Bounty Hunter

Chapter 8

Each exoshield was different, having been customized to each person's body. They were so expensive that hunters had to contract ten years of service to a guild in exchange for one. Joe was fortunate in that he had his from the Revolution and didn't need to be contracted. Though his armor was an older model, he'd added composite patches for improved protection against blasters and knives. His helmet was a simple design with eye slots, but upgraded to have night vision capabilities, hearing enhancement ear cuffs, and a breathing mask.

Everything on his exoshield was functional except for the three crimson stripes painted on his helmet and the crimson cape he wore. Those items represented who he was and where he'd come from. Three stripes for the three wars he'd fought in, and the cape his only remnant—a banner—of the Ravens, which he'd served with through all three wars.

The Ravens had been a specialized MRC team in the Revolution, and they'd switched sides to fight against the MRC after that, basically making themselves the enemy of anyone who wanted to be in control. Joe had served alongside the remaining Ravens in the third war, but there hadn't been enough of them left to be officially considered a team.

Through each attack, every Raven had carried a banner, and Joe knew any who still lived would never discard them. The Ravens' tradition was that as long as the banner flew, they would be victorious. Most believed the Ravens had all been killed. Only a few believed the Ravens to be more than legend, and even fewer still recognized their crimson banner. Those who did generally held no love for the rumored death squad that had disappeared after the last war.

Joe proceeded across the private room to the next door, only to be blocked by a pair of hunters. He recognized Bolt, a man with gold armor as polished as his words. Joe had seen Bolt without his exoshield before, and the man spent as much time on his clothes and hair as he did on his armor. The smaller man was all about impressing the world, which did nothing to impress Joe.

"Havoc," Bolt said with a hint of surprise, then he added, with his usual haughtiness, "Sorry, but you'll have to wait. We're next in line."

"Don't worry. I'm here for a payout today, not a ticket," Joe said.

The second hunter shoved Joe back a couple of steps. "Didn't you hear him? He said we're next in line, so move it, chum." This hunter was new to Joe, but his exoshield looked well-worn and was detailed with dents and scratches. Where Bolt was smooth and shiny, this one was rough and grubby.

Joe read the callsign on the second hunter's chest plate, cocked his head, and grinned. "Why do they call you Tumbler? You fall down a lot? From the looks of your shield, that'd be my guess."

Tumbler took an aggressive step toward Joe, his hand on his blaster. "What's up with the red cape? You think you're Superman or something?"

"Or something. And if you're thinking of pulling that weapon on me, you'd better be fast enough to use it."

Tumbler seemed to grow taller. "I'm more than—"

Bolt interrupted, stepping between the two. "Easy, partner. No need for arguments today. Havoc, go ahead of us. I plan to have a drink first, anyway."

"Don't be stupid, B. Someone needs to teach this fella some manners—"

"No, Tumbler," Bolt corrected, voice stern. "Not today. Besides, you'd be a fool to underestimate him."

Joe smiled and nodded in Tumbler's direction. "Go ahead. Underestimate me. Let's have some fun."

Bolt pressed his partner to the side. "Don't mind Tumbler here, Havoc. He's new and thinks he's got something to prove."

The pair moved to a table, and Joe noticed the room had gone silent. He didn't need to turn to know that everyone had watched the scene. Bounty hunters were known to get into their share of fights, but anyone who'd worked with Havoc knew that he wasn't a fan of arguments.