PLANET ORYXS - MORRIAN CITY

Dion grimaced at the uncomfortable amount of light shining on his face. He peered through half-lidded eyes at his surroundings, slow to catch up to his predicament. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck and his whole body was damp. It felt like a sauna. There was little or no ventilation.

The rest of the room was so dark he couldn’t make out any details among the shadows. When he tried to move, he realised his hands had been tied behind his back. His first instinct was to panic, but the fact that he was still alive was a good sign.

Dion hadn’t seen who hit him earlier, but it was probably the last member of the excursion team. Usually, Yoshida’s people travelled in groups of four and Dion had only seen three of them before he lost consciousness. He recognised them as Oskar with his mechanical arms, Krause with his mechanical legs and Sanjay ‘The Firebreather’.

It had been over a decade since Dion last saw them on Koros. He used to do odd jobs for Yoshida before he was offered a permanent position as part of his gang. Yoshida had made it sound like an honour to officially work for the most proficient man on Koros, but that wasn’t the life Dion wanted for Atty. His brother was special, and Dion knew that someone like Yoshida would use and abuse him the moment he found out.

Regions outside the core planets hadn’t established NexTech systems in full force yet, which left the border worlds open for people like Yoshida to establish their dominance from the underbelly of society. These individuals were the shadow lords. They wielded so much power they didn’t need to hide or shy away from the law and were nearly untouchable. 

Now Dion found himself restrained and trapped in a dark box by some of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.

There was a soft glow in the corner that caught Dion’s attention. A series of little vertical lights hovered in the shadows, moving back and forth across the room. It was a mana gauge; too high to be Krause’s legs. That left Oskar, Sanjay or the mysterious fourth member of their team.

“So what happens now?” Dion asked the moving light with false bravado, “Are you planning to torture me to death?”

The lights didn’t answer and continued to pace around the room. Oskar would have responded. Not Oskar, then.

“How’s Priti?” It was a gamble, but it paid off. The moving light turned to Dion and a glowing scowl emerged. Sanjay’s teeth were backlit by the dull orange of a fire building in his throat.

Unlike the other two, Sanjay had internal modifications. He thought it would be cool to breathe fire the way dragons could, but he didn't know the modification would come at the cost of his voice. Dion once asked if he regretted his choice to which Sanjay had admitted he was never able to kiss his wife again without scalding her, and that was his greatest regret. At the time both of them had been close friends.

The door nearby burst open, making Dion and Sanjay turn toward it. A cheerful voice sang out, “Dion Saunders!”

It was Krause, the man with robotic legs. Dion knew that irritating, high-pitched voice anywhere. 

“We’d a mighty hard time tryna track y’ down. Yoshida’s mad angry wi’ y’ for skippin’ town. Thought y’ dead meself, but ‘ere y’ are, fit as ever.”

Dion couldn’t stand the sound of Krause’s voice. It had always grated on his nerves. It required a lot of brain power to understand what he was saying; the man never seemed to shut up. 

The gangly, chewed-up old man moved the light away from Dion’s face, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. The room was largely empty except for the two other men, a long table in the centre, the lamp next to it and the door that Krause had come through.

Krause approached Dion with a casual stroll that caused a loud thunk with each step. His legs were cheap and crudely put together compared to the high-end NexTech prosthetics. A high-end prosthetic looked like a real limb except for the little lights of the mana gauge. 

The kind you found more commonly on the street, like Krause’s, were largely old repurposed models left over from the gate breach six hundred years ago. Dimensions collided; mana and magical creatures spilled into the worlds, and weapons were needed fast. Since then NexTech had refined their manufacturing and design process significantly.

Mana prosthetics were expensive, regardless of their age and quality. It was technology that had now become a display of wealth as much as it was a way for humans to wield mana or replace lost limbs. Krause’s prosthetics not only replaced his legs but allowed him to move faster than a Sentinel. Luckily for Dion, Krause wasn’t nearly as smart as one.

“Shame, I say. Shame.” Krause crouched and placed a hand on Dion’s shoulder, leaning in close enough that Dion could smell his foul breath through his eyeballs. Krause was holding a knife that was now inadvertently pointed at Dion’s neck. “I always liked y’, y’ know. Poor kid work’n ‘ard to keep ‘is son ’n all.”

“Brother,” Dion corrected quickly, leaning away from the knife. He did raise Atticus, but Dion still felt uncomfortable about the idea of people believing he'd fathered a son at age twelve.

Dion glanced down at the mana gauge on Krause’s legs. Both were full. No point in running, then. He'd be caught in no time. From what Dion remembered, Krause was not big on elemental combat and focused largely on enhancements. 

Sanjay, on the other hand, was the opposite. He could spit fire like bullets, or even a flamethrower, but his limbs were still just as human as Dion’s. If Dion could get behind him, Sanjay would lose all his advantage.

“Whatever happen’ t’ y’ lil’ lad? Was always ‘n death’s door.” Krause asked curiously, “still kickin’?”

“You don’t need to know about my brother.”

“I don’ know ‘bout y’ brother. No’ even ‘is name,” The scarecrow-like man commented, waving his knife hand around as he gestured, “Y’ good a’ secrets, eh? Y’d havta be t’ go missin’ eleven years.”

The moment Krause turned to Sanjay to ask him something, Dion’s threw the full force of his body into the head of the man in front of him, throwing Krause off balance with a loud crack. They both toppled to the floor, but Krause was worse off; his organic body parts were shoved to the floor, but his mechanical parts stayed where they were, bending his spine at an awkward angle.

As Dion rolled over to collect the now-fallen knife, he glanced back to confirm that Sanjay was startled by the sudden attack as well. He stood wide-eyed with his hands out like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Dion used this second opportunity to cut into the rope binding his hands before either of them had a chance to recover. He held the knife and his empty hand out in front of him, poised for their next move.

Sanjay reacted first. A fireball the size of an orange came fast at Dion’s head. It sizzled as it flew past his ear and hit the wall behind him. The one that followed was too close for comfort as Dion dashed toward the table in the centre to use it as cover.

He hadn’t gotten far when Krause appeared in front of him in a blur, fist aimed squarely at Dion’s face. The collision hurt so much that Dion felt the world spin and was nearly knocked off his feet. 

Krause grabbed Dion’s collar and pushed him into the wall, pinning him in place. For a skinny man who looked like he’d seen better days, there was still a lot of strength behind his grip. 

Dion used the knife to slash the air between them, encouraging Krause to shift away from the blade and loosen his grip. 

A hot jet of fire blew past Dion’s face, blocking his view. Dion turned his knife hand to cut at the arm that still pinned him, but something clamped around his wrist and twisted it uncomfortably in the other direction. 

Panic filled Dion’s heart when he saw the face in front of him as the flames cleared. He felt the knife slip from his shaking hand. It wasn’t Krause’s amalgamation of facial features; it was Ren. 

Ren wasn’t some bargain-bin villain like the other three. He was Yoshida’s right hand and a cruel, ruthless creature who delighted in torture and manipulation. 

Dion was a dead man that still drew breath.

As Ren drew closer with a wicked smile, Dion felt his body shaking well beyond his control. He’d lost all hope of running. Ren didn’t have any modifications. Not because he couldn’t afford them, but because he didn’t need them.

“I have a fun little surprise for you, Dion,” Ren whispered in Dion’s ear, sending a chilling shiver down his spine. “What a poetic coincidence that you delivered yourself to me right when I was feeling bored. It must be fate.”

A fist landed hard in Dion’s stomach, making him slump to the floor. Ren whistled sharply and without another word, Krause took hold of Dion’s feet and dragged a struggling Dion over to the table in the middle of the room. Each corner of the table was fitted with restraints. 

“You should feel thankful,” Ren said as the other two men hoisted the writhing Dion to the table and strapped him down, “Mr Yoshida has decided to give you a second chance to redeem yourself.”

Oskar joined them, carrying a familiar brown paper bag and a small toolbox. He placed both down beside Dion without looking at him. It seemed like he was deliberately avoiding eye contact. Oskar looked unwell.

The contents of the Janice paper bag were emptied onto the table, but Dion couldn’t fathom what it was. A little clear box with a black wriggling mass inside it. 

“You get to be the first to try this. It’s my newest invention, designed to keep naughty boys like you in check,” Ren explained as he pulled a long insect-like creature out of the box with a pair of tweezers. It thrashed in place; a segmented body full of legs like a centipede. Something small and shiny was stuck to it. 

“I’m sure he’ll make his way into your heart soon enough,” cooed Ren.

Krause snort-laughed, but Oskar and Sanjay both looked like they were going to be sick.

“You might want to close your eyes for this next part. It’s going to be very, very uncomfortable for you,” Ren advised, taking the knife in his free hand while Krause pulled Dion’s shirt up to expose his bare skin. 

Dion could guess what was going to come next. He squeezed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth, waiting. Ren was right; he didn’t want to see it.

At first, the pain was sharp. Then it felt like something blunt twisted between his ribs. A strange chill crossed his body as he went into shock, his mind blocking out whatever was happening until he drifted out of consciousness for a second time that day.

Dion woke up to a soft humming. Ren was sitting on the table beside him, reading a book under the lamplight.

“What did you do?”

“It’s a tracker. A literal bug. I thought it was a cute idea.”

When Dion shifted, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t tied down anymore, though he did feel like he’d been hit by a truck.

“Careful. I had to flood your body with poison to kill the parasite before it ate your heart. I nearly lost you.” Ren slipped off the table and offered Dion a hand to get up.

Dion didn’t take it.

“The parasite is dead, but the tracker is still in your chest. We didn’t want you to be able to dig it out and run away again. Mr Yoshida has decided you are more valuable to him alive for now. Dead men don’t pay debts.”

It was Dion’s turn to feel sick. He lifted his shirt to see where he’d been cut open and saw it was smothered in a clear healing balm. The idea of something crawling around inside… he was glad he passed out.

Ren clicked his fingers in Dion's face. “Are you listening, Dion? Mr. Yoshida has decided you’ll be his champion in this month’s game unless you can square your debt within the next two weeks.”

“What?” Dion snapped, staring at Ren, “Two weeks? How am I supposed to get that much money together in two weeks?”

“You aren’t.” Ren shrugged. “I’ll see you soon.”

Dion watched Ren disappear through the doorway, leaving it open.

By the time Dion managed to stumble outside, the sun had already set. It was well past the time he told Atticus he would be home. Dion double-tapped his wrist and blinked. His DataCuff was gone. His bike and helmet too.

“One day, I’m going to kill that scarecrow bastard,” Dion promised himself.