Rusted Streets

[Deraldith]

Deraldith had been given a job. Find a missing truck and return it to its owner. A contact in 'The Duck Blind' had given her the name of a street in the red light district so this was where she'd began her search, among the dagger-eyed pimps and prostitutes of the red light district's rusted streets.

Her childhood had been spent picking platinum from Grim's pockets. She knew a thing or two about the criminal society and she had a feeling there'd be an old face at the end of her search.

Gazing down at the corrugated roof of a slanting warehouse she unsheathed her sword and ran a hand over the scars on her face as a reminder. Even in her home city death was waiting under every street-lamp. She couldn't let her guard down, even for a moment.

[Fiske]

"It makes sense you grew up in a snotty little city this." Fiske sniffed behind her. Since seeking asylum in the Castle he'd been forced to join Deraldith on all her little adventures. Scarface didn't like leaving former dictators alone with powerful machinery.

The city's ribcage stretched out before him, a tattered forest of cranes and pylons. Grim was Erth's junk-yard. Every piece of damaged technology Crafe and Jiln had no use for ended up here. Grim's governors could tile their houses with the amount of platinum they were paid to pile the streets with other people's garbage.

[Deraldith]

"You keep looking down your nose at me and one of these days you're gonna' get vertigo and fall to an ugly death." Deraldith bit back. "Sorry, uglier death."

There were benefits to Fiske's company. She could keep an eye on him-he wasn't up to no good in no goodland. Also, despite all her years in the inhuman underground, the simple fact was that Fiske knew more about the current military and technological situation than she did. He was largely responsible for it, all his years devising strategems and lethal hardware at his palace in Crafe. She had a feeling the truck she was after contained some kind of prototype weapon. If it did then Fiske would be the one to recognise it.

And if he tried a bit of villanous backstabbery she could always kill him, another benefit.

No lookouts, snipers or guards on the warehouse roof. It was time for a closer look.

"Come on." She said to Fiske, getting ready to jump.

[Fiske]

He crashed into the warehouse through a blizzard of glass, stainless steel legs crunching against the cement floor. Deraldith landed behind him, leather scraping the dirt as she rolled to her feet. The warehouse creaked before them, a dusty, chain-ivied tomb.

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'T'." Fiske whispered. The truck was a bronze snake at the end of the room.

[Deraldith]

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'bitch'!" Deraldith said as a group of skinheads emerged from the shadows lead by a woman with blue tattoes coiled around her face and arms.

"Hello D." Spite said. "Haven't seen you around in, how long's it been? Fourteen years?"

"Fifteen." Deraldith replied. "Being held down on the hood of a burntout car while your friends try to excorcise you tends to spoil your good feelings about a place don't you think?"

"You would have done the same D." Spite said. "If you want we can try again?"

"No thanks." Deraldith snorted. "There's nothing wrong with me. If you'd listened you would have accepted that. That's what I would have done. That's what friends do-but I didn't come here to catch up on old times. I'm taking that truck off your hands and driving it out of here. It's nothing personal."

The skinheads spread out, forming a circle around her and Fiske.

[Fiske]

"Well this is another fine mess you've gotten us into." Fiske sighed as the thieves advanced. Once he'd ordering thousands to their deaths. Now he was reduced to brawling with scum. He couldn't decide who he was more disgusted with. The thieves circling him or himself.

"If you have any bright ideas now's the time." He said, back to back with his partner.

[Deraldith]

The sword coiled in barb-wire scraped from its scabbard. Deraldith raised it over her head as the circle began to close. She felt Fiske at her back, red fists waiting to strike.

"Truck's ours D." Spite chided, close enough now for Deraldith to see the soot on her knife-like cheek-bones. "We stole it fair and square. It's nothing personal." She smiled, unwrapping a length of chain from her arm.

"Cut the shit." Deraldith said, sliding her foot forwards until she was in a defensive stance. "Let's go."

Spite launched the chain rattling towards Deraldith's face. Deraldith dove beneath the attack, snapping her sword upwards and cutting a bloody swathe into Spite's stomach. The tattoed thug fell backwards clutching her intestines as the rest of the gang descended on the scarred lady and the demon with the stainless steel legs.

[Fiske]

Fiske lashed out, burying his right fist in a thief's jaw and knocking him out cold. He heard movement behind him and ducked as a chain whistled over his head. The chain scraped the air a second time but Fiske had already moved out of the way, planting a foot in his attacker's chest. The scum grunted, holding his chest as Fiske spun, bringing his other foot downwards as an explosion tore open the warehouse roof and a mammoth, oily head poured into the building.