The Bysc Market is the only place
in all of Maccaan where honest commerce can safely take place. No drug
merchants peddle their poison here, nor do any hitnen find work within these
stalls. Of all the places a denizen might wander, this is certainly the safest,
but that is not to say that it is without its share of criminal activity. Even
now, a wayward child marches through the crowds with ill intent in his heart.
Kansomatharin, or Kanso for short, slides through the stream of bodies that
surrounds him. He wears a thick poncho with a deep hood as many of his people
do. Fendaren are never a welcome presence among Hyunans, but he intends to use
this to his benefit. His eyes are trained on Mon Patel, a mid-level gangster in
a mid-sized gang. Mon struts through the market with an entourage of three
goons trailing him. Their heads are on a swivel so Kanso takes care not to
venture too close. It’s unlikely they’d notice him, short and unassuming as he
is, but he also cannot afford to take any chances. He has far too much at stake
to give himself away now.
The mobsters come to a stop at
Yvini’s Diner, one of the cleanest sit-down establishments in the entire continent.
They serve the kind of food that only dirty money can buy, though by crown city
standards it is still quite dull to the pallet. Seeing his targets duck into
the restaurant distresses Kanso, but he will remain patient. He has no other
choice at this point. He meanders through the stalls and stands near various
kiosks while he watches Mon and his nen take a table on the diner’s patio. He
does his best not to stare too hard though. The law enforcement may be
slovenly, but they are by no means clueless. He also makes sure not to linger
near any one shop for too long for fear of being suspected as a thief. To
further protect his facade of innocence, he goes to order lunch from his
favorite fry cook’s stand.
“Pjik kabob,” he requests, keeping
his voice low to mask the distinctive vibrating quality that his Fendaren vocal
cords produce.
“Good ta see ya, Kanso,” the portly
nan bellows. “That’ll be eight pensen.”
“Here you go, Quen,” Kanso says. He speaks so
softly, that he can barely be heard over the perpetual hum of shoppers and
merchants.
“Thank ya kindly, kiddo,” Quen
chimes as he hands over the steaming skewer of meat. “Come back soon and stay
outa trouble now.”
Kanso takes no insult at the
implication. He simply nods his still-hooded head and departs. His small frame
disappears into the crowd but it’s not long before Quon has another customer to
attend to. Kanso likes him well enough. Quon may very well be as racist as any
other Hyunan Kanso’s ever come across but money is money to him and he’s never
turned away Kanso’s business. Of all the transgressions against him, there is
nothing Kanso finds more humiliating than to have someone refuse his money. The
Fendaren rely on nen like old Quon to stay fed, for it is one thing to have
credits enough to eat and another to find a merchant who will actually accept
them. This is the harsh truth that these children must face each day and it is
a condition that worsens as time rolls onward.
Kanso finds that his targets are
right where he left them, their meals now on their table. He finds a recently
vacated bench and lays claim to it with haste. From this seat, he keeps an eye
on the gangsters. To any passerby, he looks like a shy Fendaren enjoying a
meal. And he is enjoying it a great deal. While those with a more refined
pallet would readily turn it away, Quon’s pjik kabobs are one of Kanso’s
favorite sources of protein. He munches on the juicy steak bits, savoring every
fatty bite. As he sits here, he wishes for more quiet moments, namely ones that
don’t include him waiting for the right moment to complete a job. He’s waited
too long on this one too. He knows it’s only a matter of time before Fredryko
sends someone for him. This has been a much harder mark than Kanso anticipated.
Whatever Mon has on his comm unit, it’s got him in a fit of paranoia. He never
goes in public without his three lackeys to protect him. He rarely goes
anyplace that isn’t busy and he never stops looking over his shoulder. He’s a
nan that knows he’s a target, but he doesn’t know whom he’s targeted by. If
Kanso isn’t careful, that will soon change and then Mon might become
permanently out of his reach. There are dozens of ways that this job can end
poorly for little Kanso and only a handful in which he can come out triumphant.
Now that he’s nibbled every last bit of meat off of the wooden skewer, worry
returns to his mind. He thinks maybe he’s been too patient this time. Perhaps
he should have taken a less desirable opportunity. It would have been messy,
yes, but at least he would not be in the position that he now finds himself in.
This might be it, his last chance to get this done. The alternative is begging
for mercy that he knows won’t come. If he worshipped me, I’m sure he’d be
spending these moments in prayer. But he doesn’t believe in my existence as
many Fendaren do not. This doesn’t stop me from sending my graces down to him
in hopes that he will open up to me and accept them.
Instead, he flicks his skewer into
the nearby receptacle and trains his eyes on the gangsters. He watches them as
they finish their meal and grows agitated as they sit there in conversation. Finally,
they arise, having paid their bill, and now they reenter the streets. Kanso departs
from his seat after they’ve walked a little ways. He hopes to finally follow
them to a more opportune location. If he could just get close enough to Mon,
perhaps he could pickpocket the device somehow. But Mon’s goons are watchful
and they’d spot a creeping Fendaren well before Kanso could even come close to
the group. All he can do is follow and wish to his lucky stars that his time
will come. After walking behind them for a ways, Mon stops short and Kanso sees
him give an order to his nen. They dip into a secluded alley in the outskirts
of the market where the stalls and shops start to give way to apartment
complexes. This is it, this is his chance! He attempts to temper his
excitement, trying hard not to race into the alley after them. Instead he waits
behind a building before entering and continuing his pursuit.
At the end of the alley, he sees
Mon and his goons breaking into a land shuttle parked in the back of an
apartment complex. It looks rather expensive for a resident of these parts.
It’s a rare thing to even see one as clean and well-kept as this outside of
Maccaan’s small uptown district. It seems to Kanso that whatever’s got Mon as
paranoid as he is has resulted in the gangster becoming sloppy. He’s spotted a
means of escaping this place and obviously thinks that stealing the shuttle
will bring him salvation. Lucky for this vehicle’s owner, Kanso has no
intension of letting these nen abscond away with it. He catches himself walking
a little too fast so he slows down and works on steadying his breathing. He’s
been too careful to ruin the operation with haste now. He strolls along with
this arms wrapped around his torso and his head down. The lightness in his
stride even keeps the gangsters from hearing him approach until he’s nearly
upon them. Once he’s close enough, he lets his feet shuffle a little to get their
attention. The nen look up, wicked grins stretching across their faces.
“Take care of it,” Mon hisses as he
continues to hack the shuttle door’s lock with his vibro pick.
“You got it, boss,” the
particularly beefy henchnan, named Bennen hums.
He leads the others toward Kanso
where they form a blockade in the alley. Kanso stops short and shivers for
effect. Bennen smiles over him, flexing his bare biceps in front of his chest
in a conceited display of strength.
“Please, I’m not looking for
trouble,” he whimpers, trying to sound as feeble as possible. He knows this is
what these nen like.
“That’s a funny thing to hear from
a Fendaren,” Bennen chuckles.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Kanso
whispers.
“Oh you mean this here
shuttlejacking?” a short, wiry goon named Yrn teases.
“I won’t tell anyone, I’m just
trying to pass through. I promise.”
“Oh he promises!” the third goon, a
nan by the name of Ulen, chides.
Bennen laughs at the mockery. “What
good is your word then gillface?” he challenges, throwing a meaty finger in
Kenso’s face. “Huh, why should we believe a little piss like you?”
“I’m begging you…” Kanso hunches
his back, curling himself up into a sort of half-ball. He knows this show of
weakness will get these nen good and riled up. This is what these people live
for.
Bennen grins wide as he struts
around to Kanso’s back, thinking he’s too weak to stop him. “Alright, alright,
we believe you little guy.” He runs his hand through his slicked back, blond
hair and cocks his chin up into the air. “But you see, we’re gonna beat your
green ass anyways, just to be safe.”
With that, the goon clamps both
hands down on Kanso’s shoulders. This is it. This is what he hoped for. In one
swift motion, Kanso ducks down and launches a foot into his attacker’s crotch. Bennen
gasps for air and immediately releases his grip on the Fendaren. Freed from the
hold, Kanso leaps toward the thug and lands a vicious punch into his temple.
Bennen’s barely collapsed to the dusty pavement when Kanso flips into the air
and slams his foot down into the base of the nan’s skull. The oversized goon
lies there in a heap of unconscious muscle while his companions rush Kanso. The
Fendaren ducks down as Yrn makes a swing for the back of his head. Kanso slides
backward and shoves a boot into the back of this Yrn’s knee. A wild yelp echoes
down the alley as he falls onto his hands and knees. Ulen takes a swing at
Kanso, but the Fendaren catches his arm and wrenches it down towards the
ground. Ulen’s pulled into a hunched posture, pain shooting through his arm. He
barely has time to yell when Kanso twists the nan’s arm up behind his back and
hops up to straddle the nan’s lower back. Kanso’s legs lock around Ulen’s body
like a vice grip and he uses the leverage to twist Ulen’s arm so hard that it’s
ripped clean out of socket. The gangster howls out, but is soon cut off when
Kanso unwinds himself from the nan’s body, grabs him by the back of his spikey,
black hair, and smashes his face into a wall.
Mon’s attention moves away from the
shuttle into the alley where he sees his nen getting dismantled by one little
Fendaren. “Dammit!” he growls as he whips out a blaster from within his red
leather jacket.
Kanso sees the attack coming,
expects it even. He crouches down to avoid a barrage of energy beams, snatches
a throwing knife from inside his boot, and flings the weapon directly into
Mon’s wrist. The gangster screams as he drops the gun and clutches at his
impaled forearm. Yrn tries to crawl away from the fight on one knee, but Kanso
twirls up into the air and delivers a concussive kick to the back of Yrn’s
head. His face bounces off of the unforgiving pavement, drawing blood from his
nose and knocking him out cold. Mon whines as he struggles to remove Kanso’s
dagger from his arm. He withdraws it in time to square off against the
Fendaren.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“Someone who didn’t want any
trouble,” Kanso reminds him, hoping to sell the lie before he contends with
this one last standing gangster.
“You can walk away if you want,”
Mon offers.
Kanso smiles beneath the rim of his
hood as he sneers, “Not a chance!”
He breaks into a full-on sprint
towards Mon who charges forward to meet him, knife in hand. As Mon goes for a
swipe, Kanso leaps forward and dropkicks his target in the chest. Mon drops the
knife and flies back against the shuttle, leaving a dent in its side. He sits
with his back against its rear propulsor, dazed and helpless as Kanso
roundhouse kicks him in the side of his skull. Mon lies limp while Kanso
surveys the scene for any more threats. Satisfied with his work, he crouches
down to where Mon is strewn against the shuttle. He feels around the inside of
his jacket and withdraws Mon’s comm unit. A grin crosses Kanso’s face as he
finally has his mark. Hoping to cover up any lingering suspicion about who he
might be, he goes to each of the goons
and lifts their comms as well. He stuffs them into the deep pouches of his
belt, keeping an eye out for anyone that might spot him. He even steals all the
pensen the nen have on them just to make the robbery feel authentic, not that
it ever hurts him to have a little extra money on hand. Once he has what he
needs, he flees the alley, stripping off his poncho and dropping it into a
dumpster before he rejoins the stream of bodies that walk the main streets.
He’s sure that Mon and his nen will come looking for him once they’ve regained consciousness and there are few enough Fendaren around where even a hooded one’s passing would be noticed. Better to expose his green skin and purple eyes than to be tracked by his poncho. Kanso heads through the market for the Yurai Plaza. He’s sure to be punished for his tardiness in completing the mark, but at least he finally finished the job. He breathes a little easier as he shuffles through the crowd. He did good work today, clean work, the kind he’s known for. He’s good at this. He just hopes his employer won’t take too much exception to the delay.
To the mortal eye, this young Fendaren is as inconsequential as anyone else on this crime-infested continent, but I know better. I see the path that lies before him and I know the choices that he will have to make. I intend to watch him with great interest.
No comments:
Post a Comment