INTERLUDE (IX)

  Lucky Lue’s Bed And Breakfast Casino

  Lucky Lue’sha’arr’s bed and breakfast casino was a seedy establishment situated near the intersection of two major transit lines. Poor of upkeep and even poorer of renown, it was nevertheless a staple of the underside, in so far as the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth districts were concerned. Run by the titular “Lucky Lue,” a potbellied Ra’ak Neerian sporting a gold tooth and a glass eye, it was the place where many a weary, down on their luck commuter would either make or break their fortunes on a daily basis.

  Although it must be noted that the success stories—in so many as there were—while spread far and wide for promotional purposes, very rarely resulted in a happy ending.

  A few burly brutes in a back alley the harsh punctuation to an unbroken lucky streak. The house always wins in the end, and in those rare instances in which it didn’t, well, Lucky’s goons made extra sure to correct the little mishap post haste. Large garish and vulgar would be the words to describe Lucky’s casino. A thing of flashing neon lights, and blinking signage. Depicting the wide range of services the “bed and breakfast” provided, in addition to taking your hard earned credits on the casino floor.

  From actual food and accommodations, to the less than family friendly options available. Scantily clad silhouettes rendered in neon tubing kicking their legs high into the air on loop. Acknowledged, if not positively, then begrudgingly, by the general populous of the underside as a legitimate business, very few were aware just how deeply its leadership was involved with the truly irredeemable members of underside society.

  Which was saying something, since, if you didn’t cheat or steal growing up in the under—with its choking smog that killed just as surely as a cut purse in an alley—typically, you didn’t make it to adulthood.

  And yet, even as harsh as the underside was, the men who could barge into Lucky Lue’s office unannounced were the type you didn’t want to cross paths with, not even in broad daylight with witnesses around.

  And, as luck would have it, it was just one such unscrupulous individual which the esteemed janitor was on his way to see.

  “Pash’kar!” Scrap exclaimed, shoving away from the rickety table at the center of the spacious lounge.

  “Accidentally” tipping over an ongoing game of cards with a casual flick of his tail. There came several cries of protest from the other members of his crew, as cards and chips were spilled onto the floor. Protests which he obviously ignored. Pash’kar, the titular janitor, wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that, moments before he’d been escorted into the room by two burly bouncers, the eight foot tall Ra’ak Neerian had been losing rather badly.

  The male had a notoriously terrible pokerface after all.

  “How long has it been, you old devil?!”

  The male enveloped him in a massive bear hug. Pash’kar thought he heard his ribs creak in protest, though he managed to return the hug all the same.

  “Reckon it’s been twelve quarters’n some change, I wager. What? Don’t tell me it’s all gone to slag while I was gone?”

  “Bah!” the male released him, sauntering over to the dry bar in the corner, whereupon he began to pour a couple of strong drinks into a pair of less than clean shot glasses.

  Pash’kar’s fingers twitched, itching to grab his cleaning rags.

  “You knew darn well we weren’t gonna be the same without you. Figure that’s why you left. To get back at me for all that slag shite I put you through.”

  Pash’kar slid into the barstool and took the glass his old partner offered. Raising its murky contents to eye level and giving them a dubious look. Scrap quickly drained his glass, then poured himself another.

  “To old friends!” he announced, and in turn, the response came to his lips almost unbidden.

  “To the ones worth remembering,” Pash’kar and the others chorused—Scrap clinking a full glass with his, before throwing it back in one smooth motion.

  “So, to what do I owe the visit, my old friend? I’m thinking I’m right in assuming it isn’t to join back up with the crew? You’d have your old position back in a heartbeat you know? If’n you finally realize mucking about in other peoples byproduct isn’t worth your time. Course, we’d have to rearrange a few of our existing personnel, but that’s easily done.”

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  Pash’kar was sure that when the male said “rearrange,” he did not mean they’d be finding them new positions. In a stinking trash strewn ditch somewhere maybe, but other than that…

  “No, my retirement suits me just fine, I’m afraid. Actually, I came here with a proposition for you and the lads-”

  “And lasses,” Scrap cut in. “Sha’ra’kiri over at NR has since informed me that we were severely lacking in diversity hires.”

  From the back of the room, one such “diversity hire” stopped filing her teeth just long enough to spit a string of colorful invectives their leaders way. To which he just laughed.

  “Right, well. You, your lads and your lasses.”

  There was a hiss of ascent from those mean looking females in the room.

  “Brother, I think you’re going to like what I have for you. I think you’re really, really going to like it.”

  And so, Pash’kar told the gang boss everything, in so far as he understood it, leaving nothing out. By the time he was finished, the male was not only grinning ear to ear like a fiend, but he was calling out orders to recall everyone. Every single one of the five hundred odd bruisers which made up his crew. Even Pash’kar was taken aback by his overwhelming enthusiasm. Sure, half of ten years’ salary wasn’t a small chunk of cash, but he didn’t think it would’ve been worth that much for the budding crime lord.

  When he voiced his confusion, the reply he got back stunned him into silence.

  “That’s cause it’s not about the bloody money! Was that really what stuck out to you? I’d thought better of you old friend.”

  Pash’kar bristled.

  “Well, if not for the credits, then why all the fuss?”

  Scrap gave him a suffering look.

  “Tell me, old friend, what’s the one thing that separates any old gutter trash bottom feeder from the real powers in this world? The crime lords, the peacekeepers, the bloody topsider’s, for slags sake!”

  Pash’kar thought about it for a moment, really gave it his full attention, before his eyes widened in comprehension.

  “Levels…”

  Scrap slammed his fist on the table, making several bustling through the room jump.

  “LEVELS! Experience! The kind that doesn’t come at the cost of risking your own hide for weeks just to scrounge together a measly quarter level! The easy kind, like those bloody topsiders have it! No need for cage matches, or back alley death brawls. Have you ever seen the old holo-vids on previous integrations?”

  Pash’kar nodded his head, because of course he had.

  “They’re soft, my friend, and their prey is soft to compensate. I’ve always thought that, if I’d been born one of the chosen, I’d ‘ve shown ‘em all—the underlords, the corpo scum, slag, the whole bloody universe—the true meaning of power! And you my friend,” Scrap rested his massive scaly hands on Pash’kar’s shoulders. “Have just given me that opportunity.”

  The male grinned, and, finding it contagious, Pash’kar grinned back just as wide. It took another hour and a half for the entirety of Scraps five hundred odd crew to assemble inside the spacious warehouse in the back of Lucky’s casino. Once everyone had gathered—Lucky Lue himself, flanked by eight burly bruisers, having negotiated himself a spot on the expedition—Scrap nodded for Pash’kar to go ahead.

  Taking a deep breath, the esteemed janitor pulled up the high priority message, and, after fiddling with it for a time, found the button he’d been looking for. Pressing it gingerly with his mind, immediately the space in front of him twisted and warped. Folding in on itself before shearing apart to reveal…

  A breath of fresh air wafted into his nostrils for the first time in his entire life, and in that moment, every single person present was nearly brought to tears by the confusing sight they saw. A world of verdant greens, so vivid, it didn’t seem real. The vision so foreign to them that they didn’t even have the words to describe much of what they saw.

  Until suddenly, all at once, they made a mad dash towards the portal, as if afraid it would slam shut—leaving them with only the memory of paradise.

  Only once everyone had crossed the portal, did Pash’kar seal it closed. Opening and closing it a couple more times just to be sure they could return if they so chose. Though why they would’ve ever wanted to do such a thing, he could no longer say. By his side, his old leader and best friend took in a deep breath, letting it out with the most serene look he thought he’d ever seen on the males face.

  Then, that look of serenity turned to one of bottomless greed and insatiable hunger. Looking out over the world of rich greenery like he were already the ruler of its domain. Ready and willing to do anything in his power to hold onto this boon that had fallen in his lap. Kill, maim, and conquer, that was the main motto of Scrap’s gang, and Pash’kar had no doubts that, whoever this anomaly was that might very well threaten his rise to ascendancy, they were not long for this world.

  Suddenly, a system alert eclipsed his field of vision.

  Reporter of the anomaly has been detected. Follow the red line to convene with the tutorial representative. Once there, they will inform you on what further steps you are obligated to take.

  And so saying, a winding red line appeared where there hadn’t been one moments before. A snaking trail that led them east of their current position. Glancing around, it was clear that he wasn’t the only one to have received this message. Scrap, his elation tempered by the mission they were still expected to carry out, called to both his and Lucky’s crew.

  “Alright, you heard the lass! Move out!”

  And, armed to the teeth with all manner of air rifles, kinetic weapons, and a handful of half charged plasma pistols, the contingent of hardened criminals marched their way in the direction indicated. The urge to kill indiscriminately, and with obvious relish, burning bright hot in their scale clad chests.