Data file R-9: The Shining Forge

  [The Shining Forge is the mercenary faction under the leadership of Slick Jones. They currently control the Northwest schism between the heart of the kingdom and the Western outposts, directing trade and defending cargo shipments from racazoid attacks. As mercenaries go, these are often said to be the most trustworthy freelancers one can hire, even given the paradoxically tenuous relationship between Slick and the code.

  In recent years, the Shining Forge’s main operation, unlike these freelancers, had staggered its progress with actions and deals that crossed the line of morality as well as law, but due to efforts from the Western mercenary Ghost and a deal with Prince Rasil, these trades have come to a halt. The hope is that this change for the better remains in place, as the monarchy could never truly survive without the influence of Slick Jones’s enforcers. His reputation, good and bad, is enough to guard a thousand men on its own.

  Note from Gears: “That was dramatic. Well done.”

  Note from Rasil: “Thanks, Gears!”]

  ***

  Captain Benjamin Jones, AKA Slick Jones, sat in his office, contemplating. The ornate wooden desk before him was covered with various notes and files from his many associates, and the chair on the opposite side sat empty in wait of the next meeting. A small hand mirror was propped against a picture frame to his side. His jaded, somewhat scarred face and golden-green eyes were reflected in the mirror just beside the visage of his wife in the picture. He gave a brief sigh of equal parts relief and boredom, as slow days carried neither excitement nor danger.

  Until those familiar steps, that is. He could already hear the stomping echoing through his mansion, heading to his office, and he reached for his mug of coffee in preparation. This day might prove to be interesting, but not in a good way.

  “Dad!” Samuel Jones, Slick’s son, shouted as he kicked open the door. He rushed in quickly and planted his hands on the desk, shaking it heavily as Slick already began correcting the files that had been shoved.

  “Yes?" he asked without looking up.

  Samuel asked in a genuinely confused voice, “Why does Alyssa keep saying she’s smarter than me?”

  “Another of life’s great mysteries," came the reply.

  “I’m two years older than her. Doesn’t wisdom come with age?”

  “There are some exceptions to that rule...” Slick answered as he sipped his coffee. “Actually, just one that I know of.”

  Samuel stood back and posed dramatically as he said, “The mighty Virus shall not stand for this treatment. I shall go back immediately and tell her that she’s wrong!”

  Slick shook his head softly and instructed, “Don’t refer to yourself in the third person.”

  Samuel took great pride in his mercenary title, "Virus," and would refer to himself entirely by it, even though it was bestowed upon him as an insult. Such dedication to being a mercenary was something Slick Jones could obviously relate to, but some days he wished he could go without the craziness.

  “Try not to damage any furniture, Virus," Slick reminded him, pointing to the door. Virus understood and briefly posed again (though with a serious acknowledgment) before leaving. Suddenly, Slick remembered something and shouted after Virus, “And don’t forget, you have a meeting with a client about a potential one-off job he’s offering! You must never be late for such events!”

  “No problem!” Virus shouted back. He was already halfway to the front door.

  As he left, Slick sighed, “What did I say about direct insults?” Alyssa stepped out from behind a bookshelf, clasping her hands together nervously.

  “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t think before I spoke.”

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Slick hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze locking onto the anxious yet composed clicking of her boots against the floor. “You’re forgiven, Alyssa. Remember, though, passive-aggressive comments are necessary to hide one’s intent during a verbal brawl. Insult him indirectly, understood?”

  “Yes, sir," Alyssa breathed. “I did hear you wanted to see me?”

  “Indeed, I need you to deliver some messages to the Sparkrunner Corps representatives for me today.”

  “Dad, I might get called in for a mission.”

  “Revenant Squad obviously comes first, but you’re off-duty right now, so a trip to the West shouldn’t be an issue. Frankly, I could even give you an escort—save you some of the trouble—since you just need to represent me officially.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll make it alone," Alyssa replied as she took the set of files from him. She slipped them into the storage pouch of her uniform and adjusted her sash, leaning across the desk as Slick kissed her forehead. “See you later, Dad.” She sprinted out of the room and slid the door shut behind her. The motion went not an inch too far nor a second too fast.

  Slick simply took another sip of his coffee and began reading through more contracts...

  ***

  Gears’s lab had recently been refurbished and now had a squad barracks, a launch bay, and a communal area for use between battles. The communal area was Gears’s favorite spot in the entire complex, as he struggled to keep Rasil in one room normally, but could count on Rasil’s presence among the chairs of the open area. Evidently, it was a pleasant spot for Rasil to relax in, and seeing him relax at all was a sign that the upgrades were worthwhile.

  Rasil currently sat in one of the chairs now, but not alone this time. He was talking with one of those mercenaries, Virus, about a potential deal.

  “You’re telling me I can punch something that Flameye made?” Virus asked, clenching his fists eagerly.

  “You’ve killed racazoids before," Rasil responded.

  “But not a special one! Flameye built this, this... um...”

  “Flakstorm," Rasil reminded him, recalling the name from a swiped racazoid file.

  “Flakstorm guy, whatever. He built it himself, right?”

  “That’s what the recon data says.”

  “And it can take a punch, right?”

  “You seem to have a one-track mind.”

  “CAN I PUNCH IT?!”

  “I suppose.” Rasil raised an eyebrow. This “Virus” was seriously confusing him with the rapid shifts between dramatically serious and staggeringly childish. He shook his head subtly as he made his offer, “Two hundred, plus the spoils of equipment and pardons that come with the clearing of past records. After that, you walk away, and the mission is forgotten. Are you in?” He was slightly underselling this, but if Virus’s confidence was all bluster, it wouldn’t do well to pay a higher sum. Rasil was the type to add to a small payment later if he was impressed, not detract afterward.

  Virus thoughtfully replied, “That seems to be a fine deal.” He reached forward and aggressively shook Rasil’s hand. This earned a momentary glare and a lesson in how quickly Rasil reaches for his gun when grabbed. Virus didn’t seem to even notice. “I shall prepare my equipment for the mission! Samuel Jones never loses!” he declared as he ran out of the room.

  Rasil could swear he had heard that name before, but...

  He shook his head again and yelled, “Meeting’s over. No need to eavesdrop!” Gears walked into the communal area on cue, Helios perched on his shoulder, and Alyssa just behind him. Alyssa walked to the barracks, patting her jacket pocket to signal Rasil that she just needed a resupply before redeploying. In response, he waved back and tapped his ear, reminding her to keep her signal beacon with her just in case.

  “Who was that?” Gears asked as he sat beside Rasil and began setting out a chessboard.

  “A mercenary I’m hiring for a one-off job. Nothing big, just looking into the Flakstorm project.”

  “Be careful with mercenaries, Rasil. You might not have the same compatibility with every teammate you hire," Gears warned, little actual concern in his voice.

  “Will do," Rasil nodded, helping to set up the chess pieces. Alyssa walked in at that moment with her spare crystal cores.

  “You hired another mercenary?” she asked. Rasil nodded. “Which one was it?”

  “Virus," Rasil answered. Suddenly, silence fell upon the room, and the clink of Rasil placing the next piece on the board was uncomfortably loud. Alyssa slowly brought her hands to her mouth, not in that eyes-tightened grimace of dread, but in doubtful acknowledgment. Rasil immediately asked, "What?"

  “You just hired my brother," she whispered without breaking eye contact. “You actually, really, honestly just hired my brother.”

  Oh, no.

  Rasil now remembered where he had heard the name before. Alyssa’s brother was adopted by Slick Jones after being rescued from the ruins of Outpost Theta. Alyssa had mentioned, multiple times now, how Virus’s flair and obsession with close combat gave him an aura of ridicule that he basked in as encouragement for his nonsensical antics. What had he just done in hiring someone like that?

  “Oh my gosh," Rasil groaned aloud, resting his head in his hands. “The deal’s done, too. No going back.”

  Helios invoked his creator’s name, "May Icarus help us all.”

  This day was about to become a nuisance for everyone involved, for an enemy of intelligence inspires respect and fear, but an ally of stupidity inspires random brawls and an overall lack of cooperation...