WHEN THEY CAME TO A STOP OUTSIDE A SMALL SHACK, CHRIS’S BOAT REPAIR PAINTED IN GREEN ON A WOODEN SIGN HANGING ABOVE THE DOOR, STEVEN FELT HIS TEMPER FLARE. WAS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE? A BOAT MECHANIC? HAD SIDNEY LOST HIS EVER-LOVING MIND? WITH A SIGH, STEVEN CLIMBED OUT OF THE VEHICLE ONLY TO DUCK DOWN WHEN A SHOT RANG OUT ABOVE HIS HEAD. HE PULLED HIS PISTOL FROM THE HOLSTER AT HIS HIP, SPUN AROUND, AND TOOK AIM IN THE DIRECTION THE SHOT CAME FROM IN ONE FLUID MOTION. HIS BREATH FROZE IN HIS LUNGS AND HIS HEART WENT SILENT AS HE WAITED FOR ANOTHER SIGN OF HOSTILITY. "EASY!” CRAIG SHOUTED, RAISING HIS HANDS. TONY WAS STANDING BESIDE HIM, HIS OWN WEAPON DRAWN. THE NAVIGATOR LOOKED DEADLY AS HE SCANNED THEIR SURROUNDINGS. “CHRIS, WE JUST CAME TO TALK!” "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU AND YOUR BROTHER TO FORGET I EXIST.” THE ROUGH VOICE THAT PRECEDED THE MAN WHO WALKED OUT ONTO THE SMALL FRONT PORCH HAD STEVEN FROWNING. THE MAN SOUNDED AS IF HE’D SPENT HIS LIFE SHOUTING, HIS VOICE HOARSE FROM YEARS OF OVERUSE. “YEAH, WELL, WE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE GALAXIA’S ENGINES.” CRAIG SIGHED. “THEN IT’S A PROBLEM FOR YOUR MECHANIC,” CHRIS SAID, LOWERING THE RIFLE. NOW THAT THE THREAT HAD BEEN DIMINISHED, STEVEN STOOD FROM HIS CROUCHED POSITION BEHIND THE VEHICLE AND TOOK THE MAN IN. HE WAS STURDILY BUILT, OBVIOUSLY A MAN USED TO HARD, PHYSICAL LABOR. HIS DARK, FULL BEARD HAD TWO STREAKS OF GRAY STARTING AT THE CORNERS OF HIS MOUTH. HIS BLACK HAIR WAS THICK, BUT AGAIN THERE WAS GRAY COMING IN AT HIS TEMPLES. HIS STEEL EYES WERE NARROWED, SMALL WRINKLES GIVING HIM EVEN MORE SIGNS OF HIS AGE. “THAT WOULD BE ME,” STEVEN SAID, STEPPING FORWARD AND PLACING HIS PISTOL BACK IN THE HOLSTER. “I’M STEVEN SMITH, AND WE NEED TO TALK.” CHRIS HELD UP HIS RIGHT HAND, AND STEVEN HAD TO REMIND HIMSELF NOT TO STARE. FLIPPING HIM OFF WAS A CYBERNETIC HAND. THE MECHANICS EXTENDED UP TO HIS ARM AND STOPPED AT HIS SHOULDER. INSTANTLY STEVEN LOOKED DOWN AND NOTICED BENEATH HIS SWIM TRUNKS, HIS RIGHT LEG WAS ALSO A CYBERNETIC PROSTHETIC. “OH COME ON,” CRAIG BESEECHED. “JUST HEAR HIM OUT.” “FUCK OFF,” CHRIS SAID WITH A SNARL AS HE TURNED AND HEADED BACK INTO HIS SHOP. STEVEN GROWLED AND CHASED AFTER THE MAN. THERE WAS NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL HE WAS GOING TO BE TURNED DOWN NOW THAT HE’D COME HERE. SCREW THIS GUY. HE WAS GOING TO HELP THEM EVEN IF STEVEN HAD TO FORCE HIM. “HEY, YOU.” STEVEN GRABBED THE MAN’S SHOULDER, SPUN HIM AROUND, AND SLAMMED HIM AGAINST THE WALL. HE MIGHT NOT LOOK IT, BUT STEVEN WAS A MECHANIC AND WAS QUITE STRONG. “I DON’T CARE WHAT ISSUES YOU HAVE WITH SIDNEY AND CRAIG, BUT I’M HERE TO FIND A WAY TO FIX THE GALAXIA’S ENGINES. SO YOU’LL SWALLOW YOUR FUCKING ATTITUDE AND LISTEN TO ME.” THE MAN LAUGHED, THROWING STEVEN FOR A LOOP. HE LOOSENED HIS GRIP ON THE MAN, AND THAT PROVED TO BE A MISTAKE. CHRIS FLIPPED THEIR POSITIONS, HIS MECHANICAL HAND DIGGING INTO STEVEN’S THROAT. “I BUILT THOSE ENGINES. WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I HAVE TO FIX THEM NOW?” “WHAT?” STEVEN GASPED. THIS MAN BUILT THE GALAXIA’S ENGINES? BUT THAT COULDN’T BE RIGHT. STRUGGLING, STEVEN MET CHRIS’S HARD STEEL EYES AND FROZE. SOMETHING STIRRED INSIDE HIM AS HE LOOKED AT THAT COLD GAZE AND FELT THAT PROSTHETIC HAND SQUEEZE AROUND HIS THROAT. SOMETHING PRIMAL THAT HE SHOULDN’T BE FEELING. “HEY, THAT’S ENOUGH,” TONY SAID WITH A GROWL, A GUN APPEARING AT CHRIS’S TEMPLE. “WE DON’T NEED YOU SO BAD THAT I’LL STAND BY AND LET YOU KILL ONE OF OUR CREW.” PREORDER HERE
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A.M. HalfordMondays: Free post days where I post about anything I feel like talking about. Archives
May 2018
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