What is this story about? Read an overview for Supaku! and my other upcoming series on the Series Overview page, and stay tuned for more!

 

A lone figure staggered across a flat expanse of barren land with an absurdly drunken gait. The light of the moon was obscured by dense fog that had drifted in from the nearby sea. Broken brick pillars pockmarked the boundaries of the visible landscape, dirty relics of an unforgivably harsh new world. This was an old industrial district, once full of rumbling machinery belching black smoke. Steel beams protruded haphazardly from piles of blackened rubble, some of them half-melted, bent or shattered, and it was likely that many were covered in dried blood from the First War, untouched and frozen in time.

The man was making a slow yet sure beeline for the oil lamps. Drawing closer, he could see them affixed to a sturdy wall of wooden timbers and riveted iron, sheltered under the massive eaves of a tall curved roof with shabby tiles. To the right were two men standing beside the door. They were speaking gaily in English and laughing hoarsely at some crude joke, but as they noticed the newcomer the mood shifted noticeably to a dangerous silence. The drunkard reached the door and one of them barred it with his meaty arm.

“Oi,” the bald one raised his chin. “What you doin’ here, squints?” He grinned with severely rotted teeth. “You here for drinks?”

“Ha!” the other one chuckled heavily, the stench of sour beer on his breath. “Looks like ya ain’t in need as it is!”

“Listen…” the drunkard swayed a little before stiffening up tall and rigid. He stood several inches shorter than the two pale muscled men but his crazed and unkempt hair nearly made the difference. He grinned stupidly. “Gentlemen. I’m just here for refills!”

“’Course ya are, squints,” Rotten sniffed and glanced at his colleague with a smirk. “Well seein’ as ‘ow yer already right ‘ammered, ya wouldn’t mind a pat down, would ya? See, our job to keep the troublemakers away from this ‘ere establishment.” He stared at the newcomer real hard. “Especially rowdy slits like yerself.”

The drunkard looked down: he was wearing nothing but a pair of worn shorts and dusty sandals. He looked back up at Rotten. “What you boys intend to search, eh?” He glanced from Rotten to Stench with flickering eyelids. “Between the cheeks with the tips of your noses?”

The drunkard felt the air smashed from his lungs as Stench slapped his bare chest with a meaty, open palm, sending him sprawling back into the dust. He coughed and blinked away the stars in his vision. “Well… one at a time, gentlemen…”

“We don’t much like disrespect, now do we, Charles?” Rotten bared his horrid teeth again. “’Specially not from folk like you.”

“’Specially not,” Stench repeated. He walked over to the drunkard and picked him up by his neck. “What say we teach ‘em somethin’ a tale to tell his kin?” He gestured at Rotten with his head.

“Gentlemen, please…” the drunkard sputtered as Rotten pulled a dirty, rusted blade from his belt. “There’s no real need for theatrics now, is there?” He was lifted into the air, toes dangling above the ground. One of his sandals slipped off.

Rotten glared at him. “You ain’t seen theatrics yet, you goddamned—”

“Hey!”

Everyone froze at that commanding voice. The drunkard craned his neck sideways to see a native woman standing in the open doorway. She was wearing military green coveralls and leather boots, deep black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her hands were balled into fists and she had an expression of fierceness that the drunkard knew could scare the fur off a bear. “What in the hell do you think you two are doing?”

“Remi!” The drunkard laughed and waved at her, still locked in the air by Stench’s grip.

“U-uh-uuh…” Rotten stuttered, fumbling with the knife in his hands nervously like a child.