the other side came glints of gunfire.

That sound. . . . It was automatic. I’d never seen weapons like that in person. Did these outsiders have—

"Machine guns?" Mylo yelled, as if answering my question, exchanging looks with Silver and me. “These supposed to be the Gatlin’ Guns?”

I figured they were. Nirvana never mentioned anything else they could have been. Eleven Gatling Guns, seventeen pipe-pistols, one pipe-shotgun.

Nothing that could shoot rapidly.

Voices howled from the other side:

"Hoooo-yeeeeah, we got ’em now, boys!"

"Wrong base to fuck with, scavs!"

"The red one's mine!"

The red one. I looked back and saw Rogue whizzing down the zipline, but before she could decouple herself, a spray of bullets flew out like tiny sparks.

The wire snapped.

Shit!

My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes widened until they looked like they were gonna bulge out of my skull.

Rogue hit the grid—hard.

I hurried over and pulled her into cover. A bullet scraped my shoulder and I cursed. Nothing more than a sting.

*Be careful, Ashe. Your heart cannot handle this much activity. Perhaps a nice bath instead. I will run you some wate—*

"Shut it, Nirvana," I yelled.

“You alright, Red?” Mylo clutched his rifle to his stomach, bent-kneed. Like he gave a shit.

I grabbed her shoulder, picking her upright. “You okay?”

“She’s fine!” Silver gripped his bolt-action rifle, peeked the electrical-box corner, and fired.

She looked at me, then forced a laugh. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me, worry about them.” She gestured towards the armed outsiders with her long-nailed thumb, and after a moment, unholstered her pipe-pistol.

I saw the fear in her eyes, along with the uncertainty in her stance, like a lil kid after realising they got themselves knee-deep in trouble. Wasn’t like her to be this much of a scaredy-cat, but then again, I figured she was worried about what the outsiders could do.

And yeah, they responded to the attack a lot quicker than most bases, so her worry would make sense.

Silver shouted, “What are you doing? Move! The three of you, around the right side, I shouldn’t have to tell you. GO!” He cocked the bolt knob and fired at the outsiders again.

Another hail of bullets our way, loud, bright with sparks. I thought the electrical box might catch fire or explode, so I got my ass in gear and rushed around the right side.

Up ahead was a bridge connecting to more buildings, each lit by green lightstrips. Scattered throughout the roads were chimneys spewing out vast amounts of carbon monoxide. I could smell them from here; it was like a hundred men smoking cigars in a small room.

Empty, no outsiders, but only for a few seconds.

Men emerged from the corners ahead, both on the framework and on the roads.

I froze, unsure of what to do—they were everywhere. Then a hand grabbed me by the shoulder.

Mylo stepped forward and pulled me down into cover.

Bullets showered the platform again.

"You ain't gettin' away that easily," a man yelled from the other side.

"Not at all, not at all." A crazy laugh.

"Push on ’em boys," a man bellowed. "While they're down."

But we weren't down. We were pinned.

"Don't stand around," Mylo shouted, grabbing his scoped rifle. "Listen very carefully. . . ."

I did listen very carefully, but all I heard were loud clicks coming from behind.

I glanced back, expecting to see Rogue crouched with her revolver drawn, and sure enough, I did, except she also held a string of grenades.

The grenade levers hit the floor and bounced.

She hurled the string through the air and the bullets halted almost instantly.

"Shit," a man screeched.

"Move!" Another.

Mylo gritted his teeth and pulled his rifle over the balustrade, keeping his elbow cocked and his breathing steady. He learned that from Silver a long time ago; we all did. "Motherfucke—"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before he pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

The grenades went off, turning into wild clouds of fire that whipped and whirled into the night.

I had to raise my hand in case the debris managed to get in my eyes. That happened to me before, and it hurt so much I thought I’d go blind.

Never again.

Blood-curdling screams, burning, terror. All hell let loose.

I grinned. There was no better sound. The way they were grasping for dear life, the way they couldn’t do anything except cry for their mamas. It was intoxicating, and I wanted more.

"Ashe, move!" Mylo giving orders again. Since when did he give orders?

“Don’t you tell me what to do, dipshit,” I yelled.

He groaned and pressed ahead, rushing into the flames.

I tailed behind, peering back to make sure Rogue followed me. Of course she did. Her crimson hair blew wildly, and her face bathed in the orange glow of the flames.

Gorgeous.

I pulled my scarf over my nose and made a beeline for the nearest crossing. I turned and saw the base expand towards the escarpment, more than three hundred feet away.

Only twenty feet away, though, were two men dressed in dowdy metal armour and kelly-green tarps, holding Gatling Guns, picking themselves up. Oh, perfect. Like lambs to a slaughter.

I finally got a good look at the guns themselves: black with aluminium handles, an imprinted blue Jet-Corp eye, and a semi-circular magazine. It was about the size of an everyday pipe-sniper, but obviously much snazzier.

“Nice guns ya got there,” I said, and Mylo crossed me, taking cover on the other side of the bridgeway. “Mind tellin’ me how you got ’em?” I rested Sammy on my shoulder. Oh yeah, they aren’t gettin’ out of this without telling me. They aren’t gettin’ out at all.

The men looked at each other with a mix of anger and panic.

“No? Awww, well that’s too baaaaaad.” I aimed at the man on the left, hoping to hit his head, but when I pulled the trigger the bullet struck his chestplate.

Shit!

I fired again. Hit his leg and he buckled.

Balls!

The other man took aim.

I shot him, too. This time I hit the shoulder.

Shitballs!

The men screamed, then fired at me.

I ducked behind the balustrade just in time. The bullets tore through some of the plating so I crept back in case I got shot. Those weapons must have been mighty powerful to tear through scrap like that.

“You two are lucky my aim’s not as good as it used to be.” My voice cracked.

No response. Not like I was expecting one.

Plus, I was lying. My aim was never good.

The bullets stopped.

Click click click.

Those beautiful reload sounds. The gunners ran out. Now was my chance.

For a moment all I could hear were the shots coming from the left side: Silver’s bolt-action rifle, and the steady rat-tat-tat of the gunmen. Along with the crackling fire, of course.

I was about to turn the corner and finish the gunners off but I heard footsteps, light and quick, behind me. When I turned around Rogue was squatting behind the covering, trying to catch her breath. Things weren’t that physical yet. Was she hurt?

I stared at her questioningly.

Mylo rushed around the corner, aiming down the bridgeway at the two men.

I stood, not wanting to miss this.

Mylo said, “Howdy!” and shot them both in the head, one bullet after another, perfect shots. Blood splashed and brain matter flew out. “Oooooooh, did ya see that, ladies?”

I saw it, and I loved every second of it. The way the blood came out, the way it splashed with its slightly black colour. Ooh, it made me tingly inside.

I laughed and—

Something sharp sliced into my shoulder. A bullet, coming from behind.

I winced and rolled to the other side of the bridgeway, hoping whoever shot me wouldn’t aim for my head. Lights out. Dead.

My heart thudded and goosebumps rashed out across my skin. The pain was, again, only a sting. Nothing more than a bullet wound after all.

“That wasn’t nice, pal!” I gripped Sammy’s handle, daring to glimpse over the balustrade.

I saw another man, dressed in the same armour and kelly-green tarp, but he wasn’t holding a machine gun. No, he held a pipe-pistol, the same as mine, the same as Rogue’s. He guarded the left side, standing behind an electrical box with more wires poking out from the top.

He fired again. “Bastards, what do you want from us?” he yelled.

Difficult to hear him, but I managed. The question was whether or not he could hear me.

“Everything.” I chuckled.

“Why?” he said.

“Because why not?”

“We have children here! You heartless bastards, burn in hell!”

A further three bullets.

“You think we care about your family?” I laughed again.

“That’s rich,” Mylo added. “Jet Corp give you these weapons?”

“That’s none of your damn business, kid!” Another shot, this time at Mylo. The bullet hit the covering and Mylo chuckled.

“Hey, dumbass,” said Mylo, standing out into the middle of the bridgeway.

I did the same.

Got a better look at the man’s head: old, receding hairline, a rictus of fear, quivering. Just how I liked ’em.

He aimed at me and—

CLICK!

I scoffed, pointing Sammy at him.

He backed around the electrical box. As if that was gonna help him.

“Six rounds in a pipe-pistol.” Mylo chuckled, stepping towards the electrical box.

After a moment, the old man said, “This is a mistake, you can’t do this.”

Mylo stopped. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because . . . because, God, we have families, I have a family. We’re not bad people.”

I snickered. “Well we’re bad people. And you shoulda thought about that before shootin’ me, bucko.”

“You killed my friends!” the old man said, powerless. “Listen, I have a wife and son. . . .”

“Hmm.” I ran a finger across my chin. “I don’t care.”

“Please,” he cried. “Just take what you want. Let me live, please! I have a family—I have a wife and son—I—I—”

“I—I—I—don’t care.” I paced towards the electrical box. “This is what you get for shootin’ me, didn’t your mother ever tell you not to shoot a lady? A pretty ole lady like me?”

Loud, clanking footsteps rocked up behind me.

I stopped and looked back.

Rogue, still her beautiful self. Her eyes twinkled in the red-orange firelight, giving them a yellow glint. “Don’t kill him, he’s already complying.”

“Don’t kill him? Awwww, what? Rogue?” I pouted

“Only kill the guys putting up a fight. Remember?” She looked at me with an O-shaped mouth, her brows knitted.

That was a ‘rule’ we Gloom members went by, but it was more etiquette than anything.

“Yeah . . .” I stared at Sammy, thinking of how ruthless Jet Corp were when they killed my father. They wouldn’t show mercy, and they ran the solar system, so why should I? “. . . but no one shoots me and gets away with it.”

“Ashe—” she began.

I aimed Sammy at the wires peeking out from the electrical box and fired.

The box lit up in flames, exploding not once but twice. And all I heard, even with the gunfire from the other side, were the old man’s screams.

That’s what I’m talkin’ about!

He teetered out from behind the box and tripped over the balustrade, falling into the dirty streets, burning alive.

I chuckled.

“Ashe. . . .” Rogue said softly. She didn’t look sad, only disappointed.

Aw, now I felt bad, but this wasn’t the first time I’d killed a complying outsider, and it wouldn’t be the last. She should have known that. Still, I felt a little guilt looking at her face, but not much. Bastard deserved what was coming to him.

More bullets flashed up through the grate.

I tipped forward and Mylo rushed next to me, firing down at them one bolt-pull after another. Didn't think he was going to hit anyone, but these outsiders weren't the brightest. And that was coming from someone that wasn't exactly gifted upstairs either. I was as dull as I was pretty.

They didn’t take much cover, and if they did, it was only to dodge grenades. And considering that Mylo had some deadly aim, they were free picking.

Yeah, something told me they wanted to die.

The shots kept poppin' and the lights kept flashin'.

Rogue tossed down another string of uncorked grenades—God knew where she was getting those from. More fire whipped up, spreading across the stairways leading up to the suspended platforms.

Heat flooded my system, sweat dripped down my chin, and I smiled. For some reason I smiled.

There wasn't a reason not to, I supposed. These people stood no chance. Good guns didn’t make you a good shooter, that was for sure.

Mylo grabbed my shoulder again, breathing heavily. "Help Silver, Rogue and me’ll keep watch here."

Again: more orders.

My smile waned, and I walked past the burning electrical box, not because he told me to, mind you, but because I was worried about Silver. I squared my shoulders and ventured a glare ahead: more people dressed in ragged tarps and light armour, firing down from a parapet. A railed stairway led up to them.

Behind the men was a large square building made of coloured sheet metal. Above it, a sign reading 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝙲𝚁𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙴 sat loosely pegged by nails.

I took cover next to a nearby water tank. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a cigar box from my backpack, and popped it open.

I got the box from Silver a long time ago, used it to hold 2.77mm rounds. Made things much more convenient.

Speaking of Silver: He stood on the far-left side behind a water tank of his own, firing at the men on the parapet and missing damn near every bullet.

What was wrong with him? Normally his aim was better than this, better than mine. Better than all of ours. Was he tired or something? Because I was wide awake now.

I reloaded Sammy with the 2.77mm rounds. There were no bullets left once I filled him up.

I breathed out my nose, aimed Sammy at one of the men at the top, breathed in, held the air, and fired.

A flash of yellowish-white light, and the bullet missed. It hit the sign reading 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝙲𝚁𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙴, and it groaned down, crying out like a broken machine and swaying violently from side to side.

The men jerked out of the way, dodging the sharp edges.

Silver paced out from the water tank, trailing farther left, towards the parapet.

I hurried up the railed stairway, keeping Sammy drawn above my head, at the ready whenever. I ducked for cover near the top, peeked over the metal scrap, heard the reload sounds, and stood up to full height. I locked Sammy onto the first man, was about halfway towards pulling the trigger when—

Something blunt and solid whacked me in the head. I tumbled down the stairs. A shrill ring resounded in my ears, and pain pumped thickly at my right temple. My head hit the floor. More pain, this time in my left temple. I struggled to move after that.

At least I had enough strength to look up and see who whacked me. A dude dressed the same as everyone else in The Mopes—green tarp, light armour—but he had a football helmet, keeping most of his face in shadow, and a steel bat gripped between his fingers.

Cheeky bastard.

I groaned, feeling my heart beat faster and harder.

The gunfire resumed, coming from the parapet once again. A bolt-action rifle.

I pulled myself against the metal covering and looked up the stairway. One by one the men dropped. Dead.

Then the man with the football helmet retreated into The Vestas Cruise.

The pain pulsed through my body in what felt like electric shocks. I winced.

Through the gunfire, which had dwindled on this side (I could still hear that rat-tat-tat-tat coming from the right, where Rogue and Mylo were), a crackle came from my Infrared. *Ashe, your vitals are failing. I recommend Optic Cleanser or—*

"Quiet," I grumbled, sliding my back against the stair-side covering, looking right. More men. MORE. But they had pipes and barbed baseball bats instead of machine guns—instead of guns, thank God.

I was weak. My body was failing, and when I biffed my Infrared I saw my health-number decreasing slowly. I reached into my trousers and pulled out an Optic Cleanser—a tube with bluish-purple liquid (couldn't remember the scientific term for the liquid. Didn't matter either way) shining dimly. The magic pain-killer.

I jabbed it in my bicep and thumbed the plunger. My eyes shot open with crackhead intensity. I knew they were probably bloodshot from the adrenaline, but hell yeah my muscles felt vigorous and ready to go again.

My health increased to <<265>> on the screen. I hopped to my feet and aimed Sammy down the bridgeway.

Six of these bastards hurtled towards me, saying things like “Get her!” and “You bitch!”

I focused the tip of the barrel on the first guy's head. When I pulled the trigger, I jerked and the bullet ricocheted, scratching a spark off The Vestas Cruise.

The man kept running, unfazed, and I backed up the stairs towards Silver.

Silver peeked over the parapet and fired at the men.

"Jump!” One leapt off the bridge and fell into the underparts of the base.

Silver managed to catch one of the bastards with a shot to the nape.

The outsider dropped dead, not a peep.

I laughed, pointed Sammy over the balustrade, and fired one bullet after another. I didn’t hit anyone.

The rest of the cowards leapt off and scurried into the roads like cockroaches.

"Witch of the West, baby!" I went to get one last shot in but Sammy clicked.

I checked for some rounds but didn't find any. Searched all my pockets—I had a ton—but no. Nothing. So I tapped my Infrared and my inventory came up.

Nothing there either. Poor as a sewer mouse.

*Are you looking for 2.77mm, Ashe?* crackled Nirvana.

I looked at Silver and he nodded.

"Deal with him," he said.

"Who?" I stared at him curiously.

"The one that ran inside." He jerked his head towards The Vestas Cruise. "Just be quick. I’ll get the others and we can loot some of the bodies, and the buildings.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Yessir.” I saluted him with a wry smile.

He stared at me doubtfully. “You alright?”

“Better than alright, I’m fuckin’ amazing.” The adrenaline from the Optic Cleanser kicked in hard. I loved the feeling it gave me. Made sense how people got addicted to this stuff.

Silver gave me a look. “Where’s Rogue and Mylo?”

I pointed behind me with the base of my thumb.

He rushed down the steps without saying a word more.

An explosion came from behind—probably one of Rogue’s grenades—and when I looked over, watching Silver take the same path I did, I saw more fire whip into the night. Fuck ’em up, Rogue.

Static. *Ashe, are you looking for 2.77m?*

I brought my Infrared up to my mouth. "You never be quiet, do you?" I barked. Damn thing was startin' to grind my gears.

*It is my duty to make sure you are properly prepa—*

"Blah-blah-blah." I opened my Infrared settings and tapped <<Mute>>. “There.”

Nirvana was good, you know, for scanning areas and the threat levels of some creatures—it had that knowledge to it, that mapping that came from The Marble’s space station—but damn . . . couldn't Jet Corp have made a silent one?

I kicked open the doors to The Vestas Cruise. The breeze whistled in and a cluster of small bells jingled from a piece of rope over the doorway.

The inside was a dark diner, one with circular tables and wooden chairs. Up ahead the skull of an outland crawler lay bolted to a triangular noticeboard streaked with foolscap paper. I hated the look of the things: those nasty horns that stuck out from either temple like the coils of pigtails, and that mouth, big enough to chomp my head off if it got the right angle. A big ole rictus of a mouth. And its teeth, still intact, all two hundred of them, sharper than swords.

In the back, below the outland crawler skull, was the kitchen area. All the cutlery and, most importantly, all the goodies were back there. The Gloom was in desperate need of some kitchen equipment, and if I brought this stuff back I'd make some serious money.

But right now I was more concerned with the asshole who whacked me.

I shut the doors and strolled in, my thumbs in my buckle, whistling as I ventured a glare around the place.

Quiet, too quiet, apart from my angelic whistling.

"You can come out now," I yelled, and goosebumps pimpled my arms. Not sure why, I wasn't nervous or anything, wasn't cold either.

Some movement off in the kitchen. A pot hitting the floor. I knew that sound. Pots had a hollow drop.

"I don't appreciate you hittin' me like that," I said, "don't 'preciate that at all. Didn't your mama ever tell you not to hit a lady? A pretty young lady like me? Come on now." I couldn't wait to bash his head in, but I had to be wary of that steel bat.

That's right, he's armed.

I hopped over the glassless window separating the diner from the kitchen area. Glass popped beneath my bootheels, slow . . . crunch, crunch.

I saw a shadow of movement on the far-left side, beyond the counter and the fryer and the boxes. It was slow, like someone breathing.

I wanted to have a little fun. I hit my Infrared and tapped <<Unmute>> on the display.

"Nirvana," I said smugly.

A crackle of static. *Do you need 2.77mm—*

"Scan the Dust for human life. Isolate The Mopes. Isolate The Vestas Cruise." As I spoke, the hologram zoomed out on a map of Planet Ceter, panned over to the Dust, and telescoped in on The Vestas Cruise.

More static. *Commencing scan.*

Some beeps, some numbers, some calculations, but I knew he was here.

I glanced at the floor and saw the pot that had fallen.

Knew it was a pot.

My Infrared beeped loudly, and on the holo-display was a yellow X-ray of both me and the dude with the football mask. He was crouched on the leftmost side of the kitchen, behind a heap of boxes.

*Two lifeforms detected in The Vestas Cruise, kitchen area.*

The boxes stumbled and the dude ran at me with the steel bat in hand.

I snatched the pot and vaulted over the kitchen table. He went for a swing but I dodged it and whacked him on the throat with a clang.

He stumbled and tripped.

I stepped forward, kicked him in the neck, and pressed down on him, gaining ground. I pinned his arms under my legs and straddled him.

I might have been a small woman but I was no wimp.

I grabbed the steel bat.

We struggled.

I elbowed him in the neck and he let go.

He spat and coughed.

I drove the bat into his helmet. The steel bars covering the eye and mouth area pushed in. Another whack, and this time the helmet gave out.

"Stop, stop, please," he cried. "I'm not from here." Blood bubbled from his mouth and snorted out of his nose.

My eyes bulged as I withdrew the bat. "You know, around here, it doesn't matter where you're from. The Dust, the City. All the same old shit." And that was true. In the Dust especially, no one was safe from the wrath of the Gloom. "You understand, don't you? We do this to survive, you know?" I gave him a psycho-bitch tone, one that is neither threatening nor pleasant.

His blood spattered my face.

I giggled. “You shouldn’t have hit me like that, I coulda died, you know.”

He wiped his mouth. He was missing one of his buck teeth.

Ha!

Must have hit him real good.

"No," he managed, "I'm not from Ceter. I'm not from the Dust. I'm from Bimia, from Jet Corp."

My grip on the steel bat loosened. "The Marble? You? You're from The Marble, workin' for Jet Corp? You're no older than me." I raised the bat again and went to smash his face in. Put an end to this sad piece of work. It was obvious he was lying.

"I left!”

I paused again.

He shook like a dog left out in the cold. "I left. . . ." He took a moment to catch his breath.

"Why the hell would you leave?" I made a back-and-forth motion with my head. "How the hell did you leave?"

It took another moment for him to respond. "I took a Jet-Pod to the Dust. My father, he owns Jet Corp."

I relaxed my thighs and he freed one of his arms. “Bullshit!” I gripped the bat so hard my hands ached. “The son wouldn’t come down here unless he wanted to get killed. Don’t lie to me, dipshit. I don’t like liars.”

“I’m not!” He shielded his face with his hand. “I left. . . . I don’t wanna live on The Marble anymore, the planet’s a prison, even for me.”

“A prison?” What was he talking about? The Marble was safe, blessed with amazing technology and medicine that could save lives. That could save Ma. “That makes no sense, you people have everything.”

The kid shook his head, shivering. “Not freedom. We’re treated like slaves.”

I snorted. This guy was full of it. “You, the son of Gideon Baxter, treated like a slave?”

“Yes!” He nodded. “I came in a Jet-Pod, that’s how all the people out there got those machine guns. It had weapons, along with some other things. . . .”

I raised an eyebrow, reached down and ripped his green tarp. Even in the darkness, I saw he was wearing the blue Jet-Corp jumpsuit. That meant . . .

My eyes bulged further, then they sharpened. “What other things?”

He blinked, twice. “Jeez, I dunno . . . a helper-bot? A first-aid kit, I’m not sure, I didn’t pay much attention to it. But the weapons, yeah, the people took them.”

“Those aren’t people.” I scoffed. “They’re outsiders, and you know what happens to outsiders, ‘specially ones from Jet Corp?”

He stayed silent. ‘Course he didn’t want to know the answer.

The kid had to be lying. Jet Corp must have sent him here and the Pod probably crashed.

Yeah, that sounded right. No one in his position would be treated like a slave, nor would they willingly come down here.

I leaned in close and said in a low voice, “They get killed, just like any other outsider, ’specially when they’re terrible liars.”

The kid's eyes lit up in fright.

I tightened my grip around the bat once again. "You know what your father did to us, to my family. . . ?" I grabbed his neck, squeezing as tightly as I could. Then, I shouted, "Do you understand what he did to me?" Hot, steaming anger climbed up my throat, and my heart thudded against my chest.

A jingling came from the front door. Someone entered the building.

Was it another outsider?

"Ashe, you in here?" No, it was Mylo.

"Ashe, come on, enough playin' around.” And Silver. "We gotta stock up."

“You sure she’s in here?” And, of course, Rogue.

I raised my head to peek over the window and—

A click. Similar to the click from Rogue's grenades—identical, actually.

I brought my eyes back to the kid.

Grasped firmly in his palm was a bottle-green grenade.

"Get off me!” He drew back his arm. Was he going to throw it through the window?

I let go of the bat and snatched his wrist with both arms, crushing it with my adrenaline-boosted strength.

“Run,” I shouted.

“Ashe?” Rogue’s voice.

“Get off me, NOW!” He dropped the grenade, grabbed a shard of glass, and drove it towards my neck.

I snapped my right hand forward and the shard pierced my palm. I screamed and rolled off to the side.

That bastard!

I sucked the pain through my teeth, looking at the huge glass piece poking out from my palm. Blood oozed around the edges, and it didn’t feel or look nice. No, this wasn’t nice at all! I glanced back at him.

He picked up the grenade.

Shit!

I lurched forward and knocked him over, making sure the grenade couldn’t make it through the window. Sure enough, it fell with him.

He wasn’t throwing that anywhere on my watch.

After that, I leapt over the glassless window, dropped into the dining area, and—

“Get down!” I yelled.

BOOM!

Shrapnel flew out the kitchen, and a massive fire flared inside.

My ears rang as smoke swept through The Vestas Cruise. I coughed. After a moment, I looked up to make sure everyone was okay.

“Keep your distance!” Silver grabbed Rogue and Mylo by their shoulders and pulled them away from the fire.

“Ashe!” Rogue pried herself from Silver’s grip and sprinted to me. She got down on her knees, looking at the shard of glass in my hand. “You’ll be okay, alright?” she yelled, holding on to my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

I sucked the pain through my teeth again—this was worse than anything I’d ever felt—and . . .

My eyes caught a black figure emerging from the flames. The kid? Surely not. No one could have survived that, I barely did as it was! And I was faster than him.

The figure teetered out from the flames, tripped over the window, and fell flat on its stomach.

I stared, slack-jawed, with both anger and confusion.

It was him. How the fuck did he survive?

The only part of him that was on fire was the helmet, and he pulled it off. Then he got on his knees, showing us his face. Brown hair, hardly any facial hair, a curvy nose. Yeah, he was a teenager. But how was he alive, and how were there no burn marks on his skin?

The green tarp had disappeared, and his blue jumpsuit was visible underneath the scrap-armour. Black at the ribs, streaked with white lines at the shoulders, tight, like latex.

“Jet Corp?” Silver said.

Mylo stepped forward, pulling up his night-vision goggles. “No kiddin’!”

“What’s going on?” Rogue looked at me with a gaping mouth.

To be honest, I had no idea.

“I’m the son of Gideon Baxter,” the kid breathed, getting down on his hands and knees. “I’m . . . I’m his son.”

Mylo laughed. “Who is this guy?” He pointed at him, looking at Silver for an answer.

“I just told you, are you deaf?” the kid shouted. “What’s with you people?”

“How did you live that?” I asked, unable to think of an answer.

He took a deep breath and pointed to his chest, under the armour. “The jumpsuit,” he managed. “It’s fireproof, bulletproof, almost explosionproof, hell every proof there is.”

Silver nodded. His bolt-action rifle was strapped behind his back. “He’s right, those suits are pretty much indestructible.”

How does he know that?

Silver shook his head. “Who are you really?”

“I’m Aaron Baxter,” he shouted. “Gideon’s son! How many times do I have to tell you?”

The fire intensified.

I backed up and grabbed the shard in my palm. The son of Gideon Baxter, huh?

I didn’t care whether that was true or not. Either way, he was from Jet Corp, and that was a problem in and of itself. He was part of the same organisation that made life hell for Ma and me, and for my father. And if he was the son? Ha, then this seemed like the perfect opportunity to return the pain Gideon Baxter gave me.

Rogue gripped my wrist. “Wait, don’t—”

I screamed and pulled. The glass slid out along with a jet of blood. It squirted like crazy, flailing through the air in wads, calming down after a couple seconds.

I gritted my teeth and pointed the glass at him. “So you’re the son? The real deal? You weren’t lying to me?”

Silver stepped forward. “Ashe—”

“Not now, Silver!”

The kid nodded, slowly. “Yes, I am. . . .”

“Good.” I took a step towards Aaron Baxter. Then another. And after a few more, I was within spitting distance. “You know what your pa did to my pa?”

He shook his head. “No, I—”

I plunged the glass into Aaron Baxter’s neck. “Why don’t you ask him in hell?”

Silver rushed forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Ashe, what the fuck are you doing?”

But it was too late. Whether this guy was the son or not frankly didn’t matter to me—well, maybe a little. I wanted him to be telling the truth. Call it vengeance.

Aaron Baxter choked, reaching for the glass, and I could tell he wasn’t sure whether to leave it in or not.

Silver stepped towards him, as if to help, and then the fire flared again. He backed, covering his eyes with his arms.

It was gettin’ way too hot in here.

“Leave him,” Mylo yelled.

“Yeah, Silver, come on!” Rogue pulled me towards the door.

It took him a moment, but he eventually followed us out the front entrance.

Another explosion came from the inside, but we were already out, leaving that asshole to burn and choke.

The night was silent except for the crackling, no more shooting, no more outsiders yelling things like, “We got ’em now, boys,” because they were probably all dead.

So much had happened in there, and most of it in the blink of an eye. A sick knot formed in my stomach from all the emotions I went through. I wasn’t sure if I felt good about killing him, or guilty.

Rogue held my wrist. “I’ll fix you up, don’t worry, just sit down.”

I did.

She got on her knees and pulled a first-aid kit from her backpack.

“Can’t you do this later?” Mylo grimaced. “We just killed the son of Gideon-fucking-Baxter!”

“No.” Rogue rubbed some alcohol over the wound, sneering. “She needs stitches.”

I winced. “Is it always this bad?”

“I dunno, it’s a pretty deep wound.”

Silver put a hand on Rogue’s shoulder and she looked up at him. “Not now. Grab what we need and bring ’em up to Old Rusty.”

“Why so impatient?” Rogue placed the alcohol swab in the first-aid box and got her stitching kit, ignoring his order.

“We have bigger things to worry about if that kid was tellin’ the truth,” Silver said. “If he’s really who he said he was, then this whole planet’s gonna get searched for the culprits.”

“The culprits?” Rogue said.

“The people that killed him, us.”

“But why the fuck was he here?” asked Mylo. “That don’t make sense to me.”

“Yeah.” Rogue nodded.

Guess I had to fill them in on the details. I explained everything about the Jet-Pod, how Aaron got here, and then went on about how he was treated like a slave.

“Seriously?” Mylo laughed.

Rogue scoffed. “Where do people come up with this stuff?”

Silver shook his head. “No, no he’s not wrong. The Marble has a tight system of law. People have to do everything Jet Corp says. It’s totalitarian bullshit.”

I glared at him. “How do you know that? And how do you know about the jumpsuits? They weren’t like that seven years ago.” That was true; the Jet-Corp uniform wasn’t able to absorb so much damage back then, so how did he know Aaron was telling the truth about them being pretty much everythingproof?

Silver sighed. “There’s something I never told you kids.”

“I ain’t no kid.” Mylo leaned against the balustrade, crossing his arms. God, those eyes never failed to annoy me. “But go on.”

Silver took the stitching kit from Rogue’s hands, popped it in the first-aid box, and clanked it closed. “I’m from The Marble.”

What did he say?

“You’re kiddin’?” Mylo raised an eyebrow. “From the Big Blue?”

“I’m not sure what to say.” Rogue gave a disappointed tone.

I stared at him with an open mouth. He told us now of all times?

“Listen,” he said flatly, “we’ll talk about it later, but for now, we gotta get outta here. Grab what we need and jet. We have bigger problems than a nip to Ashe’s hand. If he’s the real deal, they’ll realise he’s gone, find out where the Jet-Pod landed—the Pods have trackers. Then. . . . God, I don’t know what to tell ya, but we gotta leave. Never come back here. Understood?”

Mylo raised an arm, as if to ask a question. “What about the guns?”

Of course Mylo was more concerned with the Gatling Guns than the fact that Silver was from The Marble.

“Leave ’em. Eventually, they'll ask questions, and if they scan our base finding Jet-Corp weapons . . .” Silver scratched his beard, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigar and lighter. He lit it up and took a puff. Coughed. “. . . well, we can’t let that happen, alright? Everyone clear on everything?”

I grunted and picked myself up. “Whatever.”

“Aw, bullshit.” Mylo slapped the balustrade. “That kid was obviously lyin’.”

“Maybe,” said Silver strongly, “but we can’t risk it.”

“What’s with you and risks, Silver? These weapons will make us some big bucks.” He made a pay-me gesture with his hand. “You don’t want that? I thought you valued money?”

“I value life more. This whole thing escalated out of control. So leave it, grab what we need, and bring ’em up to Old Rusty. We’ll get enough for the raid. Ashe—” He turned to me. “On the way back to the Gloom, Rogue can fix up your hand.” He patted my shoulder. “But we gotta move now. Understood?”

“But—” Mylo said.

“Understood?” Silver glared at him.

Mylo sighed, slouching. “Fine, but we better grab somethin’ useful. I’ll get the pipe-pistols.”

“You walk up to Old Rusty,” Rogue said to me. “Gimme your pack, Silver can carry your loot. Rest easy for now, ’kay?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded and handed her my backpack. I still couldn’t get over what Silver said, but confronting him now wouldn’t do us any good. I could wait.

“You’ll be fine, Ashe,” said Silver. “We won’t be long, trust me.”

But trusting him. . . . Yeah, that was a tad bit difficult now. We knew each other for ten years yet he never mentioned this to my pa or me? At least, I didn’t think he mentioned it to him, ’cause Pa woulda told me.

Pa would tell me everything.