Getting the Band Together

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Gadget's Expedition

First Impressions

Arrival

She had walked into town six months earlier. It was a busy place unlike anything she had seen in her travels. Certainly unlike her home. That was something she could never explain to the people she met here. They would think she just arrived. Her explorations had been low key. Like a lost puppy. Other cities. Learning languages, manners, cultures. She had to fit in when she got where she was going. Little things went away or were replaced. Clothes. The guitar case needed to look like it was once well cared for but time and rough living stained it. Her hair, that was a crime but it was necessary. Less bathing. Her mother would be annoyed to see her.

Her guitar case hung loosely from her hand, its once-polished wood now worn and scuffed, bearing the marks of her travels. Covered in travel stickers she had collected. Her pack hung on her shoulders heavily with its necessities and treasures. Paper money and a few gold coins. Her pack had a few practical items. Note books filled with songs and music. A cellphone with more music then she had ever heard but her father had insisted. If she had left it behind she would be running away from home. If she took it, she was just traveling. Her jeans were patched and fraying, her loose shirt faintly smudged with dirt.

The careful disguise had worked well enough: she looked the part of the drifter, the runaway. But under the surface was something sharper, something the average observer wouldn’t see. A hunting knife hung on her belt, and deeper in her pack rested her father’s .45—a weight she carried with purpose. She didn’t plan to use it. But then again, planning wasn’t always her strongest suit.

She found a shady spot under an oak tree where she could see the musicians take turns performing. The crowd’s reactions told her everything she needed to know—who played for passion and who played for desperation. Gadget leaned against the tree, watching, listening, and feeling the pulse of the park.

It wasn’t long before someone noticed her. A boy, maybe the age she portrayed, with unruly hair and a guarded expression, walked over and sat down beside her, uninvited but not unkind.

“Hey,” he said, nodding toward her guitar case. “You looking to play?”

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Well, just so you know, in this stretch, Tiffy’s up now, then I’m next, and Jax gets lunch. Cali is missing and we are worried about her. Holden would be after her but hes not shown up today. After that, it’s you, if you’re still here. We’ve got a system.” He smirked faintly, but his eyes were serious. “We all gotta eat.”

“Got it,” Gadget replied, her voice measured. She didn’t need to explain herself yet.

“I'm Eddie. Edwardo, technically,” he said with a half-grin. “Parents thought it was funny. And you?”

“Do I find it funny?”

“Whats your name, new girl?”

“Gadget”

“Really? That’s what you’re going with? People usually pick something easy, like Gail or Ginger.”

“Gadget’s fine,” she said, unmoving. “Nice to meet you.”

Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself, Gadget. You new to the city?”

She nodded. “Been here a week. Wandering mostly. Stayed at the mission for a night.” She paused, shuddering. “That place isn’t what I expected.”

Eddie gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, the mission’s rough. Better to stay in the open if you can. But, you know, stay visible. Shakers come out when you’re alone.”

“Shakers?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shakers are takers,” he said, gesturing toward the park’s edge. “They roll in, act like they belong, and take what’s ours. They don’t care if you’ve got a spot or if you’re trying to eat. Stay sharp, Gadget.”

She nodded, filing away the warning.

Eddie continued, “Listen, you can wander off if you need to, but be back when Jax is done, or someone else’ll jump in. Holden’s been known to push his way in, but if you stand your ground, he’ll back off. He respects the system, even if he pretends not to.” “And Cali?” Gadget asked, catching the name from the murmurs earlier.

Eddie frowned. “Cali’s...well, she hasn’t been around. Missed a whole week. She’s in trouble, and we haven't been able to find her. Till we hear something she’s gotta sort it out herself. That’s how it works.”

Gadget didn’t reply, but her mind turned. Trouble had a way of finding people like her, and she wasn’t sure yet if Cali’s story would intersect with her own. For now, all she could do was wait. And watch.

The guitar case at her side felt heavier now, but not with dread. With purpose. If the park was a stage, she’d play her part soon enough.

First day at the Plaza

She listened to Eddie play for the mid-morning crowd as they cut through the park going from one tall building to another. He's as good as she remembered. Though maybe not quite as good yet. Style would come in time. Besides, it was Tiffy who blossomed, if they survive.

Eddie comes over to her, “Ah, Gadget. You said you been wandering around? Don't wander south of here. Bad area. Forty Thieves.. Actually the Forty Threes, 43rd Street gang. Fucking takers. Over by the river is a nice place in the summer. Cold as hell this time of year but a more or less permanent encampment of old timers is there. The city comes through and cleans it up some times. Gives them time to get their valuables out then trashes whatever they had been living in. Twice a year. Shows the uptowners they are cleaning the place up. After that some Do-Gooders come by and drop off new tents and mattresses and blankets. The hawks stay away from there because police got no concern if one or two kiddie pimps end up in the trainyard. Some of those old timers are ex military and ain't shy about it. But, some are almost as bad as the hawks. They won't rent you out but they will trade warmth for wetness, ya know. Better off finding a squat.”

“You and Tiffy got a squat? “

“Ya...but.. its tight.. sorry.. I can't help with that. The East industrials by the train-yards have a lot of junkies and packs of wild dogs.. You can sleep there but the temptation is too strong for people. Temptation to use, temptation to steal. " The usual crowds go back and forth with little or no regard for the desperation they pass through. Think them self generous if they toss the change from a six dollar cup of fifty cent coffee.

Eddie wanders over to Sit as Tiffy finishes her set. Gadget wonders if they think of it in terms of 'Set' yet.

Eddie starts playing. Riffing really. Loud, to get attention. Hes got endurance, Gadget thinks.

A couple hours go by and Gadget spends it looking over the place. Walking around and getting a feel for the square and its regulars.

A coffee shop, a waitress looks out the window at the buskers sadly. Grief, and gratitude. She escaped the life. A newsstand. No reading. A fat man watches a little TV and collects money. Thinks he's sly to slip alcohol from a flask into what is probably coffee.

A Little Ceaser's Pizza. Classic cardboard pizza. The clerk. Another survivor. A paycheck away from being on the street again. Squats. Can't make rent.

A laundromat. Customers only. A walkway to the parking lot.

A liqueur store that looks like a prison with bars and locks.

A big youth comes running like he's being chased through the plaza. No one behind him.

He runs past Eddie and Tiffy. Jax has already gathered his blanket and put his arm through loops and was moving. He jumps down stairs only to stop. Tiffy and Eddy are almost up when the runner comes walking over to them, hang dogged.

Up the stairs come 4 guys and a girl. Toughs. Shakers for sure. Their clothes only look a small bit better then the people they shake down. They walk straight for the three.

Suddenly she feels a should hitting her from behind, walking past. A big guy, 19, scared and cruel. A follower. He looks back at her, sees the guitar, “I don't know you. Tax ya later.”

He walks to the top end of this part of the plaza. Another coming in from the parking lot . Jax walking ahead of him, being pushed.

Behind her two more. The ones the runner was fleeing from. In to their trap it seems.

Gadget touches a knob on her hearing aid and she hears better.

The big guy in front. Army boots. New. “I don't give a fuck, Eddie. Starve. Fork it over. Hey, Tiffy, you can keep your money for a little help with handsome.”

Eddie scowls, steps between him and Tiffy, bravely but foolishly. He hands over a wad of bills.

“That's both of ours...a days work, Wart.”

Big Wart....Good. Now I've seen him, “Not for me it wasn't. All fun. Maurice will fork over a couple hundred for a couple hours with Tiffy.”

Eddie says nothing, smart for once.

Jax says he hadn't played yet, he doesn't have any money. Wart's number too grabs Jax'bongo drums and the two struggle. Eddie intervenes and gets a punch in the face from Wart. Little wart holds Jax's drums.

'That was stupid Eddie. Jax, 5 bucks and you can have your drums back for tomorrow. Or wet trade. You know where we will be.”

Lastly Wart turns to the runner. “Holden, you are the stupidest fuck I know. You got taxed and instead of just playing elsewhere you tried to warn Eddie and the Stone Benches Band. “ He says with an air of mockery.

Gadget smiles for other reasons when she hears Wart's jab. She's in the right place and time.

Wart lays a smack across Holden's face and Little Wart two punches him in the belly as he falls.

The shakers move along, laughing. This can't be the only way they make money. Shaking down buskers. Cali...They have her someplace. Making money off her.

Tiffy starts crying after she the gang has gone. Jax, probably only 13 himself, start sniffling, trying to be tough. Tiffy must be 14. Eddie would be 16. Holden 17. Cali would be 13, if she lives.

Walking over Gadget hears without the spy ear.

“Those assholes,” Eddie says.

Jax says, “Lets see if Dearly will spot us a blue plate special or two.. its been long enough.”

Eddie shakes her head, “Can't. Bossman is there.” Jax whimpers.

She walks up, “Those are the takers? “

Eddie nods, “Not their name.. Just Wart's guys. They get you, too?”

She shakes her head, “That big guy said he would tax me later. “

Holden says, “That's Waldo. Wants people to call him Eastwood, but Waldo is his name. Big, tough, and mean. One of Wart's muscles.”

Eddie puts his arm around the whimpering Tiffy.

“We ate yesterday. Holden? Jax?” They both shake their heads.

Gadget says...”You all squat together? “ Eddie looks at her, confirming, thinking they have to find Cali.

She says, “If I can squeeze in to your squat, I'll get pizza. A couple from that place.” Pointing to Little Ceasers. Jax looks at her, then Eddie. Holden looks too. Silent agreement.

“Alright. We should go. If we set up again and start playing they'll come back. Today is over.”

Gadget says, "Where do I meet you. I have an errand to run before getting food.”

Eddie gives her directions for 4 blocks away. “You'll see a tall water pipe on the side of a building. Painted blue. Hit it a few times and one of us will come get you.”

She nods. “An hour at most.”

Observations

Gadget walked back into the square with her loot, the familiar rhythm of the park unbroken by the earlier scuffle. People moved about as though nothing unusual had happened, their lives tuned to a frequency that filtered out the kind of trouble she'd just witnessed.

She’d seen this before in other cities: a practiced indifference to the small tragedies that played out in the corners of urban life. The regulars had walked past the shakedown, unconcerned. Not their problem. Not worth their notice. Even the lack of music didn’t seem to faze anyone. The world kept spinning, and the square moved with it.

Her first stop was a liquor store tucked into a crumbling block of mismatched businesses. The door jingled as she entered, and she felt the clerk’s eyes snap to her immediately. His stare followed her down the rows as she browsed. Gadget ignored him, picking out a flask-sized bottle of whiskey first, then a larger one to refill it. She added a handful of tiny bottles at the register, their colorful labels gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light.

The clerk leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Are you high or just stupid?” he sneered. “Alright, let’s do this. Everyone sing along— *La la la! I have to see some ID!*”

Unbothered, Gadget pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and laid it on the counter, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady intensity. “Even if I kept the change,” he added, “it’s not worth it without ID.”

She sighed, pulling a slim wallet from her jacket. Opening it just enough for the clerk to see, she watched his eyes widen. The disdain melted into something closer to disbelief.

“Ah... really?” he asked, his tone shifting.

She tilted her head slightly. “I can depend on your keeping it a secret?”

He nodded quickly, his earlier bravado gone. He took the money without another word, bagging the bottles with a newfound precision. Gadget took the bag without a thank-you, already moving on.

Her next stop was Little Caesar’s, the faint smell of grease and cheap cheese filling the air before she even entered. The bored teenager at the counter barely glanced up as she ordered four $5 pizzas. She stacked the boxes into her canvas bag, not bothering to align them perfectly. As the bag settled on her shoulder, the pizzas slid, the cheese and toppings undoubtedly pooling at one end of the boxes. She didn’t care. These weren’t about taste.

The park waited as she walked back, her steps deliberate and her mind turning over what came next. Her earlier encounter had shown her more than she expected—not just about the park’s pecking order but about the invisible lines drawn between those who were struggling to survive and those who chose to ignore them. She wasn’t sure yet where she fit into this city, but she’d carve out a place soon enough.

The liquor and the pizzas? They were tools, not comforts. Small investments in goodwill, in leverage. She wasn’t here to play by the rules. Gadget didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own.

The alley is narrow and quiet, save for the distant hum of city noise. The faint tang of rust and damp concrete fills the air, mingling with the aroma of greasy pizza wafting from the canvas bag Gadget left on the ground. Her ears tingle with the primal electricity of the moment, a sensation she's come to trust. The hunter has become the hunted, and she is more than ready. She sets down her guitar and her bag.

Waldo strides into view, his swagger full of self-assurance, the kind that only comes from countless successful shakedowns. He grins as he sees her, his eyes scanning her up and down like she's already his.

“Well, I didn’t think taxing you would make me rich! Booze and food. Fork it over. And any cash you got,” he says, closing the distance without hesitation. Gadget steps toward him calmly, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t flinch as he reaches for her with both hands, his grin growing wider as he adds, “Maybe a kiss or a fu—”

The rest of the word is swallowed by a sharp, guttural cry as Gadget grabs his wrists and drives the steel toe of her boot into his groin with the force of a sledgehammer. The sound he makes is almost pitiful as he doubles over, but she doesn’t stop. Another swift kick sends him crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll.

Before he can recover, she shoves him onto his back and straddles him, delivering two quick punches to his stomach with precision. Waldo gags, his breath coming in choked gasps. Gadget leans in close, her voice a low, dangerous growl.

“Now, don’t you throw up,” she warns, her tone ice-cold. “It’ll only make you messy and me pissed off. Look me in the eyes.”

Waldo’s watery gaze meets hers, and for the first time, his bravado cracks. Her psyche slams into him as hard as she can force it.

“You think you’re tough?” she continues, her voice steady but sharp as a blade. “The universe is filled with monsters that wouldn’t blink about squashing you like a potato bug. And I am goddamned well one of them, Waldo. Now... you belong to me. Unless you want me to make sure you never get an erection again. We understand each other?”

He nods frantically, his face pale.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gadget says, sitting back slightly. “Where’s Cali?”

“Wart has her,” Waldo croaks, his voice hoarse. “He’s got her up at the Station… Passed out last I saw.”

Gadget studies his face for any sign of a lie, then nods. “The Station. Eddie knows where that is?”

Waldo nods again, his head bobbing weakly.

“Good.” Gadget stands, brushing herself off. “Now, you go away. Not to the station. It won’t be safe there tonight. Do you understand me?” Waldo nods once more, trembling as he scrambles to his feet.

She steps back to her bag and pulls out a pizza box. Opening it, she pulls out three slices and holds them out to him. “Here. Just to show I’m not… well, totally a bitch. Remember: don’t go to the station. Don’t tell Wart. And don’t piss me off. Now go.”

Waldo hesitates for a split second before grabbing the slices. He staggers off, clutching the greasy pizza with both hands, his steps uneven but quick. He doesn’t look back.

Gadget watches him disappear down the alley, then picks up her bags. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she murmurs, “Everyone’s gotta eat.”

Squatting

She finds the pipe and knocks on it. Waits only a few moments till Holden peeks his head out.

“We were worried you were followed. “

“I was but its ok. Lets go inside.”

She follows Holden down a short alley to a pried open side door to an industrial building. The interior shows a lack of traffic. The path makes several turns before ending at a dead end. Above are large pipes passing through. Water pips probably. On the west wall is a concert poster in a language Gadget does not know.

Those huddled near each other are Eddie, Tiffy and Jax. A single candle puts out light if not warmth. They shiver under blankets and their breath comes out in fog.

They look up as Gadget enters. Eddie says, “Glad you made it. We were worried.” They look at the pizza boxes in anticipation.

Eddie goes on, “Cali is usually between Jax and Holden, if you don't mind."

Gadget moves close to Holden, between him and Jax. She wouldn't tell herself yet but her pack nature was already forming, even after so little contact. Holden might be the lucky one.

Gadget nods, taking the top pizza box with the missing pieces, slipping the other 3 to the group. She pulls out a large bottle of Tabasco that she liberally puts on her pizza. The others eagerly grab the other boxes. They relish the pizza, a good meal for them. Jax reaches for the Tabasco looking to gadget for permission. She smiles and hands it to him.

Looking around the dead end has much to recommend it. Defensible but without and escape route. Out of the elements sort of. Frigidly cold. Too cold as she thinks about it. Its winter but the weather outside was hardly cold enough to warrant the cold inside.

“Whats on the other side of the building?”

“Meat packing plant. Its why its so cold in here. But the squat is too good. Out of the elements and deep enough not to be easy for takers to ffind unless led here. Holden used to squat here before.”

She reaches into her pack and pulls out a small backpacking ring of stainless steel to curious eyes. Popping the lid she pulls a lighter out and a bit of newspaper. She wraps coal with the paper and lights it, starting the stoves fire. The flickering fire catches and warms the area slowly.

They turn to huddle around the fire in gratitude and surprise. “I've been camping a lot.” She explains.

The small area began to heat as they returned to eating. Silence fills the room as they eat. She looks around the space. A bright poster on the wall is in Russian she thinks. Rafe might know what it says. Being a music aficionado he might know the band anyway. Maybe someone else in the huge Adventure's Society would know. Time will tell.

While they huddled under blankets that had seen better days their over coats were neatly hung for drying. The candle putting out light but little heat. Looking up the ceiling must have vents somewhere. Its why the space has so little heat. This place wouldn't do. Not for seven or eight people as her plans as the group develops.

Gadget stands after they finish eating. “Eddie? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

The two walk out to turn down the hall, out of sight of the others.

“I spoke to Waldo. He tried to tax me and we came to an understanding. He says Cali is at someplace called the Station. Strung out and in trouble.”

Eddie curses, “Damn... damn. The Station? Shit... SHIT!.... That's an abandoned gas station at the edge of the industrial area. There's a huge dog pack that lives there. Used to be security dogs that went wild when the plants closed. Abandoned warehouses mostly. No one squats there because the dogs are vicious. probably a hundred of them. The city gave up on that whole part of town. South of the railroad and the freeway. Shit... this sucks.”

“Dogs, you say? Vicious ex-guard dogs and their get I imagine. Good to know. How many people would he have there, this Wart guy.?”

“Five maybe, a couple more. Depends where they are in their raiding.”

“How do they handle the dogs. Will you show me where this is? “

“Carefully i imagine. Sure, i can show it but why? Do you have an idea? If we could get them to come out chasing me you might be able to get her out.”

“Do any of you people fight?”

“Holden can land a punch. Jax can fall down and take them for awhile. Tiffy, not so much.”

“How tough are these guys? How long have they been around?”

“Tiffy and I have been here about 6 months. Holden a couple years. Not sure about Jax and Cali. Wart and his guys have been terrorizing people since grade school I hear. He's beat us up several times. Beat Tiffy and I pretty bad when we first got here 'cause she wouldn't put out. Holden hates them. I think he had run ins with them before. I know some of the businesses in the plaza lock their doors when they wander in. One of their parents is a cop.”

“Ok, show me this station.”

“ah..ok...if you're sure.”

She nods and follows him as they cross town.

Dogs

Looking over at a vacant gas station tucked between industrial buildings. Lights are on in the building but none out side. The walls are covered with graffiti. The windows covered in newspaper on the inside.

Gadget asks, "Will they have a lookout you think?"

"No idea. But they probably depend on the dogs. When i start running I'm going to run back the way we came in. Stay away from the dogs. "

Eddie heads off walking far to the east to see if anyone was out on the outside.

She pulls her cell phone and makes a call.

“Gadget. Wants and warrants on a Wart and known associates. Especially wants and warrants on an associate named Waldo. Police tours in the area of Third street and Hunsiker ave. Yes.” She lights a cigarette and puffs it while she waits.

“Yes. Alright. Route police at least a mile from this location. Ok,. Ok. ok. And Waldo..Ok. Gadget down. ”

She watches for any of the gang members returning.

The air around the vacant gas station grows heavier, the tension palpable as Gadget watches her surroundings with predatory focus. The graffiti-covered walls seem to close in, the windows’ newspaper coverings adding a claustrophobic feel to the eerily quiet industrial zone. As Eddie vanishes into the distance, her instincts prick with the unmistakable feeling of being watched—or perhaps stalked.

Then she smells them. Dirty dogs.

The dogs are close, their musky scent mingled with the faint metallic tang of rust and oil. Gadget pivots, slipping behind a building with a crumbling wall, her heart steady but her senses sharpened. From the shadows, three shapes emerge: large, muscular dogs, their eyes reflecting the dim light like embers in the gloom.

The leader—a scarred, thick-furred brute with torn ears—moves forward first, his posture radiating dominance. Behind him, two slightly smaller dogs fan out, their growls rising in anticipation. The pack begins to circle her, their intent clear.

Gadget exhales slowly, her father's teachings resonating in her mind. She doesn’t run. Instead, she drops to all fours, her movements fluid, deliberate. She raises her hips, her posture bold and challenging. Her eyes lock onto the leader’s, refusing to break the connection. The world seems to fall away, leaving only the primal, unspoken dialogue between her and the animal.

The leader snarls, testing her, his hackles raised. Gadget bares her teeth and growls low and deep, channeling every ounce of her willpower into the sound. It’s not just noise; it’s intent, a projection of dominance and confidence that taps into the primal currents of the canine psyche.

The other two dogs falter, their growls cutting short as they glance at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. The leader hesitates, his head lowering slightly, torn between instinct and her overwhelming presence. Gadget growls again, a commanding sound that brooks no argument. The leader steps back, his defiance faltering under the weight of her gaze.

Then it happens. With a whimper, the leader drops to his belly, his body language one of submission. Gadget moves forward on all fours, her movements deliberate and measured. She sniffs at the leader, solidifying her claim. The two remaining dogs quickly follow suit, rolling over with their tails tucked.

Gadget straightens and rubs the leader’s belly, her touch firm but acknowledging his surrender. He rolls to his haunches, sitting obediently, awaiting her command. She rubs her cheek against him, radiating love of him. Love he has never known till now.

She greets the other two the same, feeling them give up their devotion.

Focusing her awareness, Gadget channels her intent, pushing it outward like a wave. Her thoughts take form, her message clear: “Tell the rest I am coming soon for them. Tell the pack leader.”

The dogs respond instantly, bolting into the shadows without hesitation. Gadget stands and dusts herself off, exhaling slowly. The pack is hers now—or at least, they know better than to challenge her again.

As the shadows settle once more, Gadget turns her attention back to the gas station. It’s time to finish what she started.

The Station

A few minutes later Eddie returns carrying a half full 40oz bottle... “No one there. The door is on the west side. Ok..probably won't be locked. We sneak up. I'll open the door and yell at them. I'll throw this bottle of ...beer...piss... at them. They will chase me out. Especially if I hit Wart. While they are chasing me you go in, find Cali and get her out of there. I'll run them as far as possible. I am pretty sure I can out run them.” He says uncertainly but with determination.

“Sounds good. Lets go.”

They sneak up to the station going around to try peaking in the windows finding them taped shut. The industrial buildings surround the station and shadow it from the sun. She looks it over and figures it must have several rooms inside. Two bays in the garage. Six empty gas pumps. A good squat.

Eddie shakes his head looking terrified but determined. He reaches up and grabs the door handle, opening quickly and stepping in.

Eddie looks around the room and seeing the surprised look on Wart's face. "Look! Eddie's come to sing for us!"

Eddie yells raspingly, “YOU FUCKERS!!!!! WHERE”S CALI!!!????” He throws the bottle and hits Wart in the chest. Splashing him liberally.

Behind him steps in Gadget.

The men jump up as one to chase Eddie. Eddie turns and bumps surprisingly into Gadget.

Gadget puts her right hand on his chest, pushing him hard against the door jamb. With her left hand she raises a .45 automatic.

The young men stop. Wart says, "I don't know you but pointing a gun at me is going to get you slung up in our back room, Blue."

She looks around the room at the squalor. Cigarettes, beer, takeout boxes. The smell of sweat and male testosterone. Somewhere is the smell desperation and semen. Her hackles rise.

She regards the men. She can feel their anger. She looks at Eddie, as her hand presses him to the door-jam. Fear. Shock. Uncertainty.

"That thing looks like a canon in your hand, you stupid slit. Put that down and I might let you walk to the bedroom rather then beat you down and make Eddie watch us."

The loud crack of the gun echos in the room to the shock of everyone except Gadget.

Gadget tracks from left to right, putting a round into each of the chests of the gang members. Eddie's eyes go wide in shock.

Gadget steps into the room, slowly walking to each man and putting a single round into the skull of each of them. Wart last, looking up in despair. "No!!! Please!!! No!!!" Gadget fires again.

She turns to Eddie, “Find Cali.” He staggers past her, walking past the dead into other rooms.

Gadget moves among them taking wallets, cash, and jewelry and stashing it in her pack. Weapons she quickly puts into plastic ziplock bags and putting them into her satchel. She looks over the table and grabs several bags of green herbs. She walks around the room and finds a backpack, looking in she finds several kilos of pressed powder.

She stands and goes to each of the dead and takes a picture of each with her cell phone.

She makes a call. "Gadget. Targets Neutralized. Send in the Cleaners."

Eddie comes out carrying a limp girl. She is bruised and sweaty, dirty, and clearly has been abused. Nude of course. He is white as a sheet, a mixture of awe and terror. Gadget steps to a couch and shakes off a comforter. They put her into it, wrapping her.

"You killed them," Eddie stammers, his voice cracking as his mind struggles to reconcile the woman beside him with the efficient, lethal force he witnessed moments ago. "How could you?"

Gadget doesn’t flinch at the accusation. Her gaze remains fixed ahead, her steps even and deliberate. Her voice, when it comes, is calm, devoid of the chaos that lingers in Eddie's mind. "How? Efficiently," she repeats, her tone as cold and deliberate as her actions.

The weight of her words strikes Eddie harder than the gunshots, leaving him speechless. The horrors of the room behind them—the blood, the screams, the sharp finality of death—cling to him like a suffocating fog. But there is no hesitation in Gadget, no regret in her stride. To her, it was necessary. Clean.

They cross the empty road, the cracked asphalt beneath their feet a reminder of the desolation that surrounds them. The industrial skyline looms like a graveyard of forgotten ambitions. Gadget keeps her hand on her satchel, its contents jingling faintly—a collection of stolen wallets, weapons, and evidence now safely in her possession. She knows every item has a purpose. Every detail serves a larger goal.

Eddie's steps falter as he glances down at Cali. Her face, bruised and streaked with grime, remains slack and lifeless. But there is a faint rise and fall to her chest, a fragile confirmation that she’s alive. It’s enough for now.

"You didn’t have to kill them," Eddie murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Gadget stops abruptly, turning to him with a gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. "Yes, I did," she says firmly. Her tone leaves no room for argument. "They were predators, Eddie. They thought they were top dogs, apex predators of the scene here. But thats what happens to beasts when a new hunter shows up. I am the apex predator around here now. I'll do what needs to be done. They preyed on people like you, like Cali. You think they would’ve stopped? Changed? That girl in your arms is living proof of what they were willing to do."

Eddie swallows hard, unable to look her in the eye. He knows she’s right, but the sheer brutality of what he witnessed gnaws at him. His grip on Cali tightens, as if holding her closer might make sense of the chaos.

"We’ll get her back to the squat," Gadget continues, her voice softening slightly. "She needs rest. Food. Medical attention. And you all need to keep your heads low for a while. This isn’t over."

"What do you mean?" Eddie asks, his voice trembling.

"I mean that there will be repercussions," Gadget says. "Wart’s crew isn’t the only threat out here. There’s always another predator waiting to take their place. But I’ll deal with that when the time comes."

They resume their walk, the squat just a few blocks away now that offers a distant promise of safety. Eddie holds on to that thought, clinging to it as tightly as he clings to Cali.

Behind them, the gas station stands silent, its sordid history now marked by the finality of Gadget’s intervention. Whatever demons she carries, she’s made one thing clear: in her world, survival means making hard choices. And she’s prepared to make every single one of them.

Unseen by the pair and their rescued companion a pair of white vans pull up to the station. Men in hazmat outfits get out and enter and begin to work.

Necessities

The squat is cramped with the 6 people in it but warmer as they kept the little stove burning. Cali slept hard the first day but Gadget wasn't sure she was recovering. Jax never left her side and worried constantly. Gadget went and got Pizza again though only two pies, suggesting that her money was drying up.

The group fervently refused to take her to the hospital. Eddie explained, “Cali's home life was little better then the way Wart's people treated her. Her mother and a stepsister beat her regularly enough that she let her stepfather and two step brothers and a couple of their friends treated her like a sex toy so they would defend her. If she turns up at an ER the best she can hope for is to go into foster care. The worse is being sent home. That happened once before.”

Jax, who Gadget had heard speak in single words till now, said, “She and I run off together first time. I had to go back and get her that time. Her idiot brothers kept her in one of their beds every night. Hard to sneak her out. “

Gadget asked, "how did you manage it?"

Looks around the room showed it was a sore subject. Jax returned to Cali and his silence. Tiffy put her head down. Eddie look at Gadget as if to convey that it was none of her business. Holden smiled, and with a nod from Jax he told the tale.

“Jax lit the house on fire then called 911. In the confusion of police, firefighters, and ambulances Jax stole an ambulance they put Cali in. Drove it for an hour then stole a car so he could ditch the ambulance. He stripped the thing of meds and supplies. Blankets, and stuff. He drove a couple days, swapped cars and drove here. Dropped off Cali and the swag, then drove the car another day to ditch it. Good chance that the police are looking for them.”

Jax looked embarrassed but kept next to Cali.

Gadget commented, “Resourceful. Decisive. I respect that.” Jax looked up, with a hint of a smile.

Gadget stands, “I'm going to stretch my legs.”

Walking out to the front she is confronted by a large beefy cat with a mouse in its sights

Gadget froze momentarily, her eyes widening at the sight of the large beefy cat perched atop the windowsill, its amber eyes fixed intently on the tiny mouse scurrying across the ledge. The cat’s fur was a patchy mix of brown and black, giving it a rugged, almost untamed appearance that contrasted sharply with the orderly chaos inside the squat.

“Hey there, big fella,” Gadget whispered softly, taking a cautious step forward. The cat didn’t seem threatened; instead, it watched her with an air of quiet curiosity, perhaps fear at Gadget's canine nature. The mouse, sensing the tension, darted towards the edge of the window, where it paused, twitching its nose before making a desperate leap for the safety of a nearby drainpipe.

As Gadget reached the window, she noticed a small tag hanging from the cat’s collar: “Shadow – Rescued”. A surge of empathy washed over her. Despite the rough exterior, Shadow clearly had a story of his own.

“Looks like Shadow’s been with you for a while,” Gadget remarked, hoping to break the ice.

Eddie stepped forward, his expression softening. “He’s a survivor, just like Cali. Came into our lives a few months back. Helps keep the rat population down around here.”

Tiffy glanced up from her corner. “Shadow’s more than just a cat. He’s a bit of a guardian for us.”

Holden nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he senses when things are off. Last week, he kept me awake all night when we had that break-in attempt.”

Gadget smiled, feeling a connection not just with the people but with their silent protector. “He’s a good cat. Reminds me that even in the darkest places, there’s still something worth protecting.”

Before anyone could respond, Shadow leapt gracefully down from the windowsill, landing softly on the floor. He approached Cali cautiously, circling her before settling beside her side. Cali reached out a tentative hand, and Shadow rubbed his head against her palm, purring softly.

Jax watched the interaction with a mix of relief and lingering worry. “Shadow’s got a good heart. Just like Cali.”

Gadget felt a pang of admiration for Jax. Despite his rough methods, his intentions were clear. “You all are handling things better than I expected.”

Eddie shook his head. “We’re just trying to keep Cali safe and give her a chance to heal. She deserves a second chance.”

As Gadget turned to leave the room, a sense of camaraderie filled the space. The squat, though cramped and imperfect, was a haven for those who had nowhere else to go. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, understanding that their struggles were intertwined, each supporting the other in their own ways.

Stepping out into the chilly evening air, Gadget took a deep breath, the scent of rain lingering in the air. She glanced back at the squat.

Walking away she considered her options. She didn't want to involve her police contact in this but he was her first call any way.

Calling, "Gadget. Wants and Warrants. Names. Photos coming. out."

Lighting a cigarette she wanders off a block, looking around. She ponders. She can't involve her police contact more then absolutely necessary. But she needed to know if anyone was looking for those in the squat. They didn't want to take Cali to the hospital. She couldn't call home without getting a ton of judgment and in the end only getting medical help with strings on it. There was another option though.

Gateway and allies

She pulled out a couple decks of cards, tarot cards by their size and shape, looking through them. A Trump card was more than a picture—it was a door. Hold it in your hand, focus, and the image became real. Like calling someone on the phone, except you didn’t just hear their voice—you could step into their world. She remembered her introduction to the cards with Lord David. The card grew cold in her hands, the painted image shimmering like water. Slowly, the air around her twisted, colors bleeding together until she could have stepped through—no longer in Hub of Mandalay, but in a sunlit courtyard of the Dramaturge.

Shadow was vast, infinite in its possibilities, with worlds ranging from medieval kingdoms to high-tech dystopias. Mandalay was just one of them, a central one of balance—her home, a place of green fields and shimmering towers, where wolves roamed as kin.

She looked over her King Random's deck. That would mean calling Dalt directly. She looks over her Green Deck, the deck of her homeland, Mandalay. David would help her but that's a nuclear option. She considers the wolves of her pack. Dwarf would come if she asked. That's a lot of trouble but she may need someone to oversee this massive dog problem. There are hundreds of wild dogs in the area. Generations of wild dogs, hungry and hunting. Capturing a dozen is just a start. Dwarf, and the triplets could herd them easily.

"Maybe later...." Putting away her Green deck and her King Random's deck.

She thinks carefully. Dalt is a nuclear option. David is a nuclear option. Dwarf is a blitzkrieg on his own and if he brings the triplets the humans of this world are likely to freak out at the sudden organization of the dog packs in this part of the state.

Raphael, she thinks..He would probably come himself if it sounded adventurous but then this would be his show and not hers. She doesn't need the whole guild. But maybe just a couple. Yes, Wrecker and Reggy. Tough, dangerous, creative, and probably willing to listen to me. Doc Len would be too noticeable. Colette though would fit in perfectly. Call Rafe and ask.

She concentrates on her magical inscription for the realm of Pocai and opening a contact with Raphael.

"Who?" comes the response to her call. "Gadget," she answers.

The voice at the other side of the mystical barrier seems surprised, "Hey, Gadget! Great to hear from you. Didn't know you had a Trump for me. So where've you been? Whacha up to?"

She responds. "I don't have a trump, Rafe. I have an imprint of Pocai. I am.... I have a situation. I have someone who is hurt. I'm in a world that I can't use magic openly. I need a doctor and maybe some muscle. I was hoping I could borrow Colette and Wrecker and Reggy. The time ratio is about the same as Ang Ri. I need them for about a month."

"Yeah Gadget, no problem. Whatever you need. You know you just have to ask. Give me a sec, they're actually right here with me." Rafe turns to his companions at the Ludus on the world of Ang Ri. "Colette, Wrecker, Reggy; Gadget needs your help, now. Colette; someone's hurt, get what you need. Wrecker, Reggy; you're the muscle. She said she can't use magic openly, so I suggest human forms for the both of you."

He focuses back on Gadget. "Can you transport with this Pocai connection? Or do I need to bring them to you?"

"I'm in the King Random Trump Deck and on I'm in an earth world"

Rafe says, "Right. Hang on a sec."

He looks over to Dalt. "Dalt, can I borrow Gadget's Trump from your KRD? I'll give it right back."

He was looking over at the trio as they prepare. "She says it's an earthworld, dress and equip accordingly."

Dalt asks, "Can you use Amber trumps?"

"I'm pretty sure I can...? If not, could you contact her and pass these three through? Please and thanks."

He nods, "Ah... Sure...I suppose"

"Thank you, Dalt. It's appreciated."

"Is there anything else you need, Gadget? How serious is the situation?"

"Its a complicated and musical. We all have our favorites. Shadow is filled with them...I'm here to rescue one set of them...and bring them to the Dramaturge eventually."

"Wooow... sounds like a great adventure. Hope it turns out well. I look forward to hearing the tale one day. Safe Travels, my Friend. Adventure Abounds. You ready for your support team?"

He looks over to Dalt and the trio to see if they are ready.

Wrecker says, "Were we traded to Cleveland?" As he's putting on his earth boots.

Rafe chuckles. "Don't think so. Probably just temporary....? But time will tell."

He gives Wrecker a few moments to wonder, then I chuckle and say, "She said she's only going to need you for about a month."

Wreck says, "It'll be a let down after the Buffet at the Hall of Water..." He steps through,

"Everything's going to be a let down after that buffet" Rafe says as the portal closes.

Stepping through the portal the three look around.

Colette says, "We are not really dressed for it here."

Gadget says, "It's morning. There is a Walmart about four blocks from here. Here's about a thousand dollars. Get clothes. Doc, come back here, knock on that blue pipe and I'll come to get you. They need stuff. Get some blankets, 6 sleeping bags. Cheap folding chairs. Medical supplies. Food-Bread, peanut butter, jam. lunch meat for today. Fruit. An ice chest. A bag of cat kibble. These people have been living like wild animals. When they ask we'll tell them you're a friend from home. Leave where vague. I don't know if they'll believe me but they will be grateful for the supplies. "

She says, "Runaways? I know the streets. Was on them myself in Chicago as a kid. The charity angle won't work. Tell them I'm a family friend. I brought this stuff because you called and asked for help. I'll talk shit about your "Parents." I'll leave off giving you some money. If there is any change."

She nod and pulls out another thousand. Then decides to give Wrecker and Reggy each a thousand dollars of the money from Wart's stash.

"Wrecker, Reggy, there is a heavy crime problem here. Take a few days looking the place over and get a sense of things. I have a police contact that can help. When you have a sense of things let me know and we'll decide how to handle it."

She sighs,"sorry....It's good to see you all." she exchanges hugs. Then the three head off to Walmart and she goes back into the squat.

Call a Friend

Gadget sits in the squat for a bit, treating Cali. The blankets under her are threadbare and dirty. "I called a friend for some help. She's a doctor. She doesn't hate my parents as much as I do but its close. "

"You gave her where we are? " Jax asks, looking wildly.

"I told her to hit the pipe. Leave her car a ways away. Bring some supplies "

Eddie says, with a look of fear in his eyes, "Gadget.... You really shouldn't do stuff like that without asking us. We vote as a group."

Tiffy holds the cat close. "You say she's a doctor? Can she help Cali?"

"That's why I called her. She treated me after one of my father's parties. She was kind to me. After that she was there when i needed her."

A couple hours later the silence was broken by the banging on the pipe. Holden stood and looked to Eddie who nodded. He follows Gadget out to the pipe.

Colette was there with three shopping carts filled with supplies. Gadget caught the sense of Wrecker and Reggy a ways away. She hugged Colette.

"Holden, this is Colette. Lets get off the street." They push the carts into the corridors and turn through the labyrinth. Holden says, "What is all this.. There's food in here." He looks at the basket in front of him with naked longing.

Getting to the tight squat Gadget starts unloading the carts as Colette kneels over Cali.

"Guys, this is Colette, a friend of mine. She's a doctor. She treated me years ago for....family stuff. We've been friends ever since. "

"Hiya, glad to see Gladys has made friends. " Gadget growls, "Gadget!!" Colette nods. Eddie looks at Gadget and silently mouths "Gladys?"

Eddie then came over to look over the carts. "Whats all this?"

Colette looks over the devices she set out next to Cali. "Gadget, told me you guys were living tight. This won't won't solve everything but it can't hurt. I figured i owe her this. Gadget, get me a couple of those chicken broths. Bring some of the chicken chunks. Get a pot on that burner going. Theres a pot in there someplace. Heat the broth. There is a cot on there too. Set it up there. Get a sleeping bag open. "

"You, m'lady," looking to Tiffy, "ah, come here. We have to undress her and clean her. She has no broken bones. But there are cuts.. and.. she's been doped up. "

Holden and Eddie set up the cot and spread a sleeping bag out open, laying a towel down in the bag. Colette directs them to put Cali in the cot.

After a few minutes Colette stands, "Ok, I need the room. Gadget, why don't you sort out the stuff i brought."

The guys and Gadget go and look over the supplies. While they are concerned about Cali the sudden riches give them all wide eyes. Gadget takes a loaf of bread, slathers mayonnaise and mustard on them, with meat and cheese, slipping each sandwich into a zip-lock bag. Despite their hunger Holden and Eddie help while Jax stands by the makeshift curtain for Colette and Cali.

Eddie asks, "No ketchup? " Gadget chuckles. "Colette knows i hate ketchup!"

Colette looks out at Jax as he hovers, "You are?" He says, "Jax. How is she?" "She's asking for you. You can help me. "

She looks to Gadget and whispers mentally to her, She has a lot of bruises. Signs of repeated rapes. A lot of scratches and cuts. Can you get them to play some while I use the Total Warrior Medical stuff? "

Gadget, Eddie and Holden fix 20 sandwiches and tuck them into the ice chest. They set up chairs and sit, and Tiffy, Eddie, Holden and Gadget sit after Gadget slips a sandwich to Jax. They eat in silence.

Gadget gets her guitar out and starts strumming. After a few moments Eddie and Holden pick up theirs. Tiffy picks up her violin and leans it against her chair as the cat resettles in her lap. She open the bag of cat food and bring a handful of kibble for the cat to eat.

Behind the curtain Cali is cleaned, and settled in the sleeping bag. Colette gives her a injection from a Total Warrior device with a broad-range antibiotic as well as pain medication. Secretly she casts her High Order Healing Spell, and the Clean cantrips. Jax brings over broth and spoon feeds her. Colette tells him to cover her up when she was done and to eat his sandwich. He smiles at her gratefully. She then leaves to join the others.

She opens a chair and sits, listening to the jam session.

Eddie finally ask, "How is she?"

Colette says," She'll heal. She mostly had bruises and a few cuts. Its pretty clear she was beaten with a belt, but probably as part of the rapes. She was starved for several days to be sure. Dehydrated. The physical stuff will heal. She will sleep now. I gave her a dose to sleep. She will have psychological damage to be sure. That will take a long time to get over and she'll need help. Did you call the police?"

Eddie lowers his head. Holden says " Wouldn't do any good. They always get away with shit. Police connections."

Gadget signals to Colette to change the topic by using the hand sign language. "How long can you stay, Colette?"

"I'll leave in a few days. I want to watch her."

Finding their Sound

Several days passed as the band remained in hiding. The band spent the time playing music, getting to know each other's playing rather then the singular sounds the busking they had been doing taught them. They ate well, finishing off what Colette had brought. She stepped out to make another food run on her last day before she left.

Cali sat beside Jax, silently, her hurts mended as best as medications can but the memories went deeper. Those scars may never heal.

During that week the group played for each other as they never had before. They shared the squat but had never shared their music. Now they did. The hallways echoed as they developed rhythms, harmonies, and solos. Sang all the songs they knew and shared the ones they wrote. Gadget sat back a lot, playing her bass guitar and lamenting that the only thing she missed from home was her piano. She let Eddie take the lead on guitar. Holden played rhythm. Tiffy was a Virtuoso on the violin, weaving her sound among the others, playing counter-point and playing solos. Gadget nearly cried.

Gadget would go out at night alone. She met with groups of dogs that had heard about her and she bound them to her, as her father and mother had taught her. Her skill at the bonding grew quickly.

The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of a generator the only sound as she walked through the deserted industrial areas near the Station. Gadget’s boots scraped against cracked pavement, her mind drifting to Mandalay. In her world shadows whispered secrets; here they only swallowed sound. She tightened her grip on the Trump card in her pocket. No magic here to guide her—only instinct.

Jax was pretty good on the bongos. He told them about the music store at home that let him play their drums. The school he and Cali had gone to had shut their music departments. Eddie talked about the private school he and Tiffy had attended. It was wonderful to them but their homes were hells.

The group opened up to each other, sharing their lives. Something they had never done before.

Gadget told a tale that paled to the others but her's was fiction. They were not ready to learn her truth. Mandalay, Fleece, Snack, the Dramaturge, her pack-the Hounds of Mandalay, Rapheal, Ang Ri, Fort Garland.

After four days Cali was walking, Jax supporting her arm. She carried her bass guitar but didn't played it. The closest she came was quietly tapping out the beats Jax played.

Jax told a story, "This one time, we played for an audience of zero. Just me and my drums, Cali and her bass in some crummy bar in Wisconsin. Felt like a rehearsal—until the bartender started crying."

Gadget smiling faintly, "Why cry over a song?"

Jax, "Said it reminded him of his son. Music's like that—it hits people in ways you don't expect."

Gadget stared into the camp stove flames, silent. Music and magic weren't so different. Both were bridges.

Gadget reveled in the experience. Eddie Black and the Stone Bench Group, here, before the fame, before the glory. And in this shadow Cali lived and didn't become the inspiration for Jax's sad ballads and his descent into alcoholism and self-destruction as happened in so many shadows. She knew shadow was vast, and there were places this group never suffered their tragedies. Those shadows sometimes had weaker groups, without the passion. Bands that played at State Fairs not the Coliseum or Madison Square Gardens. It was a gentle process, but Gadget coaxed them into sharing their tragedies and building on them. After all, they all had horrors in their pasts. Things that brought them together.

She knew one day she would leave them. Leave them to their glory. But till then she became a member of the Stone Bench Group. She wished she could stay.

Eventually the claustrophobia began to grow on them and a time came when they returned to the plaza and reclaimed their stone bench. This time when they took turns leading, singing, solos, the rest of the band played to back them up.

Now the strollers stopped more often. They bought pizza and ate while listening. Some started taking their regular lunch breaks from offices and businesses near by to come and listen. They might even be the seeds of the fandom that would one day follow them online as well as from city to city.

After a week on the plaza Waldo showed up. He was apologetic but Cali couldn't stand the sight of him. She admitted that Waldo had never touched her but he had been part of Wart's group. He was a shadow of his former swaggering self. Gadget knew Wrecker and Reggy had taken to correcting his attitude. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. In time Waldo started helping carry things and set thing us. Pignoses, a few cables. A mic-stand. Gadget's eyes nearly popped one day when Waldo brought chalk and drew a half-circle around the front for whoever was doing their lead. The famous singing circle. The cover of their epic first album before her eyes.

Somewhere in there he and Cali made peace but Gadget knew that in most the shadows Cali was known to hate the chief roadie. She guessed in this shadow that would be Waldo. She never saw Holden exchange more then a few words at a time to Waldo and he always managed his own amp.

Eddie started to develop the stage presence that would make him famous. Tiffy on her rock and roll violin matched his every note making his voice sound musical. His fingers danced on the strings, while she held the back line steady and soulful. Gadget closed her eyes as the melody washed over her. Each note was a heartbeat, a reminder of what they were fighting for—a world where music didn’t fade into static, where hope lingered in the chords. She could see Cali's fingers matching her own. It wouldn't be long till the two of them developed the dual bass sound the group would be famous for. Then Gadget would be replacing stray bassists the band would pick up for a gig or two at a time. Maybe, just maybe, she could stay.

---

A few days into their second month Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy stroll through the plaza. They listened and threw a wad of bills in the guitar case.

Gadget slipped away and met them behind Little Caesar's.

Wreck lit a cigar as she approached, half offering it to Gadget, who declined. "What's up?"

Wrecker, the brains of the two, said," We have a target. Your contact helped sort it it. The Blind Reapers. A motorcycle gang. They have deep pockets and deep protection. They have a bunch of cops on the payroll."

Reggy says, "Hey! That doesn't make them bad cops, just realists. "

Wrecker looked at him incredulously, "Really, Officer Clifton?" Reggy Shrugs.

Wrecker continues, "They are middlemen for sure. They get good product from the people down at the port. They stomp on the stuff at their clubhouse out in Daniville. We've looked the place over. 10 targets at least including two high value targets. From what we have learned drug running is top but they run guns and girls. Slave trade. The gang leaders are Black Carl Smalter and Dale Genkin. They have contacts all over the place. Permission to scrub them."

Gadget asks, "What did Lisha say?"

Wrecker tells her, "They are unofficially untouchable by the cops."

She nods. "Conditionally, permission granted. We need to know more about them. Talk to them first. See if we can flip them. " She turns and returns to the band.

Wrecker nods,"Infiltration it is."

The pair leaves and Gadget goes back by way of Little Caeser's for a few $5 dollar pizzas.

At The Ugly Ferret Tavern-Chapter One

The duo sat on their stolen Vespas looking at the grungy tavern. Reggy says, "Good fields of fire. Perches all over. Not good planning."

Wrecker looks around, "They are a biker gang not strictly speaking a military unit. They didn't plan on us."

The air inside the bar was thick with smoke and hostility. Neon lights buzzed weakly over stained pool tables, and a jukebox in the corner played a half-hearted country tune. A dozen leather-clad figures turned to watch as Wrecker and Reggy stepped through the door. Tired looking girls in blank leather sat out of the way, drunk, stoned, or worn out.

“Welp,” Reggy muttered, glancing at the peeling wallpaper and overturned chairs. “Home sweet home.” His Broncos football jacket did not make any friends this far east. Ravens, Jets, Commanders. Maybe Cowboys for the Cheerleaders.

“You know, if they ever power-washed this place, the health department might faint,” Wrecker replied with a grin, his voice carrying just loud enough to draw a few glares.

At the bar, Dale Genkins, the VP of the Blind Reapers, leaned back on his stool, his leather vest stretching over his broad shoulders. Beside him, Smiley, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, cleaned his nails with a knife that looked sharp enough to gut a deer. The bartender looked worn and tired, the result of having these criminals claim his bar without so much as a If you please.

From a shadowy corner, Black Carl, a mountain of a man with a dark history, watched with quiet intensity, his dark eyes narrowing as the newcomers approached.

“You boys lost?” Dale asked, his voice calm but loaded with menace. “This ain’t exactly tourist country, Peacock.”

“Nah, we’re right where we need to be. Its been a long ride.” Wrecker said, swaggering up to the bar as though he owned the place. He slid into a stool and gestured to the bartender. “Two beers. Cold, if that’s a thing here. Got any pretzels or peanuts?”

Reggy stayed on his feet, leaning casually against the bar and nodding at Smiley. “Nice knife. Compensating for something?”

Smiley’s grin widened, showing off a row of uneven chipped teeth. “Keep talking, string bean. We'll see how funny you are when I carve my initials in your forehead.”

“Smiley, enough,” Dale said, raising a hand. He turned his attention to Wrecker, his eyes scanning him up and down. “You got a lot of nerve walking in here unarmed. Either you’re real stupid, or you’ve got a death wish.”

He shrugs, "Having both has worked for me. What makes you think I unarmed?” Wrecker replied, taking a slow sip of the beer the bartender slid his way. “I see a bottle of Old Crow down there. Crack that bird and pour two glasses of 6 ounces. Run us a tab." He pulls a roll of bills and sticks it on its bottom. The bartender opens it and counts it. He doesn't wear a cut so he looks to Black Carl who gives a slight nod. The money disappears and he pours two tall glasses. Wrecker says, "leave the bottle, Lucky."

Smiley eyeballs Reggy, "What about you, Stretch? You packing?"

Reggy nods, "Ya, I'm packing, but you'll only see it if we were in prison, princess." Smiley starts moving and Dale puts his hand on his chest. "I said enough."

"So, something on your mind, such as it is?"

Wreck pours a chug of whiskey into his beer and takes a drink, nodding his head, "We got a proposition.”

Dale chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Oh, this oughta be good. What’s your pitch, tough guy?”

A young guy with a Prospect rocker on his cut, asks, "Are those Vespas yours?" Wrecker looks over, nodding, "Ya. Cool huh? They're classics. "

Wrecker leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “You boys run this area, right? But I bet the profits could be better. We know how to move goods, no questions asked. We have a great connection for military arms. And we’ve got a knack for... creative problem solving.”

“Creative problem solving,” Dale repeated, his tone flat. “That what you call sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

Reggy smirked, chiming in. “Hey, we’re just trying to make a buck the American way. You know, cash businesses and criminality. Maybe add a little... somtha-somtha on the side? No offense, but subtlety doesn’t seem like your strong suit.”

Smiley growled and took a step forward, but Dale held up a hand again, stopping him in his tracks.

“You’re real funny,” Dale said, his expression unreadable. “But we don’t need outsiders meddling in our business.”

“Fair enough,” Wrecker said, finishing his beer in one long gulp. “Just thought we’d offer. Seems a shame to waste all this... potential.”

Reggy grabs his glass and matches his friend. Smiley stares at him with naked hatred, showing his broken teeth. Reggy grins, letting his upper and lower Orc canines show. Smiley blinks in uncertainty.

Wrecker nods at the bikers staring daggers at them. “Yeah, real welcoming crowd. I feel the love.”

Dale stood, towering over Wrecker, and leaned in close. “The only reason you’re walking out of here in one piece is because I don’t feel like mopping up the mess. But don’t mistake that for an invitation to come back.”

“Understood.” Wrecker said, standing and dusting off his jacket as if he’d just finished a casual lunch meeting. He slips a photo over on the bar.

Looking down Dale says, "What are these?"

Wrecker says, "McMillan TAC-50, Heckler & Koch PSG1, and my personal favorite,the Barrett M82. We can get these reliably. We can get as many AR's as you'd need. Our selection of hand guns are diverse. Street walker prices for courtesan service. Pleasure doing business with you. We'll be around.”

Wrecker and Reggy polish off their beers and whiskey in gulps. Wrecker looks at the bartender."Don't forget our tab, Lucky." He grabs the half empty bottle as they leave.

As they walked to the door, Reggy couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Hey, Smiley—next life, try flossing. Keeps it from scratching johnsons.”

Smiley surged forward with murder in his eyes, but Dale’s bark stopped him cold.

“Let ’em go,” Dale said, watching as the two men strolled out like they hadn’t just walked through the lion’s den.

Reggy turns at the door, looking back in, "Why Smiley, does this mean we're not friends anymore? You know Smiley, if I thought you weren't my friend... I just don't think I could bear it!" Wrecker chuckles outside.

From his corner, Black Carl’s eyes followed them to the door, his expression unreadable. He whispers to a confederate beside him, "Find out who they are. Call K."

Outside, under the flickering neon sign, Wrecker turned to Reggy with a grin. “That went well.”

“Yeah, if your definition of ‘well’ is not getting stabbed in the spleen,” Reggy replied, shaking his head.

Wrecker laughs, "I was amazed at Genkins' self control. ANd I thought Smiley was going to snap! Johnsons... "

Reggy laughs, "Hey I tried to break him but he was just too tough for me, I guess." sighing sarcastically, "So, next round’s on you, genius. Pizza or Sushi?"”

They laughed as they disappeared into the night on their stolen Vespas, the tension of the encounter already fading into the rhythm of their camaraderie.

Gadget Visits the Station

As the weeks went by Eddie and the Stone Bench Band developed their sound. It had gone well after they realized the takers were not around. Eddie wouldn't talk about it, changing the subject if it was brought up. A few thugs wandered by but they didn't bother the buskers in this neck of the plaza. A pair came to the chalk line but shivered and lost their nerve, tossing their money in the guitar case. One caught Gadgets eye, a street name of Billy, someday known as Billy Sharp. The shadows played tricks.

Eddie worked out a new schedule for the other buskers, keeping the best time for himself and the group. The others liked the situation fairly well. Players before seemed like warmup acts. The ones afterward got the benefit of the people that started having their lunch in the area.

Waldo began filling a shopping cart with the group supplies as they went out each day and parking it in the increasingly crowded squat. A month had passed and nerves started getting frayed. Eddie, Tiffy, Jax, Cali, Holden, Gadget and now Waldo filled the space extremely tight.

Gadget went out on a walk one night, greeting the new dogs. She met with Wrecker and Reggy. “How's the Station look now?”

Reggy say, “Like a shithole covered in industrial waste. Your dogs are creeping me out. But it doesn't smell like rotted cheese, take out, pot, and stale semen. We cleaned out the front room enough to live there. Fixed the plumbing and set up some solar cells. Its pretty messy. You still thinking of burning it down? We have a few ideas about that. Or are you going to use it?”

Gadget ponders for a moment. “It is just about the same distance of a walk from the Station to the plaza as it is from the plaza to the squat, isn't it?”

Wreck nods, “Close enough”

“Start cleaning it up. We may have a use for it. Nothing fancy. Clean cantrips and elbow grease. Lets go take a look.”

Gadget looks across the street at the Station remembering her last time there. Eliminating the lowest rung of the predatory hierarchy. The smell of damp concrete, refuse, dogs, and old grease lingered in the air.

Entering the former convenience store she wrinkles her nose. "Seriously, guys? This place is a biohazard. You’re telling me you’ve been sleeping in here? Without even a basic cleaning spell or... I don’t know, a mop?"

Wrecker shrugs "What can I say? I’ve got low standards. I lived in a truck cab for years—it smelled better than this, but not by much."

Reggy looks at Gadget, "I’m an orc."

Gadget looks at him deadpan, gesturing at a pile of broken furniture. "That explains the piles of ‘decorative garbage.’ What is this? An art installation called ‘Despair in Concrete’? You've been here a month."

Wrecker: "Hey, don’t knock it. That’s vintage junk. Wart’s crew left it here—it’s practically historical."

Gadget rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, history needs a pressure washer. Clean this place up. If we’re going to use it, I want it livable. Like, at least one rung above ‘feral.’"

Raising his eyebrow, letting his orc canine teeth show, "‘Use it’? Your really thinking of moving your whole band here? I thought that was a joke."

"Yeah. The squat’s too crowded "

Wrecker grins. "I mean, sure. If you’re cool with the charming ambiance of ‘industrial wasteland chic.’"

Reggy settle on the east sofa casting several Clean cantrips out of courtesy, "We’ve been thinking of getting more than a crash pad anyway."

"Oh? Elaborate."

Wrecker says excitedly. "We’ve been charging up the car—dumping extra power into it. Its still back in Ang Ri. We think we can use it to anchor something here. At some point we wont be able to disguise ourselves."

Narrowing her eyes. "Something? Be specific, Wrecker."

Reggy grins slyly. "We've got a rough sketch for a place."

"And by ‘rough sketch,’ you mean...?"

Wrecker shrugs, "A few napkins. Bells on the doorknobs. Some runes drawn in oil stains. New graffiti. It’s solid, though. There is a bar we are familiar with. The Ugly Ferret. It been invaded by that biker gang. We tried to make a deal with them but no luck. They were Wart's suppliers. They are next, if you approve, on our hit list. "

Gadget, sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Why am I not surprised? Fine. Clean this place up first. If I bring the others here and they take one whiff of this dump, I’m blaming you two."

Reggy makes a mock salute, "Yes, boss. Operation Mop and Hope, commencing."

Wrecker smirking, "And hey, once we’re done, it’ll be the classiest industrial ruin on the block."

Gadget: "Not exactly a high bar, but I’ll take it. Get to work. I’ll check in soon."

Biker's Barbeque

Sitting on a roof top with their backs to a wall, Wrecker and Reggy contemplate their options.

Wrecker is a stocky, husky, man with broad shoulders covered in tattoos. He wears a short neatly trimmed Mohawk in red, green, purple and white. He has a camouflage jacket over his lap, and camouflage pants, having gone through an army surplus store he picked patterns from different countries. Sitting on a Belgian rucksack and smoking a small cigar and exhaling a multicolored smoke.

Beside him Reggy snores softly, wearing a Denver Broncos sports jacket, blue jeans with his head on a Belgian rucksack. He seems fairly relaxed. Snoring his relaxation.

Wrecker crawls over and slips up to look down over the roof edge at the ground with a rifle scope.

Reggy mumbles, “How many? Is he there?”

Wrecker says, “About 7 in cuts. Couple girls. They are barbecuing.”

Reggy, "Ya, I can smell it. I'm fraking hungry. " He rolls over and falls deeper asleep.

Time passes as Reggy sleeps and Wrecker checks the the ground.

Wrecker looks over a computer tablet , checking many details. He mumbles.

“Murder, murder, murder, armed robbery, vandalism, vandalism, rape, rape, rape, assault, assault, assault, assault, assault, drug running, gun running. Theft, cleared, cleared, cleared. Pay offs, pay offs. Twelve targets. No female targets. Black Carl.. the president of the MC. Dale Genkin, Vice Pres. “

As dusk starts Wrecker looks over the edge of the roof. He lays back and kicks Reggy to wake him.

“Black Carl and Genkin just arrived. Take a look.”

Reggy crawls over and looks down. He nods. “I see them. Say when.”

Wrecker says, “30 seconds.”

Reggy and Wrecker both pull up M4 rifles, rack rounds, checks the clip, pulls two extra clips out for each of them.

They turn around and kneel by the roof's edge. Putting the four clips between them.

Wrecker says, “I don't see Smiley. Maybe he's inside. So lets both hit Dale and Black Carl then you get everyone to your right. I'll get everyone to my left.” Reggy nods, "Head are yours, Chests are mine."

“One, Two, three," Wrecker whispers

On three the two swing up and and aim their rifles, taking targets.

The firing lasts 15 seconds, then there is screaming down below and the woman flee the back yard, running and jumping in two cars and fleeing quickly.

Wrecker surveys the damage. He and Reggy pull up their bags and slings their weapons over their shoulders. They leap off the roof and land on the ground. Walking through the backyard they take Low Order pictures of the dead. Then they go through pockets collecting money and wallets and pocket lint. They pile weapons in a duffel bag.

Dale moans in pain and Wrecker looks into his dying face, "Should have made a deal, Dale. Such wasted potential." He draws his Glock and issues the coup de gras.

Going into the house they walk through seeking others.

Reggy stands by the door, "All the listed targets except Smiley were outside. Didn't see that Prospect either. Hey Wrecker, you realize we're psychopaths?"

Wrecker nods, "Its crossed my mind. I became convinced on the streets of Ahyk. Lets see whats inside." He raises his hand and a small glowing symbol rises in front of it. He moves the glowing symbol around the room. “Something....Move the couch.”

Reggy pulls the couch, pushing it over on its back with ease.

Wrecker kneels down, running his hand along the floor. Stopping, he punches the floor hard, pushing his hand through. He pulls hard pulling up a large secret door. Looking down into the hole the first thing they see are two girl who crouch in fear. Beside them are bags of packed powder. A large collection of guns. Grocer bags of cash held together with rubber bands.

Reggy raises a symbol similar to Wrecker's. He casts a sleep spell and the two girls go to sleep.

Wrecker removes a cell phone and calls. “Wrecker. Targets neutralized Except Smiley Russel. Two captives asleep. Weapons in a hole. Drugs. Send in the Cleaners.” Reggy pulls out several bags of the pressed powder, the bags of cash, and couple fancy pistols and stashes them in the duffel bag, smiling at Wrecker.

“That was rough out there. Mostly rough on them, of course. So...Pizza?” Reggy says.

A few minutes later a van shows up at the Motorcycle's Club's house.

The black van screeches to a halt outside the motorcycle clubhouse, its headlights cutting through the fading twilight. The Cleaners step out—a team of five, clad in nondescript dark clothing, each carrying specialized gear. Among them, a tall woman named Iris takes charge, her presence commanding as she assesses the scene.

Inside the house, Wrecker’s phone pings with a message: “Operation secure. Proceed to drop point.” He nods to Reggy as he raids the biker’s half-stocked fridge. “Let’s move,” Wrecker says.

The Cleaners begin their work. They catalog the weapons, retrieve the drugs, and carefully extract the unconscious captives. Iris pauses to look at the crude bunker beneath the floor. “They knew what they were hiding,” she mutters to one of her team members, who nods and bags up a stash of ledgers. "Any trouble outside? "

Wrecker shakes his head. "a few building code violations..."

Walking away from the scene, Wrecker with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Reggy stops and grabs steaks and sausages from the BBQ, tossing them in his gun bag.

Wrecker and Reggy cut through a side alley. The city’s glow contrasts with the grimness of their mission. Reggy chews on a cold slice of leftover pizza he found at the clubhouse. “So,” he says between bites, “how long we gotta stay under the radar now?”

Wrecker smirks. “Not long. Couple days. Iris's Cleaners know what to do. Black Carl and his crew were overdue for a reckoning. The streets are better off without them.”

Reggy grunts. “Still. It’s a slippery slope. We’re not the law.”

“No,” Wrecker says, pausing. He exhales multicolored smoke from his cigar. “But sometimes, we’re all that stands between order and chaos.”

Back at their safe house, Wart's Station, a dingy flop in the industrial district, Wrecker checks their spoils. Among the wallets and cash, he finds a photo of a young girl tucked into Black Carl’s wallet. Frowning, he sets it aside. “Even monsters have something to lose,” he mutters. Reggy looks over. “You getting soft, or just tired?”

“Neither,” Wrecker says. He locks the photo in a drawer. “This fight isn’t clean. It’s never clean. Gadget really picked a messy place to come. Crap load of thugs. Crime rate higher then the cops can manage. Cops on the criminal's payrolls. ”

They turn their attention to the drugs they retrieved. Wrecker pulls out a small vial from one of the bags and examines it under a desk lamp. “This is good stuff. High quality. Got a good connection. This stuff hasn't been cut yet.” Reggy pulls out sausages and steaks, setting them on top of an empty pizza box as he listens to his partner.

Reggy leans over, looking and the cut open bundle. “Ya. Good.” He scoops out a cup full with a coffee cup, casts Clean cantrip on the table, pours out a pile of powder and starts cutting lines.

This passage may benefit from careful revision to align with tone and clarity, while also refining the balance between evocative imagery and the emotional context of the scene. Below is a revised version:

Surprise

Holden emerged cautiously from beneath the deep shrubbery, his gaze flickering left and right before tilting upward toward the pale glow of the moon. His tangled hair clung to his damp forehead, a testament to the effort that had left him breathless. Slowly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled.

Rising to his feet, he scanned the empty park. Moonlight bathed the space, casting a soft sheen on his lightly fuzzed chest, still glistening from exertion. His wide-eyed expression held a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if caught between dream and reality. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, smoothing it back as his fingers came away moist.

A glance downward brought a flicker of self-awareness. Though he had never considered his manhood much to boast about, it stirred again, responding in a way that surprised even him. Seventeen years old and hardened by life on the streets, he had spent four years scraping by with odd jobs and busking. Opportunities for intimacy had been rare, fleeting luxuries he could hardly afford to dream about.

Tonight, however, was different. Bliss and awe coursed through him, leaving his mind adrift in the memory of what had just transpired—the highlight of his life thus far.

Then, a firm hand, insistent and unyielding, brought him back to the moment. Startled, he glanced down. Mismatched eyes, one green and one hazel, shimmered in the moonlight, framed by vibrant blue hair. Her mischievous smile captivated him, demanding his full attention.

Wordlessly, he knelt back into the shadows of the shrubbery, surrendering to her unspoken desires, ready to continue their shared exploration of the night.

Calling The Car

Wrecker and Reggy had finished clearing the garage of the Station. Years of disuse and misuse had made various squatters throw everything into the garage. Reggy kept joking with things, a doll, a bent bicycle, a fur seat cover. Wrecker had kept them in beer. The smell of mundane cleaning supplies fill the air of the mid winter day.

One of the advantages that they had gained from the Day of the Change was they had gained greater strength and endurance. Their adventures since had improved them dramatically. Their passage through the Sigil of Fort Garland had changed them even further. Power has its privileges.

They had spent several hours hauling debris from the garage to reveal the cement below. Sweeping got the last of the clutter. That was followed with Clean cantrips to remove decades of oil, gas, grease, and blood.

Reggy says, “Well, that wasn't too bad. The two storage rooms won't take long. Though the one with the mattresses is going to take something more then cantrips. Do you remember the Low Order sorcery Clean spell?”

Wrecker shakes his head. “No, I didn't pay attention to the Low Order Sorcery stuff. Too much finger waving time, lynchpins, and stuff. I always feel like I might be casting something, sneeze and blast off half my head. Let Gadget clean them when she brings her little band here. We can't do everything. We don't need those room. The living room has two couches. Those the Clean cantrips can manage till we can get some help.”

Wrecker says, “Then we are ready to see if the summoning will work.”

Reggy nods, “After some sleep and some beer.”

A few hours later the two soldiers had stripped down and casts Clean cantrips on their clothes. They had sat in the living room that had once been a convenience store lobby and casting Mend cantrips on their clothes and Chill cantrips on the beer. Getting dressed again they returned to the garage.

Wrecker chuckles. “When I was a truck driver I never imagined that one day I would be some kind of half-wizard. OK, the Army made me a soldier for a time but the rest is just bizarre.”

Reggy nods, “When I was Denver Police I thought people who dressed up like elves and orcs were crazy. Now I'm an orc. The Sigil of Fort Garland made me able to become a human again if I want as well as a weird deer thing with wings. I'm not sure I know what a normal life is anymore. But I am enjoying wrecking these thugs. “

Wrecker opened the garage door out to a silent street that rarely saw traffic. Outside two large dogs look in at the pair. They feel Gadget's bond urge them to obey the pair. They walk in and settle against a wall out of the way.

The soldiers of Gadget's army settle down to business. “Let's get our ride.”

Wrecker and Reggy knelt on the cold, cleaned cement, the faint scent of ozone lingering from their earlier cantrips. With careful precision, they drew glowing chalk sigils into twin circles, their lines pulsing faintly with otherworldly energy. Wrecker’s form rippled as he shrank into the squat, rugged shape of a dwarf, his beard thickening like wildfire. Across from him, Reggy’s skin darkened to a deep emerald hue, tusks jutting slightly as his orc form took shape. With synchronized movements, they raised shimmering symbols, their edges crackling like firelight. The garage filled with a low hum, as if the walls themselves held their breath.

Time passes as the two concentrate on the sigils before them glowing blue and white. Small sparks at junctions where lines cross.

Soon after the stroke of midnight a horn bleats as a purple and white 55 Bel-Air turns off the street into the space between the odd pair of friends. Moments later its exquisite paint scheme changes to a scratched black and a rusty white with a satisfied hum. The car's license plate says, “Strut”.

The pair put a hand on the car's hood. They smile. Wrecker says,”Hello boy. You ready to rock and roll?” The engine roars and the pipes belch a burst of fire.

Reggy stands, ”Lets cruise”

Wrecker holds a door open and the two dogs leap into the backseat. He climbs behind the steering wheel with a big smile. Reggy's lights a cigar as they back out of the garage. Three dogs of Gadget's pack skip in to guard the open garage door.

Moving Day

The next day, Gadget returned to the squat and explained the situation to Eddie and the rest of the group. There were groans about the extra work, but they eventually agreed. Cali took the most convincing of course. Gadget gave up on the move and started thinking of finding someplace else, maybe even taking over the bar Wreck and Reggy found. In the end though Cali and Jax spoke privately and she agreed to the move. Jax told the group that if Cali couldn't handle being there then the two of them might move on.

As they came to the place the fateful question was asked. Cali asked it."What do we do if Wart and his guys come back?" Eddie looked at Gadget, passing to her the lie she would tell. Gadget said, "They got in trouble with a biker gang, the The Blind Reapers. "Holden nods," Ya, they supplied them. Could they have...killed them?"

Eddie tells him, "We may never know." Nodding to Gadget

Entering the Station there was enough junk to look unclean but Gadget and Eddie remembered it differently. Blood stains were gone Eddie noticed, casting a glance at Gadget, his questions growing on his mind.

They knew that by the end of the month, the Station would be alive with activity. Eddie strummed his guitar as the others unpacked. Tiffy and Jax claimed a corner for their art supplies, while Cali worked on patching the remaining windows staying away from the back rooms.

Waldo parked his shopping cart near the entrance, muttering about finding a better system for storage. The Station wasn’t perfect—far from it. But it was a huge step up from the squat, and for the first time in weeks, the group felt a glimmer of hope. As Eddie played a haunting melody, Gadget sat nearby, sketching in her notebook. The Station wasn’t just a place to live; it was a new beginning.

Lucky and the Ugly Ferret.

Wrecker and Reggy walked into the quiet, darkened bar, thick with the despair that clung to the place once dominated by the Riders. The bartender, whom Wrecker had dubbed Lucky, was sitting backward on the bar, pouring himself a pint. He looked up and slipped down onto the ground, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he remembered the last time the two had been there.

"Ah... what can I get you... fellas?" he asked hesitantly.

Wrecker took a seat. "Well, you had a bottle of Old Crow. I know because I took it. Do you happen to have any more?"

Reggy wandered over to the dark booth once inhabited by Black Carl. He peered closely at it before stepping to a doorway covered by a ragged cloth, glancing beyond it.

Lucky brought up a bottle and pushed it toward Wrecker. "Is my tab still good?" Wrecker asked.

Lucky nodded. "It is. You gave me a grand. Not that I got to keep it."

Wrecker raised an eyebrow. "Those guys still own the place?"

Lucky shook his head. "I own it, but they sort of... well, *own it*. They must be on a long run. It's been a month since they were here." He glanced at Reggy, who chuckled. "Ah, you looking for something?"

Reggy smirked. "Just looking around. Seeing if any of the guys are back there, you know, hiding? That a storeroom? It's sure full of stuff."

Lucky stiffened. "No one’s here but me. I haven't had more than a couple of customers a day for a month. Like I said, they’re on a run. Yeah, that's their stuff, and you should stay out of there. They don't take kindly to people messing with their stuff."

Wrecker glanced at Reggy, made a hand sign, and spoke to him in Ang Rin—the language of Ang Ri, where the pair had recently spent significant time. "What’s back there?"

Reggy replied in imperfect Ang Rin, struggling for words. "Storage, junk. Couple of..." He paused, searching for the term for “performance space.” "...arena...sands." Switching to English, he clarified, "A couple of stages." Then, in Ang Rin again, "Good space. Stairs upstairs."

Wrecker turned back to Lucky. "You don’t miss them, I bet. They tax you pretty heavy?"

Lucky let out a bitter laugh. "No, they take *everything*. Luckily, I skim enough to live on. I sent my wife to Alabama—kin—three years ago, after the Reapers moved in on me. For her own sake. Look, they really hated you guys. You don’t want to be here when they come back."

Wrecker smiles. "Having no visible means of support makes us hard to find."

Reggy says, "Anyway, Lucky, if they come back, it’s fine. We know necromancers." He raps his knuckles against the bar. "Beer, any time I knock." He grabbed the beer Lucky passed him, taking a long swig. Wrecker chuckled.

"My name’s Wrecker. My mother had an attitude. He’s Reggy. You’ve got a nice place here, if it weren’t filled with scumbags."

Lucky scowled. "You making a joke, Wrecker? The place is a shithole. I bought it from the previous owner, who didn’t tell me he had these... scumbags squatting here. I put my life savings into buying the place and did some cleanup. I was hoping to have a nice little spot. At first, I didn’t know why the locals avoided it, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what the problem was.

“We moved in upstairs. The back was full of junk—boxes, trash, a couple dozen motorcycles in pieces. I was looking through things and found a trunk full of weed. I couldn’t decide if I should go to the police. Then they showed up. Refused to leave, refused to lock up. Hit on my wife hard. Made it clear they owned the place and everyone in it. Made it clear my wife was their whore now. Pretty sure one raped her, but she wouldn’t say anything."

Wrecker polished off his glass and poured another. "That’s when you sent her south?"

Lucky nodded. "Yeah, and took a hell of a beating for it. They all wanted a taste, I guess. Look, I appreciate you guys coming in and all, but if the Riders find you here, they’ll kill you."

Wrecker shrugged. "I’ll risk it. You know them all, their whole chapter? Know about other chapters?"

"Yeah, sure. There are five other chapters—New York, Toronto, Durham, Jacksonville, and New Orleans. Why?"

"How many in their chapter here?"

"Uh, 13 or 14 patched members, a few prospects. About a dozen girls—four are regulars, the others are hangers-on, hooking for them. They provide protection around here. Protection from them, mostly."

Reggy made a tiny hand gesture, and Wrecker nodded. Reggy pulled out a stack of cardstock and laid them on the bar. Lucky’s eyes widened as he saw the photos on the cards. "Who did we miss?"

Lucky stared at the photos, his face pale. "What... what happened to them?"

Reggy chuckled. "Kinetic energy poisoning. They’re not acting. So, who did we miss?"

Lucky examined the photos. "Ah, Gorgie, Little Harold, oh... Smiley. Smiley’s a psycho. None of the girls."

Reggy shrugged. "Yeah... I’ll catch up with Smiley."

"They’re all dead? Uh... look, why are you showing me these?"

Wrecker leaned in, his voice low and deliberate. "Because we need to know how many are loose. We need to know who they got their stuff from, who they did business with, and who else is going to come looking for us. You look scared."

Lucky hesitated. "I don’t want any trouble."

"You’re not in trouble," Wrecker said. "Look, we need a hangout, and you need new customers. What’s upstairs? How much of the building do you own?"

Lucky sighed. "The club extends into the warehouse. A few stories. It’s got a big space back there, but it’s been empty for years. Not a lot going on around here. We’re in the industrial zone but close enough to get foot traffic. With the Riders gone, things might pick up, depending on what you guys are doing here."

Reggy and Wrecker exchanged glances, then nodded.

"Here’s the deal," Wrecker said, his tone casual but firm. "You get protection, money, and a chance to turn this dump into something respectable. We don’t need your money. Keep it. In return, you keep your mouth shut about what we’re doing here. We’ll even pay for our drinks."

He set a roll of bills on the counter. "That’s about five grand. Any questions?"

Lucky hesitated, his gaze darting between the roll of cash and Wrecker’s steely eyes. He thought of his wife in Alabama, safe but far away, and of the Riders’ blood-stained reign. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. But if this goes south, we’ll all be dead."

Reggy asked, "By the way, what’s your name?"

Lucky looked around, weighed his options, and said, "I’ll stick with Lucky."