Kaori stepped outside Blaze's Pit, the Blazewood air thick with dust and motor oil, and froze.
Her compact car, parked near the pub, was a wreck-its hood crumpled, windows shattered, and tires slashed.
She let out a wail, collapsing to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"This is unbelievable! Why me, of all people?" she cried, her cat ears drooping, twin tails limp.
My car, my job-it's all gone, she thought, despair overwhelming her.
Inside the pub, Burnice hauled out the last unconscious biker, tossing him onto the street with a grunt.
Her twin gold hairlocks bounced as she dusted her hands, her flamethrowers slung over her back.
"That will do it!"
Michael, meanwhile, strolled outside, a small basket of fries in hand.
He sat on the ground near the pub's door, the neon sign buzzing above, and popped a fry into his mouth, his tie loose but his demeanor unshaken.
Typical Blazewood mess, he thought, pulling out his phone.
Kaori shuffled over, her eyes teary, tugging his shirt like a timid cat.
"What do we do now?" she asked, her voice droopy.
"We can't get to Scott Outpost without the car. They'll fire us, even if we say it's broken!"
Michael, unfazed, tapped his phone's screen, another fry between his lips. We're not done yet, he thought.
A figure approached through the dust-a tall woman with a commanding presence, her coat emblazoned with Blazewood's emblem.
Kasa, the mayor, strode up, her eyes scanning the scene. Burnice reappeared, waving.
"Yo, Kasa! Just a gang fight, all sorted now," she said, gesturing to the scattered bikers.
Kasa nodded, then noticed Kaori kneeling, her face buried in her hands.
"You alright?" she asked, her tone kind but firm.
Kaori looked up, her energy drained.
"Not really," she mumbled, glancing at her wrecked car.
Everything's falling apart, she thought.
Kasa's gaze shifted to Michael, lounging against the pub wall, fry in mouth, phone in hand.
"You guys do not seem to be from here, New Eridu, right?"she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Michael replied.
"We're researchers from New Eridu, headed to Scott Outpost. Stopped here for a bite, got caught in this mess, and now we're stuck."
Kaori tugged his shirt again, her voice barely a whisper.
"Michael, seriously, what do we do?"
Michael glanced at Kasa.
"How long to fix a car like that around here?"
Kasa crossed her arms, eyeing the wreckage.
"In Blazewood? At least a week, if you're lucky."
"Good," Michael said, slipping another fry into his mouth. He looked at Kaori, who blinked in confusion.
"We are going to be professional liars," he said, his tone calm.
Kaori's ears twitched.
"What do you mean?" she asked, baffled.
Michael tilted his phone toward her. The screen showed their location pinned in Blazewood.
"I whipped up a program," he said.
"It will broadcast our location as if we were in Scott Outpost. I also hacked the Outpost server and slipped some fake notes indicating that we would be arriving in a week."
Easy enough, he thought, his fingers still tapping.
Kaori's jaw dropped.
"How?!" she gasped, her tail flicking.
Michael shrugged.
"Last step's faking Dr. Lin's voice for a call to the Scott Outpost chief, just in case he checks. Lin's a public speaker-plenty of her speeches are online to synthesize a recording."
Her voice was simple to imitate, he reasoned, already planning the script.
Kaori stared, her shock deepening.
"Why are you even at the Institute? With skills like that, you could be famous!"
Michael chuckled, popping another fry.
"These are crook skills. Fame would just paint a target on my back-too many enemies."
I've seen what happens to show-offs, he thought.
Besides, he want a near normal life not a high stake one.
"Don't worry, Kaori. We'll have a wonderful week here, unlimited budget and all."
Kaori's ears perked slightly, and she sank onto the ground beside him, her coat brushing the dust.
"Maybe being loners isn't so bad," she said, a small smile breaking through.
***
Kaori, still kneeling by her wrecked car outside Blaze's Pit, wiped her tears, her cat ears drooping.
"How are we going to fix this?" she asked Michael, her voice shaky.
"We don't have the money."
Michael, leaning against the pub's wall with a fry in his mouth, pointed to the unconscious gang members sprawled across the street.
"They will," he said, his tone calm. Time to make this work, he thought, tapping his phone.
---
A splash of cold water hit Rusty's face, the biker gang leader jerking awake, his mohawk dripping.
His eyes met Michael's, dark and unyielding, as Michael loomed over him.
"Rise and shine," Michael said, his voice steady.
Rusty scrambled to stand, but Michael grabbed his collar, halting him.
"I happen to know your little secret," Michael confessed.
"It took me a while, but I finally understand what you have been doing. The fake front you've been putting up for your crew and the other gangs. The debt you owe."
"It's over for you, Rusty."
Rusty shoved Michael's hand away, his face twisting.
"I don't know what you're yammering about, lunatic!" he spat, his bravado shaky.
Michael smirked, pulling up his phone.
"Want to play it hard? Fine."
The screen displayed Rusty's Inter-Knot account, hacked and exposed-debts to the Sons of Calydon, failed deals, gambling expenditures.
"How about now? This will jog your memory a little."
Rusty's eyes widened, his bravado crumbling.
"How'd you get that?" he whispered, shivering.
He dropped to his knees, hands clasped.
"Please, don't tell anyone!"
Michael crossed his arms.
"Your trick's going to be found out soon, Rusty. Don't beg me-you'll be the one suffering when the Sons of Calydon come knocking."
He's breaking, Michael thought, watching Rusty tremble, muttering about wanting to prove himself.
"Kaori," Michael called, "bring that paper I asked for."
She hurried over, handing him a folded sheet. Michael crouched, showing it to Rusty.
"Listen up. I can get you out of debt and score you a favor from Big Daddy himself. For the next week, you do exactly what I say."
He slid the paper across the ground.
"This is your golden ticket out of the hell you've made-a delivery method for moderate success. Try it tomorrow."
It's a lifeline, if he's smart, Michael thought. Standing, he fixed Rusty with a cold stare.
"Try to run or do anything else, and I will make certain you pay."
Rusty clutched the paper, nodding frantically, his eyes darting like a trapped animal.
***
Night had fallen over Blazewood, its dusty streets lit by flickering neon and campfires.
Michael and Kaori found a place to stay-a rundown motel with peeling paint and a single bedroom.
Inside, the room was cramped, with a creaky bed and a flickering bulb.
Michael set his bag down, eyeing the floor.
"I'll sleep on the ground," he said, his tone practical.
Kaori, fresh from a bath, her pajamas loose and her twin tails damp, blushed slightly.
"No way, that's too harsh!" she protested.
She grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the bed.
"It's big enough for both of us. You take the right side."
Michael hesitated but nodded, keeping it professional.
She's stubborn, he thought.
Kaori climbed onto the left side, flicked off the light, and murmured,
"Thanks, Michael," her voice soft.
He didn't reply, lying still in the dark.
A small snore broke the silence-Kaori, already out.
Fast sleeper, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Tomorrow's the real deal
***
The next day dawned over Blazewood, the sun cutting through the dust that clung to its ramshackle streets.
The Sons of Calydon, their leather jackets patched and bikes rumbling, rolled into town after wrapping most of their day's commissions.
They headed for Blaze's Pit, Burnice's usual haunt, expecting her infectious grin and a round of nitro cocktails.
But as they pulled up, the pub was a spectacle-surrounded by a roaring crowd of motorcycle gangs, their shouts and cheers echoing off the neon-lit facade.
Bikers from rival crews jostled for a view, their bikes parked haphazardly, engines still ticking.
Caesar, the Sons' leader, dismounted, her green hair catching the light as she pushed through the crowd.
What's this nonsense? She thought, her hand resting on her sword's hilt.
At the center of the chaos, she saw it: a gang leader, his mohawk streaked with red, facing off against a man in a plain white shirt and black tie.
Michael Varen, tie loose, stood calm amid the uproar, his trimmed beard barely hiding a faint smirk.
The game they were playing? Rock, paper, scissors. The crowd roared with each throw, bets flying, as
Michael's hand met the gang leader's in a bizarre, high-stakes showdown.
Only in Blazewood, Caesar thought, her eyes narrowing, wondering how a New Eridu researcher ended up here, playing a kid's game with a gang's pride on the line.