Mirage

Chapter Thirteen

A faint breeze stirred his hair. It was cool against his flushed, sweaty skin. The cold, rough stone underneath his clothing sucked the heat from his body. The blood on his clothing had cooled. The darkness around him was broken up by flashes from pulser rounds, angry red streaks cutting through the night, and flashing neon signs. Below him, the faint sounds of yelling could be heard. The stench of blood drown out every other scent that was carried on the breeze. The weight of the chrono-pulse in his hands was familiar and comforting.  

Ryder was laying on a small ledge, surveying the mini battleground that had opened up in front of him. Whisper was off to his right, holding off attackers with a plethora of curses and threats. On the left The Jackels were slowly advancing as Whisper gave ground, darting for cover between shots. The streets were empty but, in the distance, Ryder caught the green and purple flashing from the Peace Corps vehicles.  

He flipped himself off the ledge, maintaining his grip on the rough stone with a single hand as he dangled into space for a moment before he let go. The wind rushed in his ears and then he hit the catwalk. It rattled and shuddered underneath him and a small section gave way. He lunged for safer footing, his left foot finding a stable railing. He took off running along the metal fixtures, moving like a cat. 

The Jackels never took to The Needles. Whisper's gang was the largest in the area but the average size and height of most of the members was smaller and slimmer than average. Only the most agile could traverse The Needles. It often put them at a disadvantage when faced with grounder gangs like The Jackles who could prioritize size and weight when it came to soldiers. 

What The Crows lacked in size they made up for in sheer nerve, ruthlessness and cunning. Whisper exemplified everything that made The Crows, The Crows. Behind Ryder an explosion lit up the night sky farther below, the light reflecting off the buildings. Strangled screams echoed through the narrow alleys. Whisper had no doubt set one of his infamous traps and The Jackels had walked right into it. 

Ryder knew from personal experience that when Whisper retreated and couldn't be seen he was at his most dangerous. A small shiver went down his spine at the thought and then he sucked in a deep breath and pushed the hazy memory away. 

Focus, Kyatzi.* Ryder told himself sharply. His eyes narrowed slightly as he noted the positions of The Jackel members below him but he kept going. There were three of them and they were peeking around a corner, trying to be stealthy. They forgot to look up. Most grounders did.

 He leaped for a small outcropping, launching himself across the distance. The small sound of his gloved hand meeting metal echoed faintly in the alleyway and then he was swinging up onto the pipe and quietly running away. 

He scrambled up the side of the building like some sort of spider, moving quickly between the metal framework until he was perched above the largest group of Jackels. Then he made his decent. 

There were eight of them, and Ryder noted they were the leader's personal guard. Ryder didn't recognize the person in charge and his eyes went wide as he realized The Jackels had had a change in leadership. Instead of the blue haired dragon that Ryder was familiar with a dark-haired, olive-skinned woman was in charge. 

For a moment he wondered if Whisper had orchestrated a hit on The Jackels then quickly dismissed the idea as he dropped the last several feet and barreled straight into the first guard. A low grunt left the woman's mouth as he toppled onto her then lunged for the leader. Before the other woman had time to react he'd pressed the barrel to her temple. 

"You're not very experienced. Having your people clumped together like this around you just makes you an easier target." Ryder said flatly. Around him the members swore and hefted weapons. The woman in charge lifted her hand, slowly, signaling for the guards to lower their weapons. They both knew that if her guards open-fired like this they'd be caught in the middle and several more might die from friendly fire.

She'd taken one look at Ryder's neon pink eyes and her face had paled with recognition. Or maybe it was genuine fear. He was covered in blood and had fallen out of the sky from nowhere. It was hard to tell if she recognized him as a person or recognized the danger he presented.

"My name is Niceto. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement, you and I." The woman's voice had a thick Canthian accent to it that matched her appearance. So, a Canthian immigrant. She'd probably been kidnapped by Laehlian soldiers as a child before escaping through one of the criminal networks that were so eager to get their hands on refugees.

 It was one of the only feasible reasons a woman like her was involved in the criminal underworld. Your average criminal was a thrill seeker looking for a path to fame and wealth. They usually wanted to satiate a sick desire, weather for brutality, power or infamy. The type never made it far in the underworld, staying on as foot soldiers until it became too much, and the life lost the appeal.  

That was where they'd remain, putting in minimal effort, cursing their choices. Until they fled the country to start a life elsewhere. It wasn't too hard to do and most criminal organizations wouldn't bother hunting you across the galaxy. 

No, those at the top were there because they had no choice. Crime was their life and they had no way out, no one to fall back on. If Niceto had another way out she would have taken it already, fled back to Canth to start over, instead of staging a coupe on her boss. 

A faint smirk touched Ryder's lips and his eyes, which were visible, crinkled at the corners. Niceto relaxed, a look of relief flashing across her face. She was glad her offer had took and that Ryder was willing to switch sides, or at the very least let her take out The Crows. 

*Dumbass in Laehlian