Safehouses are generally regarded as places for gangs of mercenaries to meet up for jobs. Clubs keep too much data on hand - cameras can make for difficult times explaining why you met with certain individuals at such and such times, and the Yakuza take security very seriously, even in Zero. Most streets in the market are monitored, and they happily send in Yakuza-paid workers to wire up the security before the polycrete finishes curing on the building. But there are dark patches in ruined areas, where deadly territory wars force everyone to endure endless warfare in densely overpopulated residential blocks, homeless and company-men alike. Eventually, they become ruins, only sparsely populated by homeless machines looking for an underground wire still alive enough to stay operative on, maybe a rubble to lie under instead of drowning exposed circuits in the rain.
Somewhere in Zero was another section of ruined marketplace, close enough to the market that most homeless slummies stayed away. The inside of the back office was too clean - Mathuzala figured it was a Yakuza meeting place, kept up so they didn't have to battle the rain, the slummies, or anyone stupid enough to stick around. Meth was at the desk, her computer haphazardly laying on a stack of Plastique surgery magazines with designer faces and bodies from the last four years. She wore a plastic hoodie poncho over a red jacket, black jeans, and bright yellow sneakers. Her visor offered a muted look to her face until she smiled, and when she did the mirrored, implanted glass over her eyes gave her a sinister look.
Bones leaned against a nearby wall, checking a gun over, calibrating it, reloading it, and cleaning it out of boredom. Bonita was a Chronosian - she had a dog-like head with rows of sharp teeth and a snout, patches of short, black fur, and long black hair. Most regular humans thought of Chronosians as short tempered animals more so than being people - if Chimerans were generally disliked, Chronosians were generally feared. But Mathuzala had been Bone's good friend for a few years, and she never seemed bothered by working with someone like her. Meth was at the computer for hours, and said that today was-
"Today's the day, Bones! We've got a live one, the best pay we've had in months, and more protection than we could possibly need."
Bones laughed, "Boy, when you put it that way, it sounds even more like a trap than usual. It's been hours - who's supposed to show up first?"
"No idea. The doctor, maybe? He seemed desperate."
"What about Reaper? Rich bastard like that might show up earlier than expected, see if its even legit. Actually, how DID you manage to get a gladiator, anyway? He'd make more in the ring! Why bother with us?"
"I was very specific with his handler. Plus, when he got word about it, he sent me a private line, see-?" Meth held up a post-card marked for the inside of Caeser's.
Bones laughed when she looked at it, "You call that proof?! They send those out to the kids, Meth! What, did he send you a picture of one of his latest eviscerations too?" She laughed like only a Chronosian could.
Meth frowned, "He'll show."
Bones chuckled.
The door suddenly opened. Bones stared at the figure in the doorway, standing too-straight - rags covered them from head to foot, with only two barely-visible eyes, either fakes or machine lights with a dim blue glow amidst the pile of filthy torn clothes, ripped sheets, and plastic synthetic fibers wrapping the figure until its shape was oddly lumpy.
The figure walked in and took a seat in front of the desk, like a shy employee late for their chastising. Thr stench of months in the rain washed over the room, and Bones gagged loudly, turning away from the figure. Meth didn't seem to notice the smell.
"Who the fuck are you?" Meth leaned forward, glaring at the figures eyes, who met her gaze with a strange curiosity.
The figure held up a poster with a crude, handwritten writing, as if quickly scratched out and half finished. TEN THOUSAND CREDITS! Help wanted: Anyone with the balls to fight the good fight for the city, sign up with MATHUZALA and the DEATH SQUAD, taking ALL JOBS not titled directly at destabilizing the local government. NOT IF THE PAY AIN'T RIGHT ANYWAY-!
"Oh shit, I did put those up - you better be able to fight! You can, right?"
The figure nodded sternly, and held up an old revolver. Definitely looked like an officers gun, Bones noted. A Yakuza gun for sure.
"You got a name?" Bonita asked.
The figure looked at Bones, and spoke in a low, muffled voice, "They called me Ragman."
Bones and Meth exchanged a confused look, and Meth shrugged.
"Welcome aboard!"
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