Dion grimaced at the uncomfortable amount of light shining directly into his face. His head lolled to the side and he nearly lost his balance. It felt like someone had scrambled his brain with an eggbeater. Beads of moisture trailed down his neck. His whole body was damp with sweat. It felt like he was inside an oven. When he tried to wipe his face, his hand caught on something. Peering through half-lidded eyes, it took him far too long to catch up to his predicament. He was sitting on a chair, his hands tightly tied together behind him. 

Beyond the bright light, the rest of the room was so dark he couldn’t make out any details among the shadows. The fact that he was still alive was a good sign. Yoshida’s people weren’t known for keeping people around unless they needed something. The sweating hotbox was probably to put extra pressure on his nervous system. That, at least, seemed smart. Dion was parched. He must have been out for a while. 

The time! He was still on the clock when he was attacked! Dion’s chest tightened. Knowing he’d undoubtedly lost the best job he’d had in years was far more problematic than whatever was happening right now.

Dion hadn’t seen who hit him earlier, but it was probably the last member of the excursion team. Yoshida’s crew usually travelled in groups of four. Everyone had a task, like cogs in an old machine. Dion had only seen three of them before he lost consciousness. The biggest of the group was Oskar. He was usually the ‘muscle’, for lack of a better term, clobbering unsuspecting victims over the head. Krause and Sanjay were there, too. Krause was built for speed, and Sanjay was practically a firearm. What were they missing? Dion’s head hurt as he tried to recall the names he knew one by one. 

It had been over a decade since Dion last saw any of them. By choice, of course. Once upon a time, Dion did odd jobs for Yoshida. Officially working for the most proficient man on Koros was a life-long honour, but that wasn’t the life Dion wanted for Atty. It was only ‘life-long’ because mortality rates were high, like most criminal gangs. As soon as Dion found an opportunity, he didn’t hesitate to leave. His brother had a special talent for hacking and Dion knew that someone like Yoshida would use and abuse him the moment he found out. Ever since, he’d made sure to steer clear of the gang’s territory. Dion didn’t expect it to catch up with him on Oryxs, of all places.

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, rising from the underbelly of society. These individuals were referred to as Shadow Lords. They wielded so much power, both financially and politically, that they didn’t hide or shy away from the law. Every attempt NexTech made to apprehend these villains was in vain; they were more of a threat to each other. They always seemed at least 5 steps ahead of the authorities and they weren’t afraid to cut loose threads or bury their own alive to stay that way.

A soft glow in the corner 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, “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 mobsters, Sanjay had internal modifications. He thought it would be cool to breathe fire the way dragons could as a teenager, 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 without scalding her; it was his greatest regret. At the time, they had been close friends. He and Dion were often paired in the same team on Koros. Sanjay brought firepower and Dion brought the words he lacked. It had to be some kind of poetic kick in the teeth that Sanjay was on the team that finally found him.

Both men turned toward the door when it burst open. A cheerful voice sang out, “Dion Saunders!” Dion knew that irritating, high-pitched voice anywhere. Krause, the man with ManaTech legs, was practically a species of his own. Only a deaf man wouldn’t hear him coming from eons away. The day couldn’t get much worse. The universe was testing him. Dion hated to admit it, but it felt like the universe was winning.

“We’d a har’ time tryna track y’ down. Yoshida’s mad angry wi’ y’ for skippin’ town. Though’ y’ dead meself, but ‘ere y’are, fit as ever.” It required a lot of brain power to understand what Krause was saying, yet the man never seemed to shut up. It drove everyone mad, not just Dion. It was genuinely shocking how infrequently the insufferable man got shot for running his mouth, though his legs were probably the reason he managed to dodge the laser bolts.

The gangly, chewed-up old man moved the light away from Dion’s face, allowing a part of Dion to finally relax. The room was largely empty except for the two gangsters. A long table stood conspicuously in the centre, the cursed lamp next to it. The door that Krause had come through appeared to be the only entry point that wasn’t chained shut.

Krause approached Dion with a casual stroll that caused a loud klunk with each step. His legs were cheap and crudely put together compared to modern high-end NexTech prosthetics. A NexTech 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 slapped together using whatever was lying around. They were more bulky and obvious, but no less practical.

When the dimensions collided six hundred years ago, mana and magical creatures spilled into the worlds and weapons were needed fast. In response to the crisis, NexTech invented ManaTech prosthetics: limbs that could supersede human limitations. The manufacturing and design process had since been refined significantly. ManaTech prosthetics had become a wealth statement over the centuries. Even the old models cost more than most people could afford in their lifetime. It wasn’t uncommon to see perfectly healthy individuals with mechanical body parts, especially in a gang that paid for them. 

Krause’s prosthetics not only replaced his legs but also allowed him to move faster than a Sentinel. He was incredibly hard to hit, which made him an asset to Yoshida despite his loose mouth and poor hygiene. Still, the moment Krause stopped being useful, Yoshida would take back his investment. Repossessions were never pretty. ‘Life-long honour’ and all that.

“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 fully charged. No point in running, then. He'd be caught in no time, and when he did inevitably get caught, Krause wouldn’t waste time with that knife anymore.

Sanjay grunted on the sidelines; one of the few noises he could make safely. His mod 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. It wouldn’t be easy, but a plan was a plan.

“Whatever happen’ t’ y’ lil’ lad? Was always ‘n death’s door.” Krause asked curiously, still fiddling with his knife. “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. Dion sucked in a startled breath when the blade narrowly missed his ear. Krause didn’t seem to notice how close he was waving it, his arms moving like they had a mind of their own. “Y’ good a’ secrets, eh? Y’d havta be t’ go missin’ eleven years.”

“Almost sounds like you miss me.” Dion teased with a half smile. 

“Y’ migh’ be righ’ boy. Y’all grown now…” Dion stopped listening to the ranting lunatic, zeroing in on his movements. The old man waved and swayed like a drunk as he spoke. In fact, Dion was sure that he was drunk. He recognised the sickly smell on the lunatic’s breath.

Alright, universe. My turn!

The moment Krause turned to Sanjay to ask him something, Dion threw the full weight of his body into a headbutt.