Baypool's Bounty

“There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley,'' he murmured, concentrating on the last of a series of stitches lining her upper arm.

Swiveling around in his chair to replace his needle and thread for a large bandage, he continued with his back towards her; “from what I can remember from the stories my father told me, it was The Sisterhood who controlled the area before them. Although,” he said, swiveling back round and tilting his head towards the left as he wrapped the bandage around her bicep, “they were just as ruthless.”

“You know,” she smirked, raising her eyebrow at him, “over at Gerry’s they would’ve just given me a vial of the latest Medware and sealed this thing shut in a few seconds,” glaring at the fresh bandage wrapped tightly around her arm. “And,” she added, “spared me the history lesson as well.”

“And,” he shot back, “they would’ve uploaded about a trillion viruses to your cyberware that I’d eventually have to fix,” motioning to the series of computers, knives and drills that lined the dark, small, sterile basement. “And besides,” raising an eyebrow at her with a slight chuckle, “they aren’t as cheap as me.”

With that, he stood up, pushing the chair away from him as he made his way over to the counter behind him, leaning against the cool metal as he crossed his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles to face her once again, watching her under the small spotlight covering the operating chair as she gingerly lowered what was left of her t-shirt sleeve over the bandage. “But I’m sure a mercenary like you didn’t just decide to head over to Dragon territory just to admire the concrete scenery. What are you up to?”

“You know me too well.” She sighed, leaning all the way back into the leather chair. Turning her head to the left to face him, she waited a few moments to gather her thoughts, knowing full well that what she was about to tell him would end their friendly banter. “I saw the Preacher.” She avoided his gaze and looked down at her hands, running her fingers over the cyber implants he had installed for her the very first time they met, replacing the broken flesh with the latest cybernetic enhancement and patching her up for free. Had he not stumbled across the two of them in the alleyway they surely would have perished. “He needs my expertise.” She grimaced as she said those words. She didn’t want anything to do with the Preacher but, in order to survive in the streets of Baypool, a mercenary has to accept the highest paying contracts. Business is business. And besides, he had once been her greatest mentor, adopting her from the streets and giving her life meaning. In her eyes she owed him in a twisted sort of way, no matter how badly their last encounter had ended.

She didn’t have to look at him to know how he felt. She could feel the tension permeate the room. Shifting in the chair and brushing her hair out from her eyes, she worked up enough courage to look at him. “Jaison. Young girls from his district are turning up dead. I have to do something. You know I have to.” Her words came out clear and strong. She didn’t need his approval, but making him understand why she would go back to the man who caused the most destruction in her life would put her mind at ease for potentially making the worst decision of her life. “Besides,” she attempted to add a little humour to the situation, “he’s offering a lot of money to do this.”

His steely expression hadn’t changed in the slightest bit. Staring at her for a few seconds, he pushed up the clear frames of his glasses, uncrossing his arms and legs as he stood, turning his back to her and busying himself with cleaning the tools he had been using earlier to sow up her arm. “Have you told Bear?” His gruff tone mentioned no sign of empathy or resentment.

“I didn’t want to scare him.” Shifting her weight to her feet, she got up and crossed the room, leaning against the counter next to him. “You know how anxious he gets.”

“Mallory. You can’t go back to the Preacher. Once he gets you in his grasp again he won’t let go. And if he does,” he turned to her, meeting her gaze, “he’ll make sure you and Bear are dead this time.” His words seemed emotionless and cold, but, if she had listened close enough, she would’ve heard a slight shake in his voice as he pleaded with her. All she had noticed was just how old he looked in this light, a hint of gray traveling through his hair and dark circles forming under his eyes. A tinge of guilt surfaced in the pit of her stomach, knowing full well that her actions over the past few years had caused at least a small part of his stress. She had a habit of popping up into his life when she needed his help, and disappearing for months on end after. She had convinced herself that it was for the best - everyone close to her ended up dead one way or another. Keeping her distance was the only way to keep him safe.

Before she could respond, the armored metal door at the top of the staircase leading to the basement clinic swung open. Hurdling down the stairs, Bear’s bulky frame appeared.

“Compadres! I thought you’d be here Mal; Cybil told me you came in bleeding. I’ve brought coffee!”

His excitement soon drained from his eyes as he saw the two of them standing stiffly, staring in his direction without a hint of a smile on either of their faces.

“Who died? What happened to your arm?”

Jaison looked to Mallory, lifting his eyebrow at her as he returned his gaze to the countertop to finish cleaning. He wasn’t about to break the news to Bear and put himself on the receiving end of his anger and sadness. He was getting too old for this, he thought to himself.

“I’ve taken a contract with the Preacher. I was going to let you know but I didn’t want to bring you into Dragon territory and risk both of our lives.”

“Mija are you crazy?” Bear exploded, throwing his free hand up into the air and shaking his head. “Don’t you remember what happened last time? He left us to die! You could’ve died today! You’re lucky you got away with just a scratch!”

“I know. But young girls are turning up dead in his region and he needs my help to stop it. And,” she added with a stubborn shrug, “money is money.” Both men knew she wouldn’t back down from this, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to make her see sense.

“You’re right. They are turning up dead and he is certainly a rich man. What makes you think that he isn’t the one behind it?”

“The bodies,” she began to explain, stepping away from the counter and positioning herself in front of Bear and Jaison in order to address them both, “have the marks of the Dragons on their bodies. The slashes on their abdomens are in the shape of their seal and the jagged cuts look their tech. Here,” she motioned to Jaison, virtually sending images of the bodies to his eyeware, “analyze the cuts. I’m sure they’ll match up.”

Nodding silently, his eyes glowed as he pulled up the images.

The series of images Mal sent him were horrific. Each picture detailed a brutal killing; mangled limbs and bloody faces, the young girls were entirely unrecognizable. However, common among all of the victims was the signature seal of the Dragon clan jaggedly cut into their flesh with slices that could have only come from the Katanic: a cybernetic upgrade to the traditional Katana sword used only by the Dragons. A sickening sight, but nothing the city of Baypool hadn’t seen before, especially at the turn of the century when the Mothern took power. Corruption and violence became commonplace, littering the streets with desperate people willingly to do anything for a bit of money.

Having run the diagnostics on the images given to him, Jaison confirmed Mallory’s suspicions; “She’s right. It’s a perfect match for the Katanic.”

“Let me see.” Sending the images to Bear, he let out a sigh. “My god. Those poor girls.” Shaking his head, he sat down on the leather operating chair, staring at the floor. He was no stranger to the dangers of the streets; working as a mercenary you see a lot of carnage. It was through this carnage Bear had met Mallory. In fact, they had originally met through the Preacher, paired up together so he could keep an eye on her, making sure she wasn’t about to double-cross the region’s leader. His loyalties changed when things went south. He shuddered at the memory of lying in the rain-soaked alley next to her, blood flowing into the streets of Baypool; an honorable death for a merc, he had tried to convince himself in what he thought were his last moments on earth. Thank god the Preacher had his lackey’s ditch them outside of Cybil’s Tattoo parlor.

“Look. I’ve got a plan but I’ll need your help. And,” she added, “I promise as soon as I take care of the Dragons I’ll take care of the Preacher.”

Before even responding to Mal’s declaration of a plan, the metal door at the top of the staircase shook with repeated bangs against it. “The Dragons are here.” Mal pulled out her small pistol, loading a fresh round of bullets into the chamber, preparing herself for a fight.

“Quickly. Out the back door,” Jaison ordered in a hushed voice, pointing to a concealed hatch in the left hand corner of the small, dingy basement. “There won’t be any gunfire in here, please.” Hesitating, she reluctantly obeyed his order, making her way to Bear and the hatch.

Placing himself between the Dragons and the escaping Mallory and Bear, Jaison occupied himself with one of the computers, opening the exit for the two escaping mercs. With only a few seconds to spare, the Dragons busted through the metal door, crashing into the clinic.

Standing to face the four Dragons who had now entered the room, Jaison smiled. “Boys,” he exclaimed, “You didn’t make an appointment at the front desk.”

“Where is she?” The main Dragon stepped forward, his tall and slender body swayed with each step as he looked around with his gun placed over his shoulder. “The merc with the dark pink hair and the gash across her arm. We know you two are associated.”

“I never reveal my clientele, you boys should know that by now.” Jaison turned his back to them, making his way to his stool to sit down. His exterior was calm and stoic - internally? That was another story. “Now, if you don’t need stitching up or an upgrade, I suggest you leave before I barre the Dragons from using my services for good.”

Smiling a smile that only suggests malice, the main Dragon stepped forward, lowering himself to come face to face with Jaison. “You need our money.” His eyes glowed red as he threatened him.

Meeting his stare, Jaison cooly replied, “Nice eyeware. Remind me who installed them,” he challenged him. “ I make enough money out of the rest of the low lives that populate this city so I’d watch what I was saying if I were you.” Jaison was fully aware that the city of Baypool relied on his work. Cybernetic tech could only be installed by Medware employees working for the Mothern. This meant that only a select few gangs could get their hands on the latest upgrades by regularly donating a large sum of money to their cause. In return for their generous donations, they’re granted access to Medware and police protection, giving them free reign of the city. For the rest of the city scum, cybernetic tech is out of reach, except for the dodgy knock-offs available on every street corner at establishments like Gerry’s, risking their lives every time they receive an upgrade. Or they could turn to Jaison.

Calculating his next move, the Dragon finally began to speak again; “You should not protect a merc who is more trouble than she is worth. We will deal with her eventually. But she should know,” he snarled, “that Preacher - he isn’t who he says he is. Do not trust him.”

And with that, the Dragons emptied the basement clinic, leaving only Jaison to contemplate the words he just heard.

Not a second later, Cybil frantically made their way down, their small frame hastily making their way to Jaison to make sure he wasn’t injured.

“I tried to stop them. They stormed right through the tattoo parlour and kicked in the door. They scared away all of my clients.” They looked around, searching for the mercs. “What happened to Mal and Bear?”

“They left through the hatch.” He stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s got herself into a lot of trouble.”

“Again?” Cybil chuckled. “When isn’t she in trouble?”

He laughed, although it didn’t fool Cybil. They knew he was worried. Cybil had always been understanding. For some reason, they had a sixth-sense for emotion, knowing what others felt before they even knew it.

“She’s working with the Preacher again.”

“God.”

“She’ll need our help.”

“Of course.”

At first, Jaison had been weary of renting the basement of a small tattoo parlour, worrying that Cybil would turn him in to the police the second a hint of danger surfaced. But, for reasons he wasn’t aware of, they admired the services he provided to those who couldn’t afford a real hospital. If that meant putting up with the occasional gang drop-in for upgrades in their weaponized limbs, they would do it. They was never one to obey the law anyway.

“It’ll be fine,” they tried to reassure him, squeezing his arm. He smiled, “They’re both professionals. They know what they’re doing.”

“I just don’t understand why she’s letting the Preacher in again - business or not it isn’t safe.” He sighed. He was tired, tired of patching her up everytime she got in harm's way, waiting for the day he would get a call to tell him she was dead. The worry would kill him before any Dragon could.

“I know it’s hard to understand. But people like Mal, they play their cards close to their chest, and when they let someone in, they’ll always give them the benefit of the doubt. She feels too deeply without acknowledging it. It’s a dangerous combination.” Cybil squeezed his arm again.

At that second, his eyes glowed with a message from Mallory

Hope you aren’t dead. If not, we’ve gone to the Rebel Yell. See you there?

“They’re at the Rebel Yell.” He ran a hand through his hair, relieved that they were safe.

“Of course they are,” Cybil laughed, shaking their head. “They never change, do they?”

He laughed. They were right. They hadn’t changed a bit since he had first met the mercs the night the Preacher left them for dead. Bloody and bruised, he patched them up again and couldn’t get rid of them ever since. Not that he would ever want to get rid of either of them - they were the closest thing to family he had left in the world, Cybil included.

“Are you done for the day? I’ll give you a lift to the bar.”

“Well since the three of you scared my clients away it’s the least you could do,” they winked at him, lightly tapping his arm as they made their way to the door.

Grabbing his keys from the table, the two of them made their way up the stairs. “I’ll have to get that replaced. They really did a number on it,” he said, his brow furrowed as he tried to work out just how they got through the thick metal.

Making their way to his car in silence, Jaison prayed that this wouldn’t be the last time the four of them saw each other all together in one piece.