[This story is complete and being edited.]
Armed racing is Atropellado's deadliest and most profitable sport. And wherever there is profit in Atro, there is crime.
Gervassio Blaze has left his most prized possession - ownership of the armed racing f...
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They say there is no rest for the wicked. In spite of how exhausted Lancet was after the funeral service, he barely had a wink of sleep. It was the crack of dawn before he knew it, and time to meet up with the boys. If sleep deprivation, and heavy mulling over autopsy reports weren't enough to sour Lancet's mood, needing to pick up imports at Atro's South Port did the trick.
The aroma of the salty ocean was a bittersweet indulgence for Lancet. It was in the mid-thirties, which when compared to Lancet's home country, Kayos, was more like a balmy summer vacation in comparison. Kayos was known to drop below freezing point, and in the negatives. It was why Lancet didn't fold himself to shield from the cold as his men did. Skiver in particular, rocked on his heels back and forth in vain.
"Stitch has it real good right about now," Skiver grumbled as he attempted to rub warmth into his fingers.
"Someone has to watch the truck," Cross reminded him as he tightened the designer scarf around his neck. "Make sure the civvy behind the wheel doesn't get any bright ideas once the cargo is loaded."
Lancet was always grateful to Cross for helping to keep Skiver in check. If Skiver was the least patient out of the bunch, Cross was the most, not counting Lancet. Granted, Cross was the most gregarious of them, and took every opportunity to strike up conversations. Bickering with Skiver counted as conversation.
"I coulda watched the truck," Skiver growled to which Cross followed with, "You're not the one the pirates are wary of. Last time we brought Stitch, they accused him of recording them with his eye. I mean, not that he can't if he wanted to, but that's besides the point." Cross mumbled the last part beneath his breath. "Inhospitable bastards."
"Shit!" Lancet cursed after his fifth attempt to keep his cigarette lit. While the cold didn't faze the new Blaze family boss, the blasted winds were enough to unground him if he didn't maintain a solid stance. With every inch the winds shoved them, the wooden planks beneath their shoes groaned.
"Boss."
It was Cutter's rarely used voice, fogged air from the holes of his mask, that directed all their attention to end of the wharf. The massive container ship looked like a beast breaking through the morning mist, its horn blaring like a deep wail of protest. Lancet began to walk down the wharf, cigarette still unlit, and tucked into the corner of his mouth. His subordinates wordlessly followed. They passed another ship that was already docked. Mostly manned by androids, but Lancet could feel some eyes. He didn't expect any confrontation though. Most of the burly men unloading crates knew exactly who they were, and to steer clear. Being nosey benefited no one in this city.
When the ship they were waiting for settled, their contact came stomping down the wharf towards them. "Ahoy, misser Steel," the older man said as soon as he was in earshot. The Blaze men stopped to take shelter behind a wall of containers. With the winds tapered, Lancet didn't waste a second to try, and light his cigarette again.
