A crew braves pirates, corporations, slaver and aliens to save those in need. But are they really?

"Listen up, people," said Freeman as he walked across the room. The others remained rooted to the dinner table. The descent made the ship warmer and movement lethargic. "This job is a personal one so we need to stay alert. We're here on Chrysalis to Save Crowley's brother, Raymond."

Crowley looked around for reactions. Freeman had made sure to give the speech during descent so that no one would argue. "Now, before you pass a judgement about how brothers are very much alike and hence Raymond would be a colossal jackass, let me stop you. Raymond is much worse." And as always, his speech ended with an attack on Crowley.

Har, har, Crowley croaked and flapped his shirt (He sweats more than any mortal man). IronBlade, the pilot, made no attempts at mockery. The sting of Crowley's slap still made his teeth wobble. IronBlade, the muscle, however knew no fear. "Worse than Crowley. How is that even possible?"

"For starters, Crowley isn't a mass murderer. At least, for now," replied Freeman. Crowley stood up angrily. "Not funny. My brother is clinically insane but those idiots decided he was normal. They let him go! And now look, half the Bounty Hunter Brotherhood is here. He needs help."

The ship jumped slightly. They had landed. Freeman opened the hatch and said, "And we're going to give it to him."

The island of Chrysalis was beautiful. Beautiful forests that swayed to the ever present breeze. Exotic beaches straight out of a calender and resorts that merged into the nature, true piece of architectural geniuses each one. And a slaver market, thirty types of venomous snakes and one poo flinging monkey no one could ever catch. The only place this side of Spider where you could get shitfaced both figuratively and literally.

Usually the crew was greeted by the forever drunk members of The Heart bar by warm smiles and flashes of knives. Today they were greeted by a massive 30-member no holds bar fistfight. Chairs flew across the slippery beer smudged floor, taking out three men. "Strike!" someone shouted and laughed, and was promptly punched in the face.

"You bastards! Take the fight outside," screamed the bartender and fired a warning shot. The fan above one of the patrons gave way as a result. The bartender cursed some more and went back into hiding.

It finally stopped after IronBlade the muscle switched her phone into loudspeaker mode. "Party Time" blared through, a number one hit on thirteen worlds. Among 12 year olds, that is. All the drunks groaned and sat back down. "Shut that horrendous crap off," shouted Crowley as he reached for someone's head to smash in. It was only the sudden silence and ending of the fight that stopped Crowley. IronBlade the muscle duly obliged.

Soon enough, normalcy returned and the bartender was handing out info. "I should buy a freaking recorder. I've said this a million times. The guy strikes at night. He's killed more than ten people in the last month. Cops say the murders are unrelated but I've seen the bodies. Same slasher moves." He went off to serve another customer while Crowley helped himself to a bottle of whiskey.

"You know, Terry, I've never payed you for anything. But today, let me," Freeman said and patted Crowley's back. "Meet Lucas Crowley, your killer's brother."

The silence in the room was deafening. Suddenly twenty gun holders were unholstered. Terry's shotgun came right back out. Crowley turned to Freeman with a balled up fist, "You! I'll ki-"

Crowley stopped short. He felt a barrel on his head, and the last thing he was going to do was go further down this hole Freeman had dug for him. "Your brother killed mine. Let me return the favor." IronBlade the pilot spoke up, "Or maybe you can use him as a bait." The man looked angrily at the pilot.

Freeman broke the momentary silence, "In any case, this man owes me fifty thousand credits. If you'll pay me that sum, I'll let you kill him."

In a flash the man turned his gun to Freeman, and to press the trigger. And in a flash, IronBlade the muscle did the same to the man. However some flashes are smaller than others and the man slumped to the ground. Terry looked in horror, "You didn't have to kill him!"

"These men here are drunk. They wouldn't appreciate a screaming heap."

The End

0 comments about this story Feed