Alert

Xin Zhihao scans the room instinctively, standing behind his sort of boss. After half of the scan, he stops himself. No need to be on high alert, that’s not his job anymore. Andrew looks back at him. “Budget here?” the younger man asks.

“Sixty will start throwing up flags, so leave after fifty five,” Zhihao says, handing over the second chit of their Madidorum gambling budget.

“So cheap?” Andrew muses.

Zhihao takes a quick swig from a flask that he keeps on his belt. “Evidently there’s some trouble these last few months, so they’ve lowered their flagged amounts by half. Problem?”

“Not unless you say it is,” the smug man replies. “Where am I meeting you?” Andrew, taking the chit and rolling it between his fingers, starts scanning the room himself. Zhihao knows that, unlike his own scan, this isn’t unnecessary. His partner is learning the layout of the room, reading patterns, finding weak gamblers and spotting already hot tables to try to find the soon-to-be hot ones.

The monster looks over at the casino bar. It does not look particularly comfortable to sit at for hours, as it’s clearly designed to get you to return to the casino floor. He sighs. “Around the corner, at the Jilted Thrush,” the massive man replies, shaking his head.

Andrew smirks at his old friend. “Don’t be getting too drunk,” he jokes as he starts to walk backwards towards the cashiers’ booths, weaving his way through the crowd without looking to see where he’s going.

Zhihao flicks his friend off, before turning to head out. He can hear Andrew greeting someone with vague surprise. Must have run into an old friend, or an old enemy. Shouldn’t be in any danger here, security has the place locked down so tight that the former monster can feel seven to ten pairs of eyes on him now, just standing in the entrance. Slowly, he walks out of the casino, taking a breath to center himself.

The streets of Portus Madidorum are always loud. Louder for him than for most, and most everyone would agree they’re far from quiet. He ducks into an alleyway to take him the fastest route to the bar he’d spotted while walking here. The alleys are less loud, mostly because they’re frequently filled with crime ranging from petty theft to murder. Fortunately, criminals have a tendency not to engage with the tallest, widest, and most well-muscled man they’ve likely ever seen. Andrew will have to worry about that, assuming he leaves the casino alone. Fifty-fifty shot there. Walking his way through the alley, he passes a few corpses in partially stripped Service gear that a pair of people in Madidorum janitorial garb are taking care of. They look up at him, somewhat concerned, but Zhihao merely takes a swig and keeps walking. Not his problem.

The bars of Portus Madidorum fall largely into three categories. Four if you count restaurants with bars, but Zhihao doesn’t waste money on something as silly as food. First is the tourist lounge. These are bars clearly designed around parting lucky gamblers from their winnings. They tend to be excessively comfortable, well decorated, and have lots of options. Next is the spacer bars, by the many docks and ports of the freeport, that have cheap beer for cheap prices so pilots and other shipsworkers can drink heavily without having to gamble. And finally, there are the poorly advertised and practically windowless shitholes, mostly for locals to drink in peace. Zhihao has a knack for finding and knowing the shitholes of every place he frequents. To be polite to the place, he slips in the alley door, even though that is technically illegal.

The person working the tiny barely-a-kitchen is clearly displeased with Zhihao entering, until she turns and looks at the hunched over yet still about more than a meter taller than her. “You take up too much space,” she complains instead, going back to organizing things. Evidently, no one is waiting on food right now, or else she’d probably be yelling. Zhihao nods and passes through swiftly, muttering an apology for the disruption.

He makes his way from the back towards the bar. While walking, once again he subconsciously scans the room. He spots why there are dead bodies in the alley at a table with someone he doesn’t recognize. Looks vaguely like an Astro mechanic, but her uniform is wrong. Zhihao pushes the thoughts away, leaning on the bar. “What’s the most alcoholic thing you’ve got?” he asks the man behind the bar.

The bartender smiles, turning to give a warning before seeing the massive man standing by the bar. “Thanks for taking the backdoor,” he says, politely, “I’ll need something to open the tab.”

“Of course,” Zhihao replies, sliding over his drinks budget.

The bartender takes his, opens the tab, is surprised by the amount of money on the chit, then pours the massive man a drink, mixing several strong alcohols. As he mixes, he asks, “You know, walking around with that kind of money on you can be dangerous?”

The retired monster smirks, shaking his head. “I find people tend not to bother me. And when they do, I handle it.”

From behind, Zhihao hears an old drinking buddy’s voice object. “Not in my home you best not,” Leo says.

“I’ll get to you in a second, Leo,” he shoots back, “I don’t like when the janitors give me those looks you know.”

Leo sounds genuinely surprised. “They’re still out there?” he mutters, “Normally they’d wrapped up by now.”

The bartender hands the drink to the monster. “Don’t be fighting in the bar, alright. I know we don’t have bouncers, but that doesn’t mean we appreciate it.”

Zhihao waves him off, taking the drink. “Leo doesn’t get into fights he can’t win, and I don’t start any fights, so you’re safe,” he replies honestly, turning around to head over to the pair of people at a table in the otherwise empty bar. “So, Leo, Introduce me to your lovely friend,” he adds before taking a sniff then sip of the drink. It’s surprisingly good tasting, for how alcoholic it is.

“Fair enough,” Leo says, returning to his seat, and pushing out one of the chairs for Zhihao. It is entertainingly tiny to the massive man, who even sitting is more than a head taller than the other two people at the table. “This is Rai, she’s a mechanic at the fake freeport,” he says, adding, “And Rai, this is Zhihao, personal assistant to the devil.”

“Rude,” Zhihao remarks, half-jokingly, “Andrew’s only the devil like sixty percent of the time.” Then, turning to Rai, he says, “Lovely to meet you.”

“You, too?” Rai replies, though it’s more a question than a statement. Looking at Leo, she adds, “Andrew, like the gambler?”

“He’d disagree with that characterization of his hobby,” Zhihao replies instead, “Why?”

She shakes her head. “A coworker of mine, Seb, used to know him,” she replies.

Zhihao doesn’t recognize the name, which means it’s likely pre-prison era, meaning former Hadrian. Former Hadrian, former Astro, the Obi really is collecting a motley crew of ex-corpos. Coworker means they’re probably on station. “He wouldn’t happen to be gambling nearby, would he?”

Rai shrugs. “Probably, why?”

“When I dropped Andrew off, he greeted someone who’s voice I didn’t recognize,” he answers, “I have been drinking, which might have contributed to lack of knowledge, but figured maybe coincidences aren’t coincidences.”

Rai chuckles. “We’re all on station somewhere. But the station’s a pretty big area.”

Leo furrows his brow and looks at me. “Janitors really still working out there?” he asks.

“I’m guessing they’re overworked, there was only a pair, not the full quartet,” Zhihao offers a possible explanation. Then, he asks, “What happened?”

“Just some rowdys, nothing to worry about,” Leo tries to respond, but Zhihao stares him down with a look which says that I recognized the gear. “Really, not even finished stripping?” the local mutters, shaking his head. “They were trying to do something naughty to someone and so I stepped in. We informed their COs so they shouldn’t even think to look at anyone but us. And them, of course.”

Zhihao shakes his head, but understands. As long as there aren’t any old people, they won’t even think to look a second time at a Xin Zhihao among the recent mass transit vessels coming here from Lux Space. But paranoia is a natural side effect of both his past and present careers. “Do better,” he tells his drinking buddy.

Rai looks between them, and shakes her head. “So, Seb says Drew is a master of noticing things and numbers.”

Leo shakes his head. “Have you ever met anyone who knows they’re smarter than you?”

“You mean besides my dear captain?” Rai jokes back.

Zhihao looks confused. “Is the Obi’s captain that smart?”

“Yes,” Leo states. Rai, on the other hand, replies, “In a sense.” Interesting. There’s more going on with this captain than the fake freeport is letting on.

“If they’re so smart, why have the whole crew out here so soon before what’s inevitably about to happen?” Zhihao counters.

“Because it’s about to happen,” Rai replies leaning close. “In theory it’s to have us let off steam, but I’m pretty sure Captain Destro has some ulterior motive.”

Zhihao grins. “Everyone has ulterior motives. And yet, somehow, I’m the one who gets short-shafted by them.”

Leo replies to Zhihao, “In all fairness, you’re the one that chose to work with the devil.”

“It’s better than the cell,” Zhihao shoots back, then to Rai, adds, “So how’s this going to screw me over?”

Rai shakes her head. “It shouldn’t. My best guess is the captain is just trying to figure out if they can stop the inevitable invasion. Not sure that’s possible, though, ‘cause some of my friends back home say this is a new Insurgence. And, given how the last one’s practically treated like the boogeyman…” she trails off.

Zhihao shakes his head again. “We heard something similar, but Andrew claims it isn’t. You know what that means.”

From the looks in their eyes, he can tell they both understand. Seb must have told a few stories. Rai speaks up first. “Wait, does that mean you’re also trying to stop things, like the captain?”

Leo and Zhihao both laugh at that, though the monster centers himself long enough to explain the laughter. “Oh, no. Andrew doesn’t really,” he pauses, trying to think of the most tactful way of putting it, “Care. About stopping things or doing things. He just needs to figure it out. Once he does that, what happens next rarely matters. And for my part, I plan on being long gone well before the Service starts blowing you guys up. Don’t want Spitzy to get it in his head that I’m around for conscription, else I’ll have to deal with those spam messages again.”

Both of the people drinking with him look confused. “Spitzy?” Rai asks, while Leo mutters, “Spam?”

Zhihao thinks for a moment, deciding whether or not to explain, then says, “One second,” downing the drink and returning to the bar. “I’ll need another,” he informs the bartender.

“That kind of day?” the bartender asks.

Zhihao smirks. “That kind of life,” he jokes in reply. This time the bartender mixes the drink and hands it over before ringing it up. Zhihao returns to the table. “Where was I? Right.” Looking at Rai, he asks, “You know about us monsters, right?”

Rai looks confused but nods. “Heard stories. You’re remarkably young, though.”

Zhihao laughs. “Not really, but thanks. A part of what we signed up for back in the day included indefinite service. After Quinn left and none of us agreed to bring him back, we all kind of realized it was only in theory, because no one but us could do anything about any of us leaving.”

Leo nods. “So this Spitzy is one of you that could do something.”

Zhihao shakes his head. “Technically, but that’s not cost effective. Being annoying is his pleasure, though, so whenever we do anything to go on the Service radar, they try to annoy us into submission. Which, to be fair, does tend to get us to lie low and no longer brother the Service.”

Rai gets up to get another drink and Zhihao and Leo both take swigs of their own. As he drinks, Zhihao feels his mind whirring up on instinct. Not his mind, his other half. Why, it shouldn’t be, he muses. Unless something life threatening is happening, but the drink isn’t poisoned. What’s wrong, he thinks to his nPC.

The thoughts come back, his own but from the computer. Private Millard has entered the system. The Millard Internal has not connected to the network in twenty years, eleven months, one day, and six hours, forty two minutes, and fifteen seconds. System going into alert. Entirely accidently, Zhihao mutters aloud, “What the fuck is Quinn doing here?”