Hello Everyone.
Here is my next story. House of Chrome. It is a multicross of Mass Effect and Cyberpunk, a fairly common cross. But we will be starting in the time of red (2030s) and working our way from there.
This is in fact the first story I ever wrote. Still not sure how happy I am with it, but it has gone through multiple edits so I thought I would release it instead of procrastinate on it any further. I have a good number of chapters saved up and depending on its reception we will see how far it goes. Like my other one I will build up to 10 chapters on here with a release day of Friday, or that's the plan.
Anyway, hope you enjoy and thanks for all the support!
Kids like him were supposed to die on the streets of London. Chewed up and spat out.
Reaching too far and getting slapped down. There was always that next problem, the risks unseen, or the powerful movers and shakers. Corpo's and gangs were just the start of his problems. Each of them a threat to him and his.
Fortunately for the galaxy, Aden had never been very good at letting threats go unanswered. In fact he had the nasty habit of solving problems permanently.
Groaning, I woke with a crook in my neck. I must of slept funny. Sighing still groggy, I checked the time. Yeah, far too early in the morning.
God I hated Mondays.
To be fair, Monday was no different from any other day. But it was the principle of the thing.
I felt around me, expecting to feel the warm bodies of the twins. All I found was cold bedding. Huh, I must have slept later than normal; usually I was the first up, not least because my clutz of an adopted sister couldn’t be quiet to save her life. I must have been really out for the count to sleep through her getting up.
Still, I trusted them not to get into too much trouble. They were mature for their age. I snorted at that; it wasn’t like I was any older than them—a year or two at most.
Also, I don’t know any kid not wise beyond their years. Living on the streets of London does that to you.
I was 7 when I ran away from slavery… or corporate-run orphanages as they are otherwise known, with the help of twins, Jess and Nat. We were lucky to be able to fall into a yogang (also known as a bunch of homeless kids) and the wider community in the tunnels underneath South London.
I can't say we were an impressive gang. There were 20-30 of us all told. Children and teenagers, but there were far worse fates out there. Being picked up by a slaver for one. Billy, our leader, was a part of an actual family gang (or so he said) and set up our little gang or firm, alongside Eli (his second). Slimy Adrian slithered his way in a bit later, much to my disgust.
But I could grudgingly admit he brought a lot of contacts, like Boxy, a local up-and-coming fixer.
The grogginess faded and I remember why I had such a shit night's sleep. A new kid had gained some flashy cyberware, which had started the age-old argument of getting our own. Jess was desperate to have some, but I categorically refused to allow her any.
Well, less argument, and more her pouting and giving me the cold shoulder for the day.
That was a small price to pay. Cyberware could easily become a trap or make you lazy. Want six-pack abs? Bam, a short operation and done.
It stopped people from doing things the right way. Slower maybe, but cutting corners rarely paid off.
It was a slippery slope all the way down, ending in the all too common results… death. I would much rather die of old age having fun with a joytoy than going out in a blaze of glory, thank you very much. Maybe not even then, with the right technology and enough money, dying may be optional. I heard there were rich folk—rollers that were well over 100 years old.
"Aden come on, get ready; we have a gig!" Nat shouted, pulling me from my thoughts. Looking up, a slight girl with freckles and flaming red hair charged in. She looked closer to 6 than the 8 I knew her to be. She wore an oversized leather jacket that I had sewn some cheap Kevlar cloth into, to give it extra protection. Under that were some sturdy but loose overalls. Hopefully that would allow them to last a bit longer before they needed to be replaced.
Assuming they survived that long. Although it was Jess who had the tendency to scuff her clothes. She just never stopped.
Not that I could say much about her height. I was taller than her and her sister, but not by much. I feared the day they would pass me and I hoped that day never came. Jess would never let me forget it.
"What's the job?" I asked, scrambling to change into my slightly stained and rougher travel clothes (the same Nat was wearing), heavy work boots, backpack, a shitty small calibre pistol and finally a battered agent. I had opted for us to buy pricier ones so it came with more features, not just the normal call and message functionality.
It cost a little more in the short term but more than paid off in the long term.
"Need to be on the lookout for some gonk."
Grunting, I followed her out, grabbing the small gas mask which covered the mouth and nose, that I insisted we all used. We found Jess and moved to the back of the crowd gathering around Billy at the entrance to our underground home. The smell of sweat and unwashed bodies wafted over us as we reached it.
There were bathrooms just next door. Use them people!
The gas masks were more important than ever. The smog choking London had reached an all-time high, what with the restarting of many industrial plants now that the recent civil war between the Monarch and the Martial Law Authority had ended.
This smog seeped into the tunnels and while not too bad here, some of the tunnels could melt your lungs if you weren't careful. Unfortunately, the smog wasn’t the worst smelling thing down here; that went to my fellow ganger. Well, them or the sewage or some doped-up drugger or cheap joytoy.
It was the silent death that scared me more. Breathing in poison and not even knowing it. We'd lost a few chummers to carbon dioxide a few weeks ago; we could have been amongst them.
Hence my insistence on wearing a gas mask.
It would also protect our lungs somewhat; I knew we would get cyber ones in the future, but I wanted to at least finish growing before getting chipped in. I was looking forward to cyberware as much as the girls were. But we would do it right. We'd take our time.
"Yo, listen up! Here the deets. We're on the lookout for some corpo wasteman. Don’t know, don’t care what he's done. All I care about is that there is a juicy target on his back and eddies to be made. I've pinged his face to all of our agents so you know the drill—message me if you clock him. Let's move, yeah?" Billy said before leading us out into the dimly lit concrete tunnel leading to our hole in the wall.
As we started to mill towards the door, Eli spoke up from the back. "Don’t forget to group up. Each group needs at least one strap and an agent. If you ain’t got a crew—ping me. And remember, any issues: run away, contact me and stay sharp!" As he finished his speech, most of the old timers grumbled good-naturedly, but some of the newer kids looked relieved and made their way over to him.
Smiling fondly, I followed the girls after Billy. Eli really was the mum of our gang. Ask anyone in the crew and Billy was the leader, but if you have an issue, Eli's the one to talk to. I always felt like the only reason our firm worked so well was him. Yeah, Billy was pretty badass and chromed up, but it was Eli that kept him on the straight and narrow.
Lookout didn’t rank high on the excitement scale, but for a gang of children with little backing, we were just lucky to get what we did. It took us almost an hour following Billy to reach the surface, weaving through tunnels, cut-throughs, and crumbling holes, even crossing the tube tracks, until we reached an exit. Most exits were normally tube stations, but there were others as well, be them gang owned or just natural paths to the surface, like the sewers.
Just before surfacing, I received a message. 'Billy: Okay chummers, you know what to do. Spread out and ping me if you spot this mook.'
Pulling up the guy one last time to refresh our memories, I saw a visibly chromed face, likely an out-of-towner, a bennie, if not a straight-up foreigner. He could be a ganger as well, but I doubted it. He didn’t look like one. Most people didn’t flash their chrome, with only those too poor to get synth skin or unaware not covering up. Particularly these days, with the meat boy gangs' frenzied activity.
We stepped out into the shadows of the building around us and I was reminded how grimy everything was. Where we were in Brixton South of the river there were few large skyscrapers, with most of the buildings only 2 or 3 stories high. The few large flat blocks, mostly made from dull grey concrete, only stretched up 10ish levels.
But the streets were narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass, sometimes needing to use the pavement. Which made the area feel all the more claustrophobic.
Unlike in the north, where the roads were wider and had far more skyscrapers. Particularly around the City of London—the corpo sector at the very heart of Greater London.
Most of our local area was built up into flats, housing or small shops, with few green spaces. Those that existed were taken over by the homeless or druggies. Well unless a gang wanted it.
They could also be a dumping ground.
Either way, the few parks dotted around sat overgrown, unmaintained and particularly in summer, dead. Choked out by the lack of water and ever-present smog.
Speaking of… it wasn’t so bad today. We had a couple of 100 metres of visibility. On bad days that could shrink to only a few feet.
I went left from the station, heading south, knowing the girls were following me. I glanced at the doped-up junkers, needles still sticking out of their arm, to make sure they weren't a threat. I fingered my iron just in case. I wouldn’t hesitate to croak them. I had before.
I wouldn’t allow a possible threat to my family to live.
Guiding us to a busy crossroads that had a good vantage point of the surrounding area. I let the noisy hubbub and the occasional shouting wash over me and listened for anything out of place. Living on the street there's an almost feel to it, a tension if something wasn’t right.
The large open space used to be a park at one point, but most of the children's play area was destroyed, leaving uncared-for grass and trees. It was our go-to place since there was lots of cover to watch people and not be seen.
There was no easier way to get croaked than pay too much attention to the wrong people.
Best of all, it had a neutral entrance to the underground tunnels that ran throughout London.
"Me in the lookout tree, with you and Jess on the ground?" Nat asked.
"You know it, I figure we can do some pickpocketing while we wait, like normal; shout if there are any particularly juicy targets, but focus on the guy."
-------
We followed our normal process. Nat calling people out and Jess, the most dextrous of us, making the lift, with me providing a distraction if necessary. We followed Jess's lead. If she backed off, we trusted her as she had a sixth sense for that sort of thing.
A disadvantage of having so much hidden chrome, you never quite knew when someone was heavily chipped in until it was far too late. Luckily for us, people not to mess with normally had other signs. Overt weapons, clothing, or some form of cyberfashion, be that flashing gang symbols or the cool slickness of the corporations.
Not that a corpse would be round here.
And then there were just some people you knew. Like Little Tommy, a fat bumbling idiot, who was staggering across from us. He might have been a twat, but he was a chrome jock, with more chrome than sense and was a single word away from raging out.
Something that happened often.
Best to avoid him. The only reason he wasn’t flatlined was his heavy ties to the local gangs.
We chose this park to scout as it served as the main thoroughfare for this part of the city, with 2 major tube lines and bus routes finishing near the park. So most foot traffic moved through or around it. Even better, it was mostly neutral ground. Try going through some of the back alleys in the area and you were liable to get yourself jumped if not croaked.
Something that might have just happened further along the street, judging by the gunfire.
The brown dying shrubbery was also great for breaking line of sight if we ever needed to run. And most important of all, there was a particular tree we had found in the corner that, when climbed near the top (only possible due to how light Nat was), had an excellent view of the entire area.
My agent buzzed. 'Nat: Aden by Tesco corner. Get a closer look. I think he's our mark, but his hood is up.'
It had been several hours, and we were more or less ready to call it a day. The sky was starting to darken and while these streets were precarious in the day, at night they moved to a whole nother level.
Alcohol and guns.
A good combination it was not.
Being careful not to draw attention to myself, I casually wandered over. As I passed him, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted over me, an E-cigarette clamped between his puffy lips. Walking in the other direction, I had to keep my face straight before glancing at the image on my agent.
'Aden: Good spot. Keep an eye on him.'
I called Billy. "We've found him; we are at Windrush Square, he is walking from Brixton station up to the market."
"Preem, don’t follow. Lemme roll over and clock him, but that is you done either way. Don’t wanna spook him, so make your way back."
Acknowledging him, I was about to message the girls when Jess pinged us. 'We need to leave now! I think I have something but we need to delta NOW.'
Fuck. My hand dropped to grip my iron. I needed to stop my hand shaking. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears. I marched for the other side of the park, eyes straining for the girls.
Jess knew to tell me if they were being chased. But it didn’t conform me.
At the sewage gate, which led to another tunnel to enter the Labyrinth, I turned, leaning against the wall. I couldn’t stop my foot tapping the floor.
Where the fuck were they?
Nat and Jess appeared around the bushes. I smiled at them, relieved, but glanced behind them. No one seemed to be following. I desperately wanted to know what had happened but I nodded my head to the tunnels and followed them down.
The cool darkness welcome us.
----
Home wasn’t much, just a large rectangular concrete room that Billy and our distant sponsors had found, far off the main tunnels. It used to be a corpo servo room, supposedly, which I could believe, what with the abundance of power and city-net access which I had managed to hook us into (part of what got me Billy's trust).
The room was crammed full with stuff, like beds, mattresses, TVs and sofas. All available space was used, except for a narrow path through it all. The room was parcelled out and cordoned off with tarps to give everyone their own little area.
On the far right was a small maintenance room which had been converted to Billy and Eli's room. Most people fought for the area around it (Adrian had a prime spot next to the door), seeing it as a status symbol. The closer to the door, the more important you were to the gang. There was also a gathering point of sorts off to one side with some sofas and a constant buzz of the radio.
Near this was a tunnel into another small room, which was tapped into the mains for showers and sinks. It smelled dreadful but better that than treading mud and blood into your bedding. At the far end were the filthy toilets.
30 kids using them. What did you expect?
I didn’t care about that perceived prestige. It was irrelevant to me, so I had found a cubby hole at the far end (opposite Billy's room), a 2m wide and 4m deep depression in the rough chipped concrete wall. We had packed it with our stuff and covered the entrance so we would have some privacy. It blocked out a little of the sound too, which was nice. The bed, or rather mattress on the floor, was tired and smelled old but was comfy enough. Right at the back was a safe we had found. I had hidden it back there for our more valuable stuff like eddies. You theoretically shouldn’t steal from the gang, but why leave it to chance?
I trusted very few of the other gangers, with only Eli truly having my trust. Well, apart from Jess and Nat, my sisters in all but blood.
Them I trusted completely.
As we made our way over, Billy messaged us on the agent to let us know that it was the guy and our cut of the job. Normally this would be a tiny amount, if any at all—he provided kibble (a disgusting but affordable food source) for all of the gang. But as we contributed the most, we got a far larger cut this time.
We kicked our shoes off and changed into our home clothes, which I tried to wash regularly, keeping them smelling somewhat fresh (no one wants sewage in their bed) before Nat finally could not take it. "Well, come on, give us the deets!"
"Apart from the normal shit, I got this." Jess said smugly while showing a stack of crisp Euro Dollar notes.
Nat sighs, pouting adorably. "Aww nice one, but that looks like barely anything; you got me all excited."
I gulp, in slight disbelief, hoping against hope I was right. The holovids always get how much money actually looked like when stacked as notes wrong. "How much is there?"
"5400!" She replied, sticking her tongue out at Nat.
""Holy shit"" Nat and I said. That was a fucking lot.
We normally only ever brought in §100, and that is on a great day. Surprisingly, most people aren't that interested in buying the rubbish people have in their pockets if they aren't pounds or eddies.
This could be our break. But if people found out… or worse the original owners. Yeah we needed to be careful. Eddies like that gained attention. Attention I wasn’t sure we could afford.
"That’s… a lot. We need to be very careful how we spend it."
"Are we going to split any with the firm?" Nat asked tentatively.
Jess hissed, "No! This is ours. This could help us do all the things we have been saving for."
They both turned to me. I nodded, agreeing with Jess. This was too good an opportunity to pass up; besides, Jess got it, not the gang. Again, I also didn’t want anyone else to know about it.
Falling into bed, we snuggled up, taking comfort as we always did in each other's presence. We contemplated and chatted about what to do. We had been saving for months to get a few items that I felt were crucial, like medical supplies and equipment. But we had only managed to save up §700 in the last 2 years, although we had needed to buy some shit, like the clothes, agents, pistol and bedding. But still, §700 saved up over 2ish years shows how big of a haul this was for us.
Finally, after a silence, I cleared my throat. "I want to use lots of it for my port and deck." I had many plans to get us out of the gang and into a more stable place. Most revolved around netrunning, and that was the first step (and biggest hurdle) to many of them.
"How much you thinking?" Jess asked, propping her head up on her arm, her bony elbow digging into my belly.
I swear she did it on purpose; how else could she find the worst place to stick it?
Grunting, I shifted slightly to get more comfortable. "Almost §2000, §840 for the deck and §700 for the neural processor and a cybermodem link. I should also get 2 chip sockets with it. They should both be slightly better than supermarket ones."
Not much better, mind, but it would allow me to have a stronger and faster connection to my cyberdeck, which would be a major advantage. I would prefer a military-grade of course, but they are notoriously hard to get a hold of, even if you have money. They rarely came to rippers, normally kept in the corporations or army.
"But as a deal on the deck, if I pay §1200 I will also get a large number of programs and a few courses Boxy recommended as a package. The programs are old and shit, but it is a start. I also want to buy a few other courses and books, for coding and stuff."
The deck was a good one too, an EBM PNI 210. EBM was one of the largest technology companies in the European Economic Community (EEC). Known for producing reliable components and cyberwares, so were always a solid choice if you are after dependability. Unfortunately they were a clear step down from other megacorps when you compare their cyberware. Except for cybereyes, which, for whatever reason, were on par or slightly better.
Both girls looked at each other, communicating in twin speak before Nat nodded. "That's okay with me. I only want the gun booklet and manuals. Oh, and the training guns, but the guns can wait."
I nodded, expecting as much.
The training guns were models of existing popular guns, made as toys that never took off. But for several §100 we could get a handful of irons of different sizes and targets to train with, rather than the §1000s it would have taken otherwise with the real things. And best of all, we wouldn't need ammo for them, just recharge them occasionally.
Jess looked ready to jump in, but Nat carried on quickly. "And I want us all to take Boxy up on his offer to have training with that ex MLA solder mook. Which is another §2000 for 6/7 months of training."
"Yeah it sounds badass." Jess said, nodding rapidly.
"Do we know why that is such a good deal? He's not a scav or something right?" I asked, as that was an insanely good price for the training we would supposedly be getting. At least at face value it was. He promised us training from hand-to-hand to weapons and tactics. And as the saying goes, 'if it looks too good to be true, it is'.
"Naa, he's on the level according to Boxy. Like, just moved to the area and needs the eddies." Jess said.
After lots more back and forth, we decided to go ahead.
"So we are all agreed?" I felt them nod from where they were curled up next to me. "Also, I'm going to budget some of our remaining eddies to extra food from Billy. With all the training, it would be good to get more food." That was a constant worry of mine, particularly as we all looked younger than we were, making me think we were maybe malnourished or stunted. It was only an educated guess made from all the books I'd read before we escaped the orphanage.
But I did not want that while we were hitting puberty and therefore affecting our development.
We carried on chatting before cuddling down for the night, taking a deep calming breath from Jess's hair, who was little spoon tonight, smelling the shampoo she used. I fell into a dreamless sleep.
-----
"This the ripper doc?" Nat said doubtfully, as we stood outside a grungy, run-down building. The street was as dirty as the clinic, and the surrounding buildings weren’t much better. All the ground-floor windows were cracked. Seeing me nod, she continued, "Okay, we're coming in if you're not out in 10 minutes."
"Copy." Nodding, I moved to the entrance, took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The unmistakable smell of rotting shit hit my nose.
Going to a new ripperdoc always carried risk. You hear whispered horror stories about them, especially if you are a nobody, but hopefully Boxy knew what he was talking about.
The inside was no cleaner than outside. The doc sat on an office chair behind the reception desk, and was glancing up, having heard the door slam shut behind me. "You here for the Neural Processor. Good. Upstairs and on the table, I'll numb you, then add it."
For all my worry of a) having someone I had no idea who they were or how qualified they were, perform surgery on me. And b) getting my first bit of cyberware, it was an incredibly easy process. I lay on my front with my shirt off. He numbed me, then there was a pressure on my lower back, some humming and whirring as he messed about and then bam, done. After that, he had me sit in a large plastic chair as he wheeled over a fancy looking machine over. Sliding my arm into it, he messed around with the controls for a bit before it whirred to life.
A slight pin prick started me slightly, as he numbed my arm, and then the machine got to work installing my cyber modem link in my left arm. I felt that was the best place for it; I might change my mind in time, but for now this will give me the most convenient access, rather than adding it to the back of my neck or my dominant hand.
Or so I hoped. It was hard to find information on netrunning.
I of course would not be able to use it for several weeks as the nanites got to work and did their thing, connecting neural pathways allowing me to connect my mind to the cyberware that required a neural link. In my case, a cyber modem, also known as a cyberdeck.
Although I still plan to put off getting cyberware as long as possible. A growing boy with non-growing metal seemed like a recipe for disaster. Or costly at least, having to regularly replace them or for the maintenance. We just couldn’t afford that.
Not to mention the hidden trauma of it, which I was sure was a thing. Even if corporations swore there wasn’t. But when had they ever lied…
I smiled the whole way home, excitement bubbling in my belly. I was only a few short weeks away from starting my long-term plan to a more stable life for me and the girls. We also had a nice surprise for us at home too.
As we got home, Billy shouted over to us, "Yo! Your stuff and food is in your corner, it looks pretty preem."
We thanked him, and after confirming we could use one of the still empty rooms further down our corridor, we rushed over to inspect the irons. We got 2 handguns, 1 rifle, a sub and a shotty as well as the sensors and targets.
They were cheap and surprisingly heavy, but they would do us nicely.
I turned to Nat, "When do we have the meeting?"
Jess poked her head in between us, butting in. "Ohh, I know! Thursday morning, and, like I was warned that it would take most of the day. He's only a few tunnels over, so it should not take us long to get there."
---
As Jess promised, Avery, the MLA ex-soldier, was only a few tunnels over.
It still took us 30 minutes to get there since we had to detour around some tunnels that were blocked off.
The tunnels on the way gave the quintessential London underground experience (otherwise known as the Labyrinth). Coming out of our home, we hit a dim, narrow concrete tunnel with flickering or broken lights overhead. Rubbish was strewn over the floor. The lights that did work barely put out enough light to illuminate the corridor around them.
This cast the tunnel in constant flickering shadows, with large dark patches, perfect for an ambush. Rubbish or, in some tunnels, water covered the floors, providing an ideal environment for the vermin to scurry around in. Or worse, hide traps or mines left over from old conflicts (gang or the civil war). Straining our ears for any movement apart from the trickle of water or our footsteps. The tunnel shuddered, the lights flickering, as a tube passed overhead. Another 100 metres and we were in the next tunnel.
This and those like it were the motorways of the Labyrinth and were colloquially known as the illuminated motorways, IMs for short. These were larger tunnels, wide enough for even large lorries to pass through and were well-lit and maintained. Supposedly made during WW2 and expanded upon during the countless corpo wars.
They were controlled by the gangs and were the lifeblood of the underground world, allowing shipment of large amounts of goods with relative ease and safety. As well as provide a thoroughfare for the denizens of the Labyrinth.
If you paid the tolls, that was. With our affiliation, we didn't need to pay the local ones, but if we went out too far, we'd need to pay. This was particularly bad when gang wars were on with the constant changing of tunnel ownership.
The one we stepped into made us rapidly blink to get our eyes to adjust to the difference in light levels, was controlled by a guardian gang, the Armstrongs Clan and our sponsors.
Named after the family that founded it years ago. They protected most of the surrounding territories and had hands in many of the pies. Of particular note was the Armstrongs market, which was one of the busiest in the area. This made them one of the larger gangs, and as the family that ran it were stable, with little to no expansion, made them a very popular gang. Add to that them sponsoring yogangs like ours, although not completely out of the goodness of their hearts. Yogangs made ace recruitment pools.
Turning off the IM, we entered into the worst kind of tunnel. Either because of limited power in the area or the lights were simply broken, but the tunnel was pitch black. We inched forward and after the light had completely faded from the IM, we turned on our glow sticks.
Each gave a minuscule amount of light, just enough to light the area in front of us and hopefully not make us too easy of a target. You never knew who was stalking the tunnels. A wasteman could just feel like opening up. And in the tunnels there were few places to hide.
Freezing, we heard a scuffle up ahead, but carried on several minutes later when we heard nothing else.
Thankfully we had no issues in the tunnel. The less-used one like this could have any number of things lurking in it, be that gangs, traps or mutant animals. Finally we stepped out into a well-lit crossroad.
Not an IM but still well maintained. It had 3 paths; two led deeper into Armstrong territory (one of them was to the market), the others leading out of their controlled space. We were right on the edge of their territory here, but the symbols on the walls let us know they still considered this their territory.
Leading off this crossroad was a small path to an entrance. 2 bulky metal bumps were protruding from the ceiling. Instantly recognisable. Fuck were those… I wasn’t the only one to see them.
"Shit those are turrets." Jess hissed.
Nat grunted, but didn’t look up from her agent. "This is definitely the place, and they don’t appear to be active. Do we risk it?" Both girls turned to look at me.
I chewed on my lip for a moment before deciding to risk it. "If you are sure this is the place, then I say we go for it… just carefully."
We crept past the turrets, the doorway opening onto a large entrance hall, which to my uniformed mind looked like a kill box. I could see more turrets situated around the room. There must have been some serious aircon in the place, what with the air almost smelling fresh.
Before we could make it much further into the room… or leave, a deep growly voice called from the corner. "Good, you are here, follow me."
Turning, we saw a bear of a man, obviously chromed up, the metal glinting in the light. The 6,7 foot bald black man had a finely maintained Viking beard and hard hazelnut eyes.
It was safe to say Avery cut an intimidating figure.
Seeing us moving his way, he turned and led us off through an entrance on the right-hand side of the entryway.
"How do you know we're the right people?" Jess asked, unable to help herself as we caught up to him, almost bouncing in place.
Avery laughed, a deep rumbling sound. "I have your picture from Boxy, and if you were not the kids I was looking for, I would have kindly asked you to fuck off then shot you if you didn't comply."
We shared a look at each other but followed him in silence until we came to a large open room. Benches and tables in one corner, a full gym in the other. The far side had further room which looked like it was being converted into a shooting range. Finally, in the centre was a large open space which I assumed was for sparring practice. There were still building materials scattered through the room, around so clearly it was not quite finished, but even now it was clearly going to be an impressive space. Some rumbling further in the complex hinted that more construction work was going on.
As we settled onto the benches, he cleared his throat. "I already have your first payment from Boxy, so we will begin with seeing where you are. And then at the end you can give me the second half of the payment. It will take me a few days, but when you next come in I can give you a detailed training plan with the whats, whys and hows."
There were many things I thought about Avery over the next few hours, not many of them positive, but a liar he was not.
He took us through our paces.
When we were finally allowed to collapse back onto the benches, drenched in sweat and utterly wiped.
"Adequate. As promised, you will hate me, but if you stick with it you will be some of the best trained kids on the block. The deal is, I will give you 10 months of 3 days a week training for the §2000." That was still suspiciously generous and part of the reason I was so dubious of the offer. I would have likely not gone for it if Boxy didn’t recommend it. "In these coming sessions and beyond, if you can afford it, I will teach you 3 things. Hand-to-hand, with 3 styles that have served me well. A variety of melee weapons mainly of the bladed variety, although when you have a good grasp of them all you will pick 1 or 2 to specialise in. There is little point trying to progress them all at the same time. And finally, I will show you how to handle, maintain and use a variety of guns. Any questions?"
Jess beat me to the punch as I had a million and 1 questions. "What 3 styles are they? What weapons can you teach? Oh, and what swords do you know? They are so cool."
Grunting, he strokes his beard. "I will teach you BJJ, wrestling or Judo and Muay Thai, as they will cover most eventualities that you might encounter. For the blades I will show you, short and long western blades. If you advance enough, I can show you mantis blades as well. But that is some advanced stuff, so don’t expect that for a few years. And before you ask, I will show you a variety of guns at all sizes. Again, I will have you learn them all and then pick 2 to specialise in, ideally a short close-range and a longer range one, but that can change depending of you strength and preferred styles if we ever get that far. This deal also includes a certain number of bullets each session, but if you want more you will need to bring them yourself."
"What about boxing?" Nat asked.
I should have expected that. She loved to watch or listen to boxing matches when she could.
"I can teach that too, but if you want to learn that, it will be as well as all the others. Understood?"
Nat nodded, pleased. Before the others could pester him for more, I asked something that had been on my mind for a while. "Why so cheap and why here?"
He frowned at me, like he was trying to read my soul; his eyes were that intense, but I held his gaze. I needed to know, and I would not be bullied. If he couldn’t answer, we were out of there.
"Fair question, kid. It's simple really. I'm former MLA, so my options were limited. Join the gangs, or become a merc. So I thought I would go my own way. Hence this place." he said, waving his hand at the room around us. "There are 2 reasons really, one, I need the money. This place wiped out most of my nest egg, but no one is going to trust a former MLA soldier, so I need to start to make a name for myself. Secondly, I want and need to start to meet people in the area and this is as good a way as any. And Boxy said you were good kids."
Holding his gaze, I try to read him to see if he was lying. I glanced at Jess; she was better at that than me and saw her signal he was telling the truth. So I chose to believe him.
I could understand where he was coming from. The MLA, or Martial Law Authority, did not have a good reputation. They were an anti-monarchist military dictatorship that assumed power through the constant state of emergency. The martial law which they maintained throughout their entire time ruling.
Most had little say in what went on, with many in power abusing said power. But then what was new about that?
The king tried to lead a revolt but was killed, along with his brother, Prince Andrew. Which caused the MLA to try to purge the rest of the royalty, succeeding in all but two. It made the late king and his brother heroes in the eyes of many. Which was definitely better than the Prince deserved, what with the scandals that came out a few years later.
Scum.
It was probably good he was dead by that point; I didn’t fancy his chances otherwise.
Years later, the two remaining royals returned and retook control, with Victoria the Second becoming Queen. Time would tell if they would do a better job; I had my doubts, but then it would be hard to be worse than the MLA, with the labour and prison camps, and mass executions.
They even had some ethnic cleansing in there, if the others weren't already enough.