Quigg - In the belly the beast, West side of town
I’m no stranger to the seedier side of life, but the western district of the city is an eye opener for even the most jaded individual. And there certainly are plenty of those hanging around the back alleys, clubs and black market VR pod emporiums of this sector.
I’d been given a tip from a reliable source that a high level individual from the infamous
Ul-Raddyik pirates wanted to meet me. I was showered with compliments regarding my abilities as a writer, which helped. Apparently, this character enjoyed reading about the destruction of an entire civilization. Whoever I was supposed to be meeting was an obvious sadist.
I met the liaison. A gigantic, scraggly dressed mercenary type.
“Are you the Quigg reporter?” it said, very much as you might imagine a child might speak. The eyes seemed to look at the space between me and him. Disquieting.
“That’ll be me!” I replied, cheerfully, trying to convey my real message which was ‘Don’t kill me!’.
“Now you are going to follow me Quigg.”
“Sure.” I said.
The lump of simplistic psychopathy just stared through me as though wondering whether it should do me in or not.
“Yes”. I corrected, realizing that it was telling, rather than asking.
And, as though activated by a trigger word, the killer sprang into life, threw a black sack over my head, grabbed me by the arm and gurgled “Now, we go…”.
I’ve written about countless degenerate crimes, the inevitable result of the incurable gang warfare that has thrown the once thriving artisan community living in the West side into a war zone. So I was prepared for the journey when I was taken to a notorious club in that district. The presence of the giant ushered me through the threshold of the premises without too much aggravation. I felt a sharp gust of air as a bottle flew past my ears. By the sound that followed, the culprit was quickly dispatched by a plasma bow. I was led down some steps that seemed to go on forever. The sack was pulled from my head, and a gang of thugs greeted my eyes. The malevolence targeted towards me was palpable. I didn’t take it personally. This, I assumed, was normal.
Over in the corner, what I assumed was an initiation, were a separate gang, surrounded by dancing girls who, I assumed from the way they carried themselves, were higher level personnel. They sat upon a large, elaborate pew. In the midst of the group was a diminutive, cross eyed character with a massive scar running through the center of his face. He was staring right at me; well, at least one of his eyes was.
The homunculus escorted me towards the midget.
San Rafael Tor opened his narrow, thin lips.
“So you’re the reporter that’s been writing all this gank about our group? And now here you are, with your face pointing at me like you’re hot kakk? Sit down, Quigg. There are a few things we need to get straight before you run back to HQ with a laser pad full of grek.”
San Rafael Tor wasn’t the most eloquent of orators. Not exactly what I was expecting for the leader of the pirate group that has thrown the entire Commorium infrastructure into disarray.
The thug grabbed the scruff of my jacket and, without any sign of emotion or exertion, threw me into a large, smelly pile of cushions, upon which sat a number of sharp eyed females with plasma bows pointed directly at my head.
“Now, Quigg; let me enlighten you. We have great plans to transform this planet into a place writhing with violence, vice and degradation. In short, paradise.”
I nodded enthusiastically, mainly because my mouth was dry with fear. If it were just me alone with this ridiculous, little squirt, I’d probably have a tough time holding in the giggles. But surrounded, as I was, by San Rafael Tor’s goons; I knew that one wrong move and I was toast.
I pulled out my laser pad, San Rafael Tor brushed himself down and readied himself for the interview.
'This is going to be interesting, if I get out alive,' I thought.
to be continued...