☆ ⁺ « 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒
content warning for descriptions of blood and gore.
★˚⋆ THERE WAS NO FLOOR BENEATH the scarlet carpet. Only a deep, fathomless darkness that stole your breath when you looked down at it. The carpet rippled like something alive as you put one foot in front of the other, approaching Zero, who reclined on a throne of pitch. The gold thread that swirled over his robes glimmered like starlight.
"Give me a job," you called to him. The words floated in the air, echoing strangely around you.
"Of course," Zero replied. All at once, you were in front of him. The teardrop jewel at his cheek emitted its own faint green light.
"You will steal for me a ring of kismet."
The words were ludicrous, although for some reason, that didn't register to you. You only nodded.
"What will you pay me?"
"Anything you desire."
You drew closer to Zero, suddenly intoxicated by his presence. He was a collapsing star, drawing you in with his gravity. You brought your fingers to his mask. Zero didn't stop you. He stayed still as stone, a half-smile pulling his lips.
When you lifted his mask, Zero's eyes were the dark, mesmerizing blue of blown glass. No. Not Zero's eyes.
You whispered his name. His smile unfurled and it pulled on your heart like the two were tethered.
"You promised me you wouldn't go to him. It was the one promise I ever asked of you."
"I have to. You know I do."
The space between the two of you disappeared as he brought his lips to yours. You didn't know if that meant he forgave you or not.
"Cap. Captain."
You opened your eyes. For a second, you couldn't remember where you were or what the flack had happened. But then the beige walls of the room came into view, along with Mista's face hovering above you.
Coco Jumbo. Lady Legarde. The Ferry and Inspector Asswipe.
"Is it time to switch?" you murmured groggily.
Mista frowned. "Trish is going to take over for you. You're coming with me."
You sat up, brushing the covers aside. "What happened?"
"I'll explain on the way. We need to go right now."
Worry coiled itself into the pit of your stomach. You and Mista slipped outside, passing by Trish and Coco Jumbo sitting outside the door. She looked up, mouthing, be careful, as you left. Trish always raised a stink whenever it was her turn for lookout. The fact that she'd let you go so easily was raising red flags.
Parked outside the motel was one of the complimentary buggies the Hub lent to all of its visitors. All of its registered visitors, at any rate. Mista must have stolen this one from some unsuspecting couple's lot. With how big the Hub was, you had to have a buggy if you wanted to get anywhere in a timely manner. The little buggies were specially engineered for use on the Hub and would combust if they were taken elsewhere. The buggy was squat and low to the ground, painted a tawdry red and as easy to drive as a kid's mock-car. Except you had never gotten the hang of it and wobbled on it like a kid fresh off their training wheels. It caused you no shortage of grief from your crew, seeing as you could pilot an Eva-S2 perfectly well.
Mista took the handlebars and you settled in behind him, linking your arms over his torso as he sped off. You waited for a customary quip to start off the conversation, but he didn't say a word. It seemed too quiet as the two of you travelled through the Hub's narrow mag belts, the businesses and shops all dark at the early hour. It was eerie to see the colossal space so quiet and dim. It felt like something might leap out at you at any moment from the twisting metal and chrome.
"Someone's losing their six-pack," you teased weakly, squeezing Mista's stomach.
Mista snorted. "I could still do more crunches than you. You always sucked at that during training."
You leaned your head against Mista's back. "Where are we going? What happened?"
"I got a call from Luca," Mista said, so quietly you barely hear him over the buggy. "He said if we wanted to fence anything, we'd have to go now. He sounded panicked. Like someone was holding an elector to his head. He hung up before I could say anything. I don't really know what happened but . . . I just have a bad feeling."
Being a fencer, and especially a fencer on the Hub, was risky business. And if you happened to be as unlikable as Luca, there was a long line of people who wanted to blow your brains out. But Luca hadn't gotten to where he was by being reckless. He had a tight network of people guarding and protecting his stash at all times. And Luca himself was no pansy. His accounts and contacts were airtight. The location they were meeting him at was one of a dozen he cycled through regularly. If someone had gotten the slip on Luca . . .
That person was trouble.
Luca's location for your meeting was in the residential sector. Mista brought the buggy to a stop in front of the apartments, built directly into the Hub walls. It was on a prime section of the Hub, not too far from the beating centre where all of the gambling, stealing, fencing and whatever else happened. No doubt they would've been upgraded if the Upper Space nobles had lived here, but as it stood, they were still the bare models that came with the ship, probably as dingy as the room you'd just come from.
The night guard at the entrance looked innocent enough, although, being on the Hub, he'd probably killed three people and punched someone's grandma just to get this job.
"You here for Leaky Eye?" he growled.
"He around?" Mista asked.
The guard narrowed his eyes. "Some commotion went on earlier. Someone went to visit and suddenly there was banging and shouting. He didn't answer when I went to check on him."
You and Mista exchanged a glance.
"We'll let you know," Mista said, brushing past the guard. All of a sudden, the guard grabbed a fistful of his shirt.
"If you're here to screw with Leaky Eye, think twice. Nobody here likes him, but we'd like the guy who took out a source of cred even less."
"I won't touch a hair on his head," Mista drawled. "I need the credit as much as you."
The guard let go of Mista. He grinned and strode to the elevator, cool as a cucumber. You followed suit, glancing your hands over the guard's pocket to grab his keycard and then hide it in one of your own Stand cards. The guard cast the two of you the evil eye as you went into the elevator.
"Damn, the guys guarding Luca have a stick shoved farther up their ass everytime we come," Mista said.
You took the keycard in a card out. "His paranoia has worked out so far." Luca would usually open the doors himself once he saw who it was, but you had a feeling it'd be faster to force your way in. If the bastard was alive, he'd give you an earful for it.
At Luca's door, Mista jabbed the speaker and leaned down to it. "Ayo, it's Mista. Open the door, you bag of flack."
He stepped back. The two of you waited a few minutes for the door to slide open. Luca usually took his sweet time conducting business with you, but this time, the waiting was ominous.
Mista slid his elector from his shoulder holster. "Let's just open the door, Cap."
You took a moment to steel yourself. Then you tapped the card against the door, watching as the edges glowed green and slid aside.
Luca's apartment was dark as a crypt. Mista waved his hand near the wall and the lights overhead suddenly turned on, stinging your eyes. There was nothing out of the ordinary as you looked around. Take out containers littering the counter. Dirty clothes tossed over the couch. A computer hooked up to the holoscreen on the far wall. Luca took care to keep his places free of contraband. It was part of the reason the GA's could never land him, the fact that he kept his goods and resources so well hidden.
"Leaky Eye?" Mista called. "You in here?"
His apartment didn't have the feel of a place that had been abandoned for days. You half-expected him to pop out from the toilet and start screaming at you for busting into his place.
Mista's Pistols made their appearance, floating over Mista's head as though summoned by his unease.
"Spread out, guys," Mista told them. "Leaky Eye should've come out by now. Look around and lemme know when you find him."
The Pistols yelled affirmative and dispersed around the apartment. You stayed close to Mista, the apprehension in the air near-stifling. Luca wasn't anywhere you would've expected. Not in the tiny kitchen, the bathroom or the living room. Eventually, all that was left was his bedroom.
You were afraid to turn on the lights once you got there. You wanted him to be sleeping, because even though he was a flackbag, the alternative was one you didn't want to entertain.
Mista lightly touched your forearm. You waved your hand for the lights.
Luca wasn't on his bed.
He was sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
"Holy shit," Mista breathed. His Pistols zipped into the room and quickly fell silent, any quips they might have had dying in the air.
The more you stared, the more the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. Luca was face-down, the back of his head caved in like a coconut. One of the decorative statues outside lay beside him, scuffed and splattered with blood. Red flecked his bed covers and the slate-grey walls. One of Luca's hands was still fisted into the blanket falling off the bed.
He lay so, so still.
"Someone really did it," Mista said. "Someone killed the bastard."
Something fell in Luca's living room. You and Mista whirled around, electors brandished. Your body alternated between feeling drenched in ice water and then red-hot fire.
Luca's murderer was still here.
"Get him, Number One," Mista said. He fired off a shot, the little Stand zipping off eagerly. You heard the shot ping off of something and fizz out.
"There's no one here!" Number One shouted.
"We should get out of here," you said. "It's not like Luca left any of his stuff here. There's—there's nothing for us to do."
Mista darted another glance at Luca's body. You couldn't help looking back too. You remembered the first time you'd met Luca. It had been at a shadow auction, one your first before you'd met most of the crew. It had only been you and Mista then. Someone had blown all of the other buyers out of the water by purchasing the decorative vase you'd pilfered for three times the running price. Afterwards, a shifty guy with bad hair and a flower-print coat had approached you and Mista, revealing himself as Luca and now the main buyer of all of your exploits. You'd been dubious of his claims at first, but in all the years you'd done business with Luca, he'd always paid what he promised. He was a shitty guy, but he knew how to fence a diamond.
"Stars rest his soul," Mista breathed. You murmured the same.
The guard nearly plucked out your eyes when you announced Luca was a ragdoll surrounded in cranberry juice in his apartment. It took a good twenty minutes to convince him you and Mista hadn't anything to do with his death and hadn't taken flack from him. As you puttered away on the buggy, the full weight of what had happened suddenly crashed into you.
Luca was dead. Luca who was paranoid as flack and kept his credits and contacts and goods more private than a nun's panties. How had he died? Who had killed him? Who would've dared? Luca fenced for some of the biggest thieves in the game. Surely whoever killed him knew they were taking on the wrath of known murderers.
It would be too arrogant to assume someone had killed Luca just to mess with Passione, but . . .
You didn't kill someone like Luca unless you wanted the whole house of cards to tumble.
- ✦ -
[ NO, I DON'T KNOW WHO KILLED LUCA. I'M SMART BUT I'M NOT A PSYCHIC. THEY SHOULD'VE INCLUDED THAT IN MY PROGRAMMING, THOUGH. ]
"Of course Coco wouldn't know who killed Leaky Eye," Fugo scoffed.
"If he was developed for the GA's, you'd think he could parse this one out," Narancia said.
[ I THINK YOU'RE GIVING ME TOO MUCH CREDIT. ]
"Oh, my apologies, Smartest Computer in the Galaxy," Mista mocked.
Your crew had taken the news of Leaky Eye's death about as well as you had expected. No one else seemed to draw the conclusion that the murderer might have an agenda for your crew as well. You kept those suspicions to yourself because everyone had enough to worry about.
Mista had sold off the cricket ball to the second person on the buyer list for nowhere near as much money as Luca had been offering, but still, something. Meanwhile, Narancia and Fugo had drawn up a comprehensive plan for tomorrow night with the help of Coco Jumbo. The file Fugo sent over included exhaustive descriptions of the inside of Zero's banquet hall, Zero himself, and the people expected to attend. There was also a map with no less than four escape routes outlined, cover alibis cross-referenced with fellow Hub thieves, and a step-by-step schedule of how everything would go and everyone's roles, down to the minute. Perhaps most important of all was the most valuable item Narancia and Fugo had determined from visiting Zero's museum.
Well, it could be argued the title of "most valuable item" was subjective and entirely according to taste. For Narancia and Fugo though, the item of the hour was the most recent addition to Zero's collection, recently excavated from ruins on Earth. It was something called a "flip phone", an ugly hunk of metal that people supposedly used to call each other centuries ago. This particular phone was burnished gold, an emerald, ruby and diamond snake curling itself around the edge of the dial pad. It looked tacky and heavy as flack, but it was small enough to steal and so would be stolen.
"Trish sure is taking her sweet time," Narancia yawned. "Shouldn't she be back by now?"
Coco Jumbo was sitting on a pillow, blinking sleepily. Its voice, however, was anything but. [ REMEMBER THAT IS A PARTY THROWN BY ZERO WE'RE TALKING ABOUT. A BIT OF OSTENTATIOUSNESS IS TO BE EXPECTED. I LEFT TRISH WITH VERY SPECIFIC CRITERIA THE OUTFITS HAD TO MEET IN ORDER TO MAXIMIZE THE 24.40% CHANCE OF SUCCESS. ]
"Has that number gone down since yesterday?" you asked.
[ UNFORTUNATELY, CAPTAIN. LUCA DYING HAS DECREASED THE ODDS. ]
Before you could ask exactly how, the door to the room slid open and Trish swept inside, large black garment bags slung over her arms. She was smiling wide, seeming refreshed despite the fact that this motel had abhorrent plumbing. An Upper Space girl until the end, you supposed.
"You won't believe the deals that are going on right now. Something about Zero must have people feeling really generous." Trish tossed the garment bags onto a cot and set her hands on her hips. She looked expectantly between Fugo and Mista.
"You two. Change. Now. We'll wait for you outside. That includes you, Coco."
Narancia made a face. "What the—? Why?"
Trish didn't elaborate further. She pushed you, the pilot and the turtle outside. When the doors closed, Trish called back to the two boys, "Tell us to come back once you're done! The zippers are finicky so be careful!"
[ CHANCE OF SUCCESS HAS INCREASED 0.0023% ] Coco Jumbo intoned.
When you were finally allowed back into the room, it only took two seconds for you and Narancia to become full hyena. Fugo's face turned an impressive shade of red, and Mista wore such a deep shade of disgust that a new word needed to be invented for it.
Trish barely flinched. She cast a critical eye over Mista and Fugo, lips pursed. "Alright, alright. Quit cackling and tell me what you actually think of the outfits. I followed everything Coco told me. Hard as that was."
"It's . . . it's . . ." Narancia screwed up his face to keep from laughing. "It's something."
You took a deep breath and put on your most serious captain face. Looking at Mista and Fugo's outfits from a purely objective standpoint, they were displays of art. Truly.
Mista's outfit looked like someone had gone berserk on buckle day. His baggy pants and long overcoat were both made from a wrinkly, rustly cousin of the plastic bag. The same material made a hat on his head, secured with, you guessed it, another buckle. The baggy clothing made it easy to conceal his shoulder holster however, and any other weapons he might want to bring with him. The hat completely concealed his eyes.
Fugo's outfit was a deep, forest green. The top was some kind of zippered sweater-vest combination with panels baring his chest and arms. His pants were reminiscent of mattress bedding, soft and comfy-looking. He looked younger in this outfit somehow, less like he might bite your head off.
"This is really what they're wearing on the Hub these days?" Mista muttered, trying and failing to move his hat further up his head.
"Mhm. Height of fashion. If anything, you'll be the least likely to stick out this way," Trish said matter-of-factly.
Fugo grunted. "Lucky us."
"I've got your outfit here too, Captain," Trish said, gesturing to the third garment bag still on the cot. "That's if you decide to go with these two, that is."
You grudgingly took a peek at the outfit, expecting the worst.
"Oh, it doesn't look that bad."
"You're my Captain. I can't afford to dress you badly."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mista groused.
"Outfits aside, we have everything we need now, right?" The familiar pall of worry had fallen back over Fugo's face. "The plan's in place. Everyone knows their lines. We have to be on our A-game tomorrow. We can't afford for anything to go wrong." He cast a meaningful glance at Narancia and Mista, who prickled indignantly.
"We've got this in the bag," Trish said flippantly. "I can't wait to finally have a real meal for once."
"And an actual bed," Narancia said, rubbing his eye.
"And my holo movies," Mista sighed.
[ IF YOU'RE INTERESTED, I CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH A COLLECTION OF MOVIES COMPATIBLE WITH THE PASSIONE'S CONSOLE RIGHT NOW. NOT QUITE LEGALLY, BUT THOSE COMPANIES DON'T NEED ANY MORE MONEY, DO THEY? ]
Mista snapped his fingers at the turtle. "You, I'm starting to hate less."
Downtimes were nice, but this was what you lived for. The buzz of anticipation nestling behind your skin, your limbs tingling, your mind on overdrive. It had been too long since you'd had a job this big. You were going to steal that brick phone and shove it in Zero's face and see if he'd be stupid enough not to give your crew a job.
That, or you would die trying.
"What are our chances?" you asked Coco Jumbo. The little turtle wouldn't be coming with you, but he was supposedly powerful enough to be able to communicate with your team without leaving this motel room.
[ QUITE HIGH, CONSIDERING. THE NUMBER FLUCTUATES AS I CRUNCH VARIABLES, BUT IT CONSISTENTLY HOVERS OVER A 20.00% SUCCESS RATE. ]
"Even I know that equals an 80% failure rate," Narancia grumbled.
[ IT'S NEVER ZERO! ] Coco chirped and you could've smacked the thing. If there were settings for its snark and sarcasm level, they needed to be fixed. Pronto.
"If anyone wants to back out, now is the time," you said. You looked intently at each of your crew. A half-assed effort would cost all of you everything tomorrow. No one spoke up, and you were relieved despite yourself.
One of these days, they wouldn't be quite so willing to follow you through the galaxy and back.
- ✦ -
because i miss them, i'm bringing 'them back. next update will include 2 'choose your own adventure' chapters. the esteemed captain will either attend zero's banquet with mista and fugo, or steal the brick phone with narancia and trish.
see you then! should be fun >:)
NEXT CHAPTER ─
❝ THE ONLY THING YOU BUSTED WAS YOUR LITTLE SHELL. THE DOOR'S NOT OPEN ❞
☆ ⁺ ⠀«⠀ THE BRICK PHONE (G. MISTA & P. FUGO)
OR
❝ AH, I THOUGHT I RECOGNIZED THAT FACE. THE HOLOSCREENS DON'T DO YOU JUSTICE. ❞
☆ ⁺ ⠀«⠀ THE ACID GIRL (N. GHIRGA & T. UNA)