The sun beat down hard on the cracked pavement outside the Adelaide dairy market, turning the air thick with the stench of sweat, spoiled milk, and fermented despair. The place was a rundown strip of mismatched vendor stalls, each one half-covered in tarp and grime. Flies buzzed in the air like they paid rent.
Cass strode forward like she belonged—cowgirl hat low over her eyes, boots caked in dried mud, twin pistols holstered on her hips. Her long wavy blonde hair was tied back messily, a few rebellious strands clinging to her cheek with sweat. She wore her usual low-cut brown tank top that clung to her curves like a second skin, exposing a generous view of her huge melons with each breath. Her toned stomach was on full display beneath the open vest, and her worn-out denim shorts were slung low enough to reveal the start of her hip bones.
Wang walked beside her, still sore from last week's sparring session. The sun reflected off the scratched metal plating of his left robotic arm. He scanned the stalls with the wariness of a man who'd seen what desperation looked like when it pulled a knife.
Cass stopped at a rickety stall manned by a balding old guy in a stained apron. His left eye twitched from what was probably permanent damage, and his front teeth were MIA. A cracked sign above read: CHEESES, CREAMS, & FERAL MILK—NO REFUNDS.
She sniffed once and grimaced.
"Fuck me sideways, it smells like something died here," Wang muttered.
Cass chuckled dryly. "That's the smell of bait."
She leaned over the counter and pointed at a grotesque lump of something green and fuzzy behind the glass. It looked like it was alive—or dying very slowly.
"That one. The moldy bastard," she said.
The storekeeper perked up. "Ahh, good taste, missy. That's one of my oldest. Triple-fermented camel milk cheese, aged in wombat piss. Only 20 credits."
"Twenty?" Cass raised an eyebrow. "You serious?"
"Dead serious," the old man said proudly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Had a bloke eat that last week, shat his lungs out and said it was worth every drop."
Cass scoffed. "Ten credits. I'm not paying twenty for something that looks like it crawled out of a zombie's asshole."
The storekeeper crossed his arms. "That there's artisan cheese. Takes months to ripen. Ten won't even cover the worms living in it."
She sighed dramatically, then took a step forward, planting both elbows on the counter and subtly pushing her chest up. Her tank top already left little to the imagination, but now her breasts strained against the fabric—round, full, barely contained. She tilted her head, gave a crooked little smile, and let her Outback drawl drip with honey.
"Oh, come on, darlin'," she purred, "don't be stingy with a girl tryin' to make a livin'. How about we meet in the middle? Ten credits… and a smile?"
The storekeeper's eyes locked onto the exposed cleavage like he was staring into the gates of heaven. He blinked twice, face flushing bright red.
Wang, standing behind her, rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ…"
Cass leaned a little closer, brushing her arm along the man's wrist. "You know," she whispered, "I reckon you're the kind of fella who knows how to treat a lady real nice."
The storekeeper coughed, visibly trying to hide a very obvious tent in his apron.
"F-Fifteen credits," he blurted out, voice cracking like a schoolboy's.
Cass's grin widened. "Fifteen, huh?"
He nodded rapidly. "Fifteen. Final offer."
Cass reached into her pocket and dropped the credits on the counter. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."
The old man looked like he needed to sit down.
Cass grabbed the cheese—careful not to inhale too deeply—and turned back to Wang, her smirk still in place.
Wang raised an eyebrow. "You always flash your tits to get discounts?"
Cass winked. "Only when it works."
He muttered, "I feel like I need a shower after watching that."
"Welcome to the fuckin' market," she said, stuffing the cheese into a brown sack.
They walked away, the stench of the bait cheese trailing behind them like a curse.
"So," Wang asked, "who's this guy we're trying to bait again?"
"Name's Snitch9. Used to be an info-runner for various gangs back in the day. Sneaky bastard, lives off the grid now. But I know his weakness."
"Rotting cheese?"
"Rotting cheese and desperation," she said. "That stink's gonna reach him before we do. He'll come sniffin' 'round for a taste. And when he does…"
Wang cracked his knuckles. "We make him talk."
Cass grinned. "Exactly."
They disappeared down a side alley, shadows stretching long in the afternoon sun—two predators, armed with a moldy wedge of war bait and a plan half-hinged on luck.
Welcome to Prisonland.
Q: Have you ever been betrayed before?