08: Murders & Acquisitions

Nico’s shaking as he descends the last few steps to the tarmac, eyes downcast, limbs weak, the bags he’s got hefted in each paw each feeling like they’re stuffed full of lead. Behind him the turbines of Yuri’s chartered jet are winding down, wailing their last ebbs of life bleed away.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Nico feels Bryce clamp a paw down on his back, his voice a lean hiss. The ferret pulls him closer. “What we’re doing, why we’re doing it, who we’re doing it with. Everything you do is on me, sport, so shut up, agree with anything I say, and we won’t have any problems.” He garnishes the threat with a condescending pat on the back, to which Nico only nods meekly.

Then he’s on the tarmac, levelling out with a silent thank-you to the gods of solid ground. Grunting, he waddles over to the back of the car and swings the two bags up into the open trunk of the waiting Chrysler, sighing from the effort, legs jelly. The vehicle is a big square thing, with tinted windows front-to-back, the rims a reflective black chrome that match the paintjob.

Yuri Kisaramoto is behind them, and as the old komodo descends the jet’s extended steps he’s met with an astute “sir” from Gael, head of his security detail. There’s five of them in total, Nico counted earlier, and each one is armed and modified to the teeth. Gael himself is a tiger dressed in a perfectly cut black suit, complete with black shirt and black tie, for maximum edginess. He’s got a TEC-9 slung into a shoulder holster and some throwing stars, with a slick grey visor welded into his skull obscuring his eyes. He glances across and catches Nico staring, and the red panda promptly looks away, face burning.

Just breathe. You can do this. The words sound comforting, but they have almost no effect on his racing heart. He can’t stop thinking of Ahab’s stolen nanomachine cocktail hidden in his luggage, stewing like a grenade with the pin pulled but an indeterminate fuse. Nico’s sure that any second now Gael, or one of his underlings, will suddenly decide they need to search the newcomers things, find the poison, and summarily execute him. Think of Monzy Thessler. Think of all the valid clients you’ve been forced to deny for their bottom line. Hell, think of yourself for once.

The fear recedes, only slightly, the crumpled ashes of it quickly solidifying into a nugget of anger, a hard lump at the bottom of Nico’s gut. He looks to Yuri, fingers curling into his palm.

“How far out of Arborvale are we?” Yuri asks Gael, as he’s sliding into the back of the car, his mechanical tail swishing.

“About two hours drive, sir,” the tiger responds, his tone laced with the echo of a larynx implant.

“Good, good. Find us somewhere to eat and drink, a quiet place, one locals like.” Yuri snaps his claws, leaning out of the doorframe. “Bryce, are you and that assistant still jerking each other off? Get in the goddamn car already.”

“Yessir,” Bryce replies, pushing Nico to their door. The two slide into a leather-clad booth cabin, their backs facing the driver, while Yuri splays out over the rearmost seat, a glass of brandy already in one paw. “Here,” Bryce says, passing Nico a small tumbler of vodka, pulsing chromatic patterns streaming across the frosted glass like roots of a tree burrowing in the earth. “Drink.”

Nico drinks. Yuri’s looking out the window, forked tongue flicking as they peel out of the private hangar. Gael’s up front with the driver, and Nico checks the window, counting two motorcycles and an SUV pulling out with them.

“Bah, Halifax, Nova Scotia.” Yuri lets venom bleed through his words, practically spitting them. “Hell, Canada itself, what a bad memory. I was barely a boy when the collapse began, you know. I remember my broodmates, talking about the tailspin of debt, and loans, and then more debt, until someone finally put those holier-than-thou icy pricks out of their misery. Showed them.”

Bryce and Nico exchange a quick glance, neither is sure who Yuri is talking to. Thankfully, the ferret clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what bleeding-heart socialist policies get you, right sir?”

Yuri shakes his head. “Always thought they were better than us. The nicer version, softer, kinder. But what does being soft get you? A knife in the throat and a surcharge for the trouble.” Yuri looks as if he’s about to spit for real, lips peeling back. “Pathetic cock-suckers.”

The car settles into comfortable small talk, and Nico cautiously sips his drink, staying out of the sports and stock chats. Soon a second drink is being pushed into his paws though, and he reluctantly accepts it, already feeling slightly light. He knows he should have eaten something on the flight, but his stomach was in knots the whole trip, still is.

Eventually Yuri cuts Bryce off mid-sentence to accept a call, with no heed paid to the ferret being forced into silence, responding with little more than nods and “uh-huhs” into his phone. It’s odd that he even has a physical phone, but Nico simply chalks it up as some old-person eccentricity.

“Tonight?” Yuri mutters. “I was planning to relax, meet in the morning, I hate fighting with a disadvantage.” He pauses. “Alright, yes, no-no that’s fine, work with what we’ve got, if they want it that way then tell them we’ll meet. If the localists want to kick up a fuss, let them, they’re nothing.”

Nico listens half-heartedly, ears pricked for any tidbits Leviathan might be able to use. Yuri seems to have such open disdain for anyone not in immediate subservience to him, and Nico finally realises he understands the man. Yuri is like personified game theory, always rational, logical, cut-throat. He sees others as transactors, and values only what he can gain from them. The only dynamic he respects is power, the only authority he obeys money and blood – and the former is what brings the latter. He’s a man who would kill without much reluctance, if it suited his goals, but only then; he murders to acquire, whether it be finance, security, or leverage.

You made the right choice, Nico thinks to himself, suddenly realising he is resolute in his decision. These people are scum, heartless, barely people at all, just systems reacting constantly to their environment, after Anchor City has whittled away everything else.

“Bryce,” Yuri barks, his call apparently over. “The Arbitrator and the Mayor will be meeting us, tonight, at the bar. You’re playing good cop, be sympathetic to their pleas. You buy them drinks, tell jokes, be smooth.”

“And you’re bad cop then?” Bryce cocks his head, surprised.

“Obviously.” Yuri looks to Nico. They’re sitting on the same level, but somehow the komodo manages to sneer down at him all the same. “You, play the sycophant. Agree with everything said, even if the statements openly contradict one another, better then in fact. You’re to set the standard of submission, if only as an exemplar, let them keep a bit of pride by thinking ‘at least I didn’t stoop to that level’.” He speaks of it like a surgeon might, when planning incisions.

“Alright, I can do that,” Nico replies, biting his lip. “Should I buy them drinks too?”

“No, no.” Bryce shakes his head, and Yuri nods his assent. “That would embarrass me. You’re the cockroach, threat implicit, ha, if only they knew! Now it ain’t a fun role to play, but hey, we all start somewhere, right sport?”

“Yeah, right.”

Yuri points out one long finger, tipped with a razor-sharp nail. “If you do happen to fetch drinks, make a point of doing it with Bryce’s card.” Then Yuri leans right back, rolling his window down, the orange sunset haze cascading over his faded scales. He swirls his drink around in one claw, and Nico strains to catch his words over the wind. “I’ll keep making hard bargains, they’ll deny them, then eventually Bryce talks them around to something only slightly softer. We break them down, convince them that those are the best terms they’ll get. They need to drink a lot.”

“Got it,” Bryce replies obediently. “Drinks, easy terms, casual conversation. We should move to a strip club at some point in the night.”

The perfect lap dog, Nico thinks.

“Yes,” Yuri agrees, pointing. “That is if a backwater like Arborvale has anything halfway approaching one.” This time he actually does spit, right out the window.

“We may have to lower our standards, most of them are probably single moms.” And Bryce snickers like that’s actually funny.

“And there’s two of them?” Nico asks, glancing around. He’s not sure if this is one of Bryce’s forbidden questions, but he’s still slightly confused.

“An Arbitrator, official third-party negotiator contracted by the banks.” Bryce waves his paws as he explains, while Yuri lets his eyes drift shut, just basking in the sun. The ferret goes on. “You see buddy, Arborvale is eyeballs-fucking-deep in debt, of the exponential kind, so the banks already own it in everything but literal title. The bank wants its money, and have technical authority to deal, but the Mayor is still in charge of the governing body that actually owns the land.”

“Alright, so why even involve the Mayor?” Nico frowns. “Though if he’s the one that has to sign, why have the Arbitrator?”

“In order for the bank to actually make good on the deal, they’d have to take the governing body to court, lay out all the debt, get the judges to pass the keys to the city over to them. It’s doable, and they’d win without doubt, but it’s a hassle they usually can’t be fucked doing, plus another expense on a plot of land basically haemorrhaging money. The simplest solution is to have the Arbitrator negotiate, since it’s really the bank’s deal and everyone knows it, with the Mayor present to actually agree to the terms and sign the documents. The banks have leverage in that they can just take Arborvale to court if they really have to, and they’ll bleed them dry as revenge if the Mayor forces their paw like that. The Mayor has a tiny bit of leverage, in that he gets final say on signing – at least for the immediate future. He’s gonna try and use that slightest wiggle room to get himself the best deal he can muster.”

“Okay then, so we play to the Arbitrator then. Mostly, at least.” Nico bites his tongue, halting off another question. Better to just smile and nod, play dumb, so they never have reason to suspect him.

“You see son,” Yuri says, rising from his seat back like a corpse from the grave. “Arborvale is just like everywhere else in the fucking world. The people might own the wood their walls are made out of, but the governing corporate body in charge of the town owns the land it stands on, it’s a classic rural subsidy. Things are a little... sticky, with this particular town due to the debts, but suffice to say if we close, Northpoint will own the town’s square mileage point-to-point, and Mayor doesn’t love that idea. But fuck him, right? After all, hey, what can you do? It’s business.” He throws his claws up, chuckling softly as he flops back in his seat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bryce assures him quietly. “Just do what you’re told, suck up and kowtow, that’s it for you, this time. Ignore anything the Mayor says, it’s the Arbitrator’s job to convince him, and he’s got no good reason not to.”

Two negotiators, Nico thinks, sipping his drink again, staring out the window at the blazing horizon. He thinks he’s starting to finally like drinking spirits. One trying to break even, and one trying not to break at all.

He’ll need to find a way to fetch drinks, ideally away from eyes of Gael and his team. Make sure to use Bryce’s card, that simplifies things a little bit. Nico has no idea how close the security detail will be during the meet, so he’ll just have to play it by ear. Surely, with a night planned to tour by a bar and strip clubs though, he’ll find a moment to drop the teal powder into the komodo’s glass.

The rest of the car ride passes uneventfully. Nico itches to pull up his message bank and text Alaska, but the thought of reaching out to the wolf right in front of Yuri and Bryce feels... dangerous, even though they wouldn’t be able to tell anything was happening. Eventually Yuri settles into a kind of nap, a small heatlamp above his seat clicking on and dousing his scales in ambient red light. Bryce is watching porn on a small datapad, doing his part to drink the car’s minifridge dry. Nico lets his head flop against the window, fur sagging as he stares dreamily out at the grey-blue treadmill of landscape rushing by. He’s never seen real snow before; the polluted sludge they get at the fringes of Anchor City doesn’t count, it’s basically water with pulp. Here the snow is mostly a sickly kind of grey colour, a heavy blanket on the landscape, filled with swirls of blue-black mixed against teases of white.

Nico’s seen pictures of the twentieth century, of the Canadian wilderness or even Alaska itself, covered in crisp white snow. It seems like a fairy tale, like trying to imagine the ocean was once orange Fanta. Snow has always been mottled, white-ish with dark streaks and smears coursing through it like a snow leopard’s coat. The trees look wilted and barren, but that’s simply the seasonal change, and not some other cost of two hundred years worth of intense climate change. Nico still wouldn’t eat their fruit.

His silent daydreaming is interrupted when Gael rolls down the shutter between the two sections of the car. The large tiger cocks an arm on the sill, twisting back and offering Nico a better look at him. As well as the permanent visor covering his eyes, the lower half of Gael’s jaw has been replaced with carbon-fibre machinery, almost a statement in how front and centre the modification is. Two shiny black rivers run down from his chin and through the fur of his neck, disappearing into the darkness of his shirt, light grey hexagon patterns stamped into the currents. With his arm cocked up like that Nico sights one big paw, almost like Alaska’s in appearance, with expensive pseudofur layered over robotic forearms. He could probably crush Nico’s face without much effort, he’s that heavily modified – not quite enough to be considered a psychonaut, but not far off taking that final step.

Just another wannabe, like everyone else in that city, desperate to be someone else, Nico thinks absently, in the half-second before Gael speaks. Takes a bit more than just heavy modding to get into the psychonaut creed – but maybe you’d like to be one, maybe someday you want to replace Yuri’s pet assassin, huh? What did Alaska say her name was?

Porsche Castillion. That was it. He said if she showed up on this trip, Nico should abandon all plans and lose the nanotech ASAP.

“We’re coming up on Arborvale, sir,” Gael says, the red-lens of his visor making it impossible to tell where exactly he’s looking. “We’ll wait in the car while Ash and Newton do a sweep of the rooms, but I’m not expecting trouble.”

“Do you ever?” Bryce asks, words slurring slightly as he leans forward in his seat. Gael only cocks his head slightly, so the ferret continues. “I mean who’d look at the, what, four, five of you lot, armed to the fangs and with more metal in ya than a Harley Davidson, and think ‘yeah I’m gonna go piss in that guys cereal!’” He cackles once, turning his champagne flute bottom up into his maw.

“More than you’d think.” Gael turns to face the front, and Nico flinches as Yuri cracks himself awake.  

They won’t even know, there’s no way they’ll know.

The tension is shattered when the tiger himself pulls open Yuri’s door, leaning in. “All clear sir, if you’d please.”

“About bloody time,” Yuri hisses, taking Gael’s offered paw and lifting himself out. The two shuffle inside, leaving Bryce and Nico outside with the car and the bags.

“What a prick, huh?” Bryce says, scowling after Gael.

“Yeah, you said it,” Nico replies, hefting the heaviest bags and trailing in after Bryce. He follows him inside the modest hotel, Yuri scoffing all the while, and they take the elevator to the top floor. Bryce assures Nico that there’s nobody else on the whole level, Northpoint booked out the entire suite.

The bags are deposited and Yuri gives them a half hour to get ready, not even looking away from his invisible entoptics as he says it. Nico has a quick shower, burning away the fearful sweat stains he leaked near the whole flight and drive.

As he climbs from the water, standing in the walk-through blow dryer, he pulls up his message bank, opening the Rhapsody port.

[Are you there? At the hotel now.] He sends the message off to Alaska, stepping out of the blow dryer and picking up his bag. He opens it and quickly dresses, nothing too nice, since he doesn’t want to seem like he’s trying to upstage Bryce or Yuri, but since Nico doesn’t own that many nice clothes it isn’t really a challenge.

Rhapsody flashes, and Clancy pulls Alaska’s reply up automatically. [Yeah I’m about, what’s the vibe?]

[Weird, tbh, I can’t tell if Yuri even likes Bryce or what. He went on for ages about how much he hated Canada.]

[Old bastards like that love the old days, reminds ‘em they were once alive I think. You staying safe?]

Nico sighs, pulling out the small vial of teal powder that Ahab gave him. He sets it on top of the drawers, too overwhelmed right now to commit it to his pocket. Next he pulls out the gun that Alaska gave him back in his apartment. It’s wrapped in gamma shielded-foil, to conceal it from any x-rays just in case, but Yuri hadn’t sent them through any kind of customs screening anyway.

[I’m trying, yeah,] Nico replies. He clicks a small button on the grip of the pistol, sliding out the clip and checking the ammunition. Nineteen tiny slugs, he doesn’t know what calibre, line the clip in two neat columns. An entoptic chip in the gun syncs with the implants in Nico’s eyes, showing a small amber display hugging the slide of the pistol, letting him know the clip has 19/19 rounds loaded. He smacks the clip back in, then tucks it around the back of his waistband, pushing it snug like people do in the movies. [Security is tight, five man team.]

[You’re still good, right? Look after yourself, if it feels risky don’t do it.] Alaska’s message comes through almost instantly. Nico can practically feel the worry oozing through the network, and blushes at the thought of Alaska being so concerned for him. He quickly squashes that feeling though – he’s not making that mistake again.

[No, no, I got it. They’re all basically ignoring me.] Nico wiggles his hips, face scrunching up at how insecure the gun feels. He tightens his belt again, then practices sitting down and getting up to be sure – nothing would be worse than climbing up to get Yuri a drink and having a gun fall from his jeans. Finally happy, Nico grabs a coat and pulls it on, tugging the hem down and making for the door.

As he’s about to go he pauses, remembering the nanotech powder. He swipes it, slips it inside a pocket, then does a quick shot of minibar brandy, figuring Northpoint can afford it.

[I’m going down now.] He sends Alaska.

The wolf replies with a winking emoji, which causes him to blush yet again. [Just be safe, alright Red?]

[I’ll try.]

Downstairs Nico meets up with Yuri and Bryce, the latter of which scolds him for lagging. They have another drink and then take the car across town, making for the bar. Arborvale is dark, but Nico still looks out trying to catch what he can. Alaska called it a village back at the Leviathan meeting, but to Nico it’s more of a small city. The main district has several towers stretching up past fifteen stories tall, and the roads are lined with entoptic advertisements, an odd contrast when a giant ‘Neo-Orthodox Saves’ ad is slammed right next to the ‘Sluts! Sluts! Sluts!’  Parlour sign. Of course, compared to nearby Halifax, or a behemoth like Anchor City, Arborvale is a little more than a small collection of rubble, but to Nico it seems big enough.

Maybe one day, after this is all over and Mother is dead, I’ll move away. He dreams of living in a small town, maybe down in Australia somewhere, far from the insidious fingers of the United States, far from the apathy and war of Europe and Russia, the sprawling slum-like amalgamation of Asia. Everything is far apart in Australia, right? Maybe he could live in Adelaide, off the coast somewhere.

Maybe Alaska could go too, after it’s over, and the Big Five are all dead.

He almost laughs. As if it was going to end any other way than all of them in jail, or decapitated, like the activist in Yuri’s story.

Maybe he knows, he doesn’t know, but what if he does? He doesn’t, how could he? But if he did know, would he say that? But he doesn’t. The thoughts play endlessly, a constant ticker tape, torturing him like squawking harpies.

Nico sighs, thoughts turning back to Arborvale. He tries, briefly, to imagine Ahab’s dream. What would an independent state of Alaska look like, a place sovereign and free, running under some hodgepodge social structure akin to functioning anarchy?

That’s all it is, though. He blinks himself awake, wondering why he’s bothering with the tracking poison if he really thinks this. It’s a dream. His question is answered immediately, however. But I still have to do something. I have to try, at least. It was either that, or end up a black-hearted sycophant like Bryce. Nico shudders at the thought.

They get to the bar and Nico is surprised to see a small demonstration. A row of what he assumes are locals are standing outside the bar, their section walled off and patrolled by local cops, signs raised up in their paws that read DON’T STEAL OUR HOMES, and ARBORVALE DESERVES A SECOND CHANCE. They look cold, and tired, but seeing the car pull up sends new life into them, and a chant starts up, though Nico can’t make out the words.

“Ignore them, they’re protesting the death of something that gave out long ago,” Gael says as he walks them inside. Three of his guards stay outside with the cops, rifles drawn and loaded, while the other three trail close. The place is mostly empty, it’s a Wednesday night and locals probably have work (not for long, Nico thinks). The few that are there shoot foul looks at the newcomers, which Nico figures is fair enough. Gael orders the inside guards to watch the windows, then sets himself in a booth close to the one Yuri is headed for.

Sitting there already is a badger in a three-piece suit, and a lean cheetah with a sweet martini. The badger seems almost organic, or at least his mods are subtler, and Nico guesses that he is the Mayor. The cheetah must be the bank’s Arbitrator then, the one with the real power but – for now at least – no ability to actually sign any deals.

“Yuri Kisaramoto,” the cheetah exclaims, sliding from the large booth and meeting the komodo with a quick shake of his claw. “Pleasure to meet you, I’ve only ever heard good things.”

“Of course, the pleasure is mine,” the old komodo replies gruffly.

The cheetah lays a single gloved paw on his chest, smiling amiably. “My name is Chester Tavish, and allow me to introduce my associate, head of Arborvale’s governing land-body corporate, Mayor Strickland Roberts.” And the cat whirls, pointing to the badger, who only gives a sheepish wave.

“Strickland and I have spoken on the phone, good to finally meet.” Yuri quickly introduces Bryce and Nico, before sitting down opposite the Mayor. He slides around the back of the doughnut-seat, after which goes Nico, followed by Bryce – keeping to the edge.

“Can I get you two some drinks at all?” Bryce asks the two, collecting their orders. “I’ll get them to bring over some nachos or wedges or something too, I’m starving.”

“We came right here,” Yuri says briskly, obviously displeased by the fact.

“Thanks for meeting on short notice. I supposed that a, uh, more informal meeting was in order, you see,” Strickland says, tugging at his tie. “Casual, get a feel for everything and one another. We can have the actual signing tomorrow, as I expect.”

“And you expect there to be a signing, then?” Yuri says. His voice is even more gravelly than usual, his forked tongue flicking through the air. In the dim light of the bar, the orange heating veins inserted into his collar and shoulders glows bright, looking like an iron left hot to the touch.

“We do, yes, I can’t see any reason this shouldn’t be beneficial for every party,” the cheetah, Chester, interjects quickly. He shoots a glance at the pudgy badger, who cowers slightly.

“Except the people who live in the town, of course,” the Mayor mutters.

“They should have picked a more financially stable home then, if long-term living was their goal.” Yuri flashes his teeth, and for a moment Nico is sure the lizard will just lean over and rip the flesh from Strickland’s face.

Mercifully, Bryce then returns with a tray of drinks. Brandy for Yuri, cocktails for himself and the two guests, and oddly a tall beer for Nico. “Here we are, here we are!” The ferret says excitedly, sliding into the booth. He glances right over at the badger. “Mayor Strickland, I’ve only seen it by night, but I’m thinking that Arborvale is a lovely town with some serious sights. We don’t get snow like this back in Anchor City, it all melts up far too high to see, right Nico?” He laughs, and Nico nods emphatically.

“Just a kind of sludgy slurpee mix,” he says, trying to play his part of pathetic underling. “Uh, Bryce is right.” The ferret kicks his foot, and Nico cringes.

“Of course, Arborvale is... lovely,” the Mayor says. He seems exhausted, like he can barely bring himself to give even a fake smile. “I apologise about the... demonstration, outside. One of my PR team leaked the location, and the locals were quick to jump on it.”

“Ah, no bother,” Yuri snorts. “Takes more than a few pathetic sign-beggars to dent my scales. They need to move on already, what’s done is done, after all.”

The group continues chatting for a while longer, until Bryce decides to go hunt down whoever was making those nachos.

“If there’s no food coming soon, I need a smoke. Move,” Yuri snaps, waving Nico aside as he climbs out.

“Think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,” Chester says, following.

“Long as you don’t mind taunting the local wildlife with me,” Yuri guffaws, as the two head out.

Nico finds himself suddenly alone with the nervous badger. He glances to Yuri’s seat, but sees that the old lizard has taken his drink with him.

Gonna be harder than that.

“Is there any way we can get out of this?” Nico looks back, seeing the Mayor. The question seemed aimed toward the universe, but it feels weird saying nothing back.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

Strickland suddenly lunges across the table, seizing Nico’s wrist and pulling it close. “Do you know what will happen here? Do you understand, or even care?”

“I, uh, I do!” Nico stammers.

“No, you don’t,” the badger spits, fingers tightening around Nico’s arm. “By Anchor City standards, sure, Arborvale is some rinky-dink shitstain on what was once East Canada. But there are two-hundred thousand souls living here. That’s two hundred thousand people that you and your overlords will make homeless, nearly overnight. They’ll be paid thirty percent on lowest market value of their homes, cast off and banished, made refugees in their own country, turned into wandering vagabonds! I hope you’re happy, I hope they’re at least giving you a decent bloody commission.”

“I’m s-sorry, I can’t--”

“Of course you can’t.” The badger finally releases him, falling back in his seat, his sudden vigour vanished as quickly as it came. “Do you know what became of this country, after you annexed us?” He waits until Nico finally shakes his head. The panda glances away, searching for Bryce, but the ferret is nowhere to be seen. “Most of it fell apart. Towns like Halifax, Montreal; they were once beautiful places, the gems up north. Now they’re nothing more than breeding grounds for industrial factories too carcinogenic even for Anchor City. The pollution is toxic, one in six newborns dies, hell the middle of our country is little more than one big nomadic tribe. The people here are going feral, eating one another alive, and you lot? You don’t care. You just add to the problem, pushing it away, leaving them to die, great you have sixty-six states now, more room for the corpos to spread out.”

“I’m not like them,” Nico says softly, terrified that Bryce will come back any moment, but also wishing he would, so the tirade could end. This isn’t his guilt, he didn’t do this, they did this to themselves, they should have run their town better, they should have—

He stops. You sound like them now.

“You’re right, I guess,” he admits. “There is nothing you can do, nothing any of us can.” He pauses. “Though, there’s a group, in Anchor City, trying to fight back against this.” Nico fishes in his pocket, but he’s lost the business card Alaska gave him. “They’re called Leviathan. I don’t know if they can do anything for you out here, but you might find a way to make your voice heard. I can’t stop this from happening here, but maybe they can stop from it happening somewhere else.”

A moment passes.

“That’s what they all say,” the badger says softly, shaking his head. The two sit in silence a moment longer, and then finally Bryce returns, along with two plates heaped high with food.

“Those other two still outside? What is keeping them?” He asks, craning his neck. He pauses, cocking an ear next, before turning to Nico. Outside, something thuds, maybe a shout. “Shit, you hear that? Think Yuri poked the bear.”

“Uh,” Nico strains to listen. There is something, a hum, a kind of building wave, and now the shattering of glass – a thrown bottle? “Yeah, what the hell?”

Suddenly Gael is there, one finger pressed to his ear, TEC-9 out and cocked. Nico follows his gaze and sees Yuri and Chester hobbling inside, as the door swings in he hears a cacophony of shouting, a crowd – no, a mob. Gael waves his paws and the three other indoor guards close in, the three that remained outside nowhere to be seen, presumably busy controlling the crowd.

Only as they get closer does Nico realise that Yuri is limping, and Chester has pulled his coat off and is holding it to his head, the white fabric stained red.

“Whoa, hey, what’s going on?” Bryce says, standing again.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Yuri snaps, turning to Gael. “Find us a back way out already, jesus.”

“They said there would be a protest,” Mayor Strickland mutters, and Nico turns to him. “I made them promise not to get violent, but what’s the point of that?”

In that moment a rock crashes through the front window, and two guards seize Yuri, all but carrying him back toward the toilets at the edge of the room. “Let’s move sir,”

“You lot, up, we’re going,” Gael barks. “Mayor, defensible building, somewhere safe and close, where?” Nico climbs to his feet, paws clenching and unclenching, but the badger remains seated.

“The strip club, or the Parlour, whatever you want to call it,” Strickland says gently, despondently. “It’s got reinforced windows.”

“You’re gonna sign whatever we fucking want, got it?” Yuri cries from the rear of the room, and the badger only nods, before Gael ushers the rest of them out the back.

Yuri is kept in the middle with Chester, while Bryce and Nico follow up behind. Gael leads them out into an alley, the remaining three guards following after the group. In the alleyway, the ground is slick with melted snow, and a chicken-wire fence blocks it off from the main road. Nico catches a glimpse of fire, of signs that read OUR HOME IS NOT FOR SALE, he hears screaming on the wind.

“Hey, they’re down here!” Someone cries, and the crowd is pushing on the fence, signs and torches waving. It is a mob, and even from this distance Nico can see them practically frothing at the mouth. He hears more glass being shattered, and then rocks and bottles are being tossed, sailing over both the fence and the backs of those climbing it.

“What the fucking hell?” Bryce cries, stumbling back and shoving Nico away. Two figures drop into the alley, and Gael raises his TEC-9, shooting them through the knees with a short brat-brat.

“Go! Go!” The tiger roars, turning.

The group pushes deeper, rounding a corner that opens onto a tight laneway. A block over, Nico can see the pink neon sign that advertises the Parlour, and points out to it.

“We need to keep going!” He says. Oddly, he feels calmer now, like things make sense. People should be angry, they were about to lose their homes, at least now he can do something, even if that something is running away.

With one paw on Yuri’s back, Gael hurries them along, shouting into the subvocal-mic installed in his throat, trying to get one of the lost guard detail to bring the car around.

“Strickland mentioned there might be a protest,” Chester shouts breathlessly. “But he said it was purely a peaceful demonstration, a way to try and get media attention!”

“Well they got my fucking attention,” Bryce cries back.

“We’ll buy the rights!” Yuri says, the angry hum of the crowd rising like a wave behind them. “This will never see the light of day! Nobody here will ever work again!”

Gael uses his short sword to crack open the door to the Parlour, waving them all inside. The security guards are last, and as the door slams shut Nico spies more rioters on the horizon, pointing and crying out.

“They know we’re here. Holy shit, is this really happening?” He asks, following Bryce to the bar. The strip club is empty, dark, closed for the night. Maybe they were expecting trouble.

“I think so,” the ferret replies, hopping over and flicking some switches. Thankfully, the lights all come on in stages, illuminating everything in a sickly fluorescent glow. “We need to get out of here, the only silver lining is this little stunt will give Northpoint the perfect excuse to rip this place right out from Strickland, the cunt.”

“Bryce, Bryce!” Yuri demands, throwing his claw up. The komodo is splayed back on a seat facing an empty stripper pole, clutching his bleeding leg and hissing. Chester has fit himself into a corner and is gently prodding his skull, while Gael keeps the perimeter secure.

“Here, make some fucking drinks already,” Bryce says, shoving a bottle of whiskey into Nico’s paws before scaling the bar again and jogging over to Yuri, falling to a knee next to the old bastard.

Nico blinks, staring at the empty glasses before him. Outside, torchlight is beginning to flicker near the windows, and somewhere in the distance something explodes.

“Nico, stop gawking!” Bryce shouts, his jacket off and torn into strips, his paws busy wrapping it around what looks a jagged piece of metal jutting from Yuri’s leg.

“Right, right, drinks,” Nico mutters, quickly checking to make sure Gael isn’t watching him. He pours a generous amount into each of the three glasses, before shakily ripping out the little vial of powder and twisting the top. Without hesitation he empties it into the middle glass, swirling the drink and making sure all traces of it dissolve – which they do.

“What are you doing?” Nico looks up, suddenly pale, the paw clutching the vial snaking beneath the bar and dropping the vial. One of Gael’s guards, a jackal he doesn’t know the name of. “Haven’t you ever made drinks before? What’s taking so Goddamned long, boss needs it now.”

“Right, yeah, right, yeah” Nico replies, rounding the bar and hefting the drinks. He takes them over and sets them down next to Bryce and Yuri.

“About bloody time,” the komodo cries, instantly picking up the first glass – un-poisoned – and downing it in one go. He lets out a burp, shaking his head. “Christ, that stings,” and he looks at his leg.

Nico just stares, first at Yuri, then at the glass sitting right next to him, the still-full one, currently filled with Strandtech’s nanotech powder.

“It’s about to hurt more,” Bryce says, tentatively pinching the metal shard in Yuri’s leg. He reaches over, and to Nico’s horror, picks up the glass he spiked.

No, no, wait. But what can he say? Yuri’s already had his, how can he force Bryce not to drink that one. Please.

“Fuck off, pull it,” the old dragon grunts, snatching the glass from Bryce and downing that one too. He shudders at the taste, then waves for Bryce to continue with his leg.

Nico’s legs are shaking, and he falls into a nearby seat. It’s done. It feels unreal, oddly anticlimactic. He’s accomplished Ahab’s mission, and now they’ll finally be able to track the old ice-heart.

Yuri screams as Bryce tugs the metal free, and Nico almost smiles.

Outside, a gun fires.

“Where the hell is Jura with the car?” Gael screams, as a cascade of bottles explode against the outside of the Parlour.

“Nearly here, nearly here!” The jackal replies, moving to the windows. He cracks one of the shutters, and then the back of his head is blown out, red mist spraying out behind him, painting Chester. The jackal falls limp, twitching, and Nico hears a shotgun clack-clack, the world blurring.

“YOU COCKSUCKERS CAN’T STEAL OUR TOWN!” A voice screams, barely audible against the wash of cries and protests.

“NO CORPOS IN ARBORVALE!”

“POISON YOUR OWN WATERS!”

We’re gonna die here, Nico thinks, staring blankly at the dead jackal, numbness bleeding through his chest. All that effort to poison Yuri and we’re gonna get flatlined by some rioters.

“Sir, we need to move, can you walk?” Bryce’s voice.

“I’m bloody-well fine, where’s the car already?”

“They’re here, Jura’s outside, lets go!” Gael is shoving them, all four non-combatants, toward the bar, through the employee-only sign and out to the back of the club. The Chrysler is waiting, idling, one of the windows cracked but not yet shattered. Nico can hear more gunshots now, the rioters only escalating in their fury.

Maybe they think if they kill Yuri, Northpoint will leave them alone. Maybe they just don’t care anymore.

Isn’t this what Ahab wants? The ordinary folk rising up to destroy their masters? Somehow Nico had imagined it a lot less gritty, more admirable. Like a movie.

It’s chaos. “Get in the car!” Gael, “Nico open the fucking door!” Bryce, with Yuri’s arm around him, “sir, sir, they’re getting closer, they’re inside!” Jura, a husky, raising his rifle, “Go in, in! Fucking shoot them, self-defence!” Gael, raising his TEC-9 and firing at two rioters rounding the corner. Nico tries to pull open the door, but his paws are shaking, slipping, “fucking move it,” Gael again, batting him aside and practically ripping the door open, before throwing Yuri and Nico inside. Nico bangs his head getting in, sees stars, Bryce is about to follow, when Gael moves towards the drivers seat and is shot dead, the innards of his chest exploding across the window, rioters now charging around the corner. “Bryce! Bryce drive! The guards are gone!” That’s Nico, he’s screaming too, everyone is, it’s a bloodbath. The rest of the guards are nowhere to be seen, but he can hear gunfire from inside the club.

A few seconds later and bottles explode against the back of Chrysler, improvised Molotov-cocktails that burst into flames. Bryce scrambles into the drivers seat, cursing, climbing over the handbrake and locking the doors. He snaps the car into gear and the wheels skid, squealing for half a moment before the vehicle suddenly launches into motion. Two loud speed bumps are bodies Bryce runs right over, and then they’re on the main street. The left is alight with fire, the bar from before totally engulfed, rioters filling the streets. They’re no longer just searching for Yuri, they’re smashing and destroying everything they can touch, rage flowing through them like venom. If they can’t have their town then no one can, nevermind the fact Northpoint is gonna bulldoze it anyway.

“Go right, for Christ’s sake! Right!” Yuri hisses, still putting pressure on his wounded leg, and Bryce does.

“We lost Chester,” Nico says, realising only the three of them have made it. “Think he’ll be okay? Where is he?”

The others don’t respond.

“I’m taking us back to Halifax,” Bryce says, pushing the car up to a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour, speeding past Arborvale’s limits. He’s panting, and Nico sees him run a trembling paw up over the fur on his head. “Nico, you alright back there sport? Talk to me buddy.”

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m okay.” He’s hyperventilating, in shock? Who knows. He puts his seatbelt on, a comforting routine, familiar.

“This town,” Yuri grumbles. He already has a brandy in one paw, and douses his wound with some, downing the rest. “I’m gonna burn this fucking town to the ground. Ungrateful peasants.” He snarls, spitting on the floor, shaking his head at Nico. “Mark my words, Nico, I was willing to sign sixty-percent on market value relocation fees to that pathetic cuckold of a Mayor, if he played his cards right, maybe more. I could have given these people jobs, a future, hope. Sure they’d move to Halifax or Anchor City, but I was here to save this backwater.”

“Really?” Nico asks, he can’t help it. “It doesn’t feel like making them homeless would help anything.”

“You’re some bleeding heart too, then?” Yuri asks, waving his empty glass. “You probably think letting them flounder would be kinder, huh? Don’t you know anything?”

“I...” Nico looks away.

“Nico just shut your fucking mouth!” Bryce calls back.

Nico keeps thinking of the Mayor, and his sad eyes. The rioters, and how angry they were.

“I will make sure those people get nothing,” Yuri hisses. “If I can, I’d strip them of their citizenship. It’s business, it’s not personal, are we supposed to test something as volatile as Cottonmouth just out in the open? Where anyone can catch it? It’s for their safety.”

“Pull over,” Nico whispers. Then, louder, he says it. “Pull over! Bryce, please, I think... I think... I need to get out.” His stomach is in knots. The hatred in Yuri, the two hundred thousand people made homeless, the anger of those rioters, Monzy Thessler, the alcohol, all of it makes for a cocktail of violent proportions. He needs to get out, to get away from Yuri and Bryce, to feel air and darkness and nothing else.

“No can do buddy, we gotta get the hell out of here, who knows, those guys might try to follow us.”

“What happened to Strickland, you think?” Nico asks, holding his stomach.

“Probably burned to death, if there’s any bloody justice in the world,” Yuri snaps. “Spineless worm. He could have avoided all of this. If he did somehow make it out of there, I promise you both, first thing I’m doing is sending Porsche to pay him a visit.”

“You’d assassinate him?” Nico asks, jaw falling open. “Just like that, you’d kill him?”

“Nico!” Bryce cries.

“You questioning me, boy?” Yuri growls, leaning forward.

“Bryce, I really need you to pull over, stop the car, I wanna get out, Bryce!”

“You’re fired,” Yuri whispers, low and deadly. “You utter another fucking word, and you’ll be dead too. You think I care a shit about your life? You think you’re anything to me?”

“He doesn’t mean it Nico, just be quiet!”

“Pull over!”

“I can’t!”

“Now Bryce! I’m getting out, fuck you, and fuck you!” Nico glares at Yuri. “Fuck this company!”

“You piece of ungrateful, begging, worthless little--”

Nico reaches out toward the steering wheel, first with his paw, and when that can’t reach, something else. His tether abilities snag a strand of the other side, and as his fingers close around empty air he feels a psychic pull on the wheel.

“The hell?” Bryce asks, and then Nico yanks the wheel to the side. His grip instantly dissipates, but the damage is done. The car skids, Bryce overcorrects and Yuri is thrown into the corner of his seat, glass rolling across the floor. The tyres squeal outside and Bryce screams, jack-knifing the car. They hit a ditch and plunge through the off-road forest, before Nico sees a flash of tree-trunk outside the windshield and then the car smashes to a halt.

When Nico comes to, he’s still in his seat. The front of the car is mangled, the doors hanging open, shattered glass fragments everywhere. Pain throbs across the front of his chest, fractures exploding out from his chest. Gasping, Nico unbuckles his seatbelt, panting, winded, one paw pressing to his chest.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, looking around. The floor of the car is wet, a brandy bottle broke, as well the blood. Past the little driver’s portal window, Bryce has been all but swallowed by the car. He isn’t moving, his head half out the window, his legs subsumed by the twisted metal wrapping around the tree. The front seats are red now, and finally Nico realises that Bryce’s skull is pushed down, his neck condensed like a slinky. There’s bone, a chunk of vertebrae sticking out the back, a hole in his skull.

Yuri is nowhere to be seen. Looking around, Nico moves, stumbles, slips to the floor. His paw pads flash in pain as they’re sliced open by the glass fragments, and he hisses, scrambling out the rear door and falling onto the cold grass. The snow here is sparse, and he crawls forward on all fours.

“You, you fucking tether bastard.” Nico spits out a mouthful of pink-stained bile, then looks across, to where Yuri is sitting back against a tree. He’s got one paw draping across his midsection, but apart from bruising seems relatively intact. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Nico squeezes his stomach, wincing from the pain that lances out there.

Yuri starts to crawl towards him. The lizard’s face hangs open, red teeth flashing. “I’ll end you, you have no idea who you’re fucking with!”

Nico tries to crawl back, rolls his wrist, tumbles over onto his ass. He scoots back until his back hits a fallen log, rotten bark showering around his shoulders. His numb paw fumbles around his waist, slips to the back of his jeans, fingers close around Alaska’s gun. His gun.

Shakily, he draws it, levels it at Yuri. The komodo dragon pauses in his crawl.

“You wouldn’t.”

Nico wishes that he had something concise to say, something witty, like in a movie. His mind is totally blank, however.

A low growl sounds in Yuri’s throat. Nico’s fingers, slick and sticky with blood, tighten on the grip.

Yuri lunges for him with a cry.

Nico pulls the trigger.