Changeling

3.4

3.4

Shinoda resolutely walked to the end of the path, stopping right at the corner. He looked at Nestra who gave him a countdown. At zero, a tall guy turned around, almost into Shinoda. He swung without thinking.

Nestra’s senses were a little enhanced in human form, which gave her all the time to appreciate the old detective’s flowing motion as he grabbed the extended arm with his own, twisted on himself, heaved the unbalanced ganger over his shoulder and sent him bodily crashing against the balustrade, which cracked ominously and then, broke.

Nestra grabbed the guy’s arm before he could plummet down on a hat-seller stand. He glared at her with venomous intensity as if Nestra was enjoying herself pulling that sack of muscles up. The fall wouldn't kill him. She was half-tempted to pull the good old Mufasa.

“Give me your hand!” Shinoda yelped by her side.

His genuine concern shocked Nestra, and the ganger as well. He still hesitated halfway because apparently, his pride had short-circuited his higher brain functions.

“Kusogaki. Hand. Give. Now.”

The two finally hoisted the idiot back up just as the rest of the group arrived behind them. Without hesitation, Shinoda released the idiot so he could join his friends with bashful resentment. Nestra took position behind Shinoda while the two sides made their stand.

The local thugs were a sorry lot.

It was not just the cheap baggy clothes that only hid weapons from naive eyes and protected absolutely nothing. It was also the general lack of edge they were displaying, defiance without the training and mentality Nestra had seen in her colleagues over the years. Riel, even Pudding would have demolished these guys for breakfast and he used to eat three of them. And they were young. They were so damn young. The oldest thug was the leader, and he was younger than Nestra. Nineteen or twenty. South East Asian. He was the only one who’d successfully grown facial hair and though he did have a certain magnetism, Nestra could see the tension in his shoulders. Interestingly, the security file didn’t mention them.

“It won’t go like you think it will go,” Shinoda stated.

“Hah,” the leader scoffed.

He sounded more bitter than angry. Nestra noticed he kept his hand relaxed by his side, near the pocket of his baggy trousers. Probably had a piece there though she didn’t know why he hadn’t already drawn it like most of his friends. As for the other guys, their irons were fabricator-made junk made from blueprints designed to go around hard-coded safeties against gun proliferation. Basically, they’d manufactured each piece of the gun independently then assembled them. The results were boxy, unwieldy things that made even her antique service rifle look like shiny corp gear. The only people those fuckers could threaten were groups as pathetic as themselves. It was a little sad but she kept the observation to herself because Shinoda was taking them seriously. To be fair, even a garbo gun could still kill.

“You’re gonna give me the speech about how if I off you, a hundred will replace you? Or some shit like that?” the leader continued.

“That won’t happen.”

The leader’s smirk gained a steel edge.

“You knew I was coming but that does not mean you can stop me.”

“Not this. We will not be replaced. Should you kill us, it will be over. But it will not serve your purpose.”

“You don’t know what my purpose is.”

“Then tell me,” Shinoda said with kindness and patience.

Nestra got a feeling the leader had just gotten trapped and he knew it as well. For a moment, she thought he was going to opt out and just get back to violence, but the rest of his squad was looking at him with curiosity. Maybe they also knew cops were bad but they’d not articulated exactly why. Riel, they really were so fucking young.

“I want to stop what’s going to happen here. Seen it before. First you can’t move around, then you can’t have a gun. Can’t sell food without a corpo permit. Can’t sell local stuff cause it’s not licensed. Drones everywhere. Just wait a bit and the entire kib is just a slum around a combini and a pawn shop. And we’re all on the fucking dole waiting for corpo nutrient bars.”

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He pulled a stick from a pocket and lit it, sending a puff of smoke traveling towards Nestra with lazy defiance. It smelled like weed.

“So gonna make it costly. Maybe too costly. We won’t kill you. Rough you up a bit. Won’t even ask a little knob slob from the sow. But we’ll send the message. And hey, maybe we get the fucking borgs dropped on us but at least we’ll have fought back, yeah?”

“I see. You are protecting your… kib, was it?”

The thugs chuckled. They really thought it was funny watching the old timers use the local slang.

“We are not here for that. We are, ah, the canaries. In a mine. Do you understand?”

“Is this some old guy shit I’m supposed to get?”

“Old, yes. Pre-incursion. A long time ago, canaries were kept in mines to see if the air would go sour. Do you know how you can tell if the mine air is sour?”

“It’s the canaries?”

“Yes. They are dead.”

The toughs were now listening to Shinoda with grisly fascination, certain that they had the upper hand anyway so indulging in a little banter couldn’t hurt. Shinoda grabbed that attention like a gleam on a dance floor.

“There are only two of us. We cannot be the law in this ‘kib’. Our role is to tell the town where to go with the help, and the hospitals, and the supplies. If the canaries die then the place is not a good place to help. It is simple. And there is something else.”

The youth waited.

“We are Threshold officers. We are not corporate private security. We are not even well paid.”

Nestra nodded before she could think, which made a few of the thugs shift with amusement. Her instincts kept telling her they were no danger and the Scornful Crescent whispered in her ear that she could take them all out and solve the situation immediately. Make them afraid of her. Gain dominance. But that wasn’t what she wanted.

“This is your one and last chance to get a better life, because the city will try a little and then it will give up and leave the district to Gidung. The truth is, no one believes in you. The city will offer training. It will give you access to healthcare and assistance for those who need it to get better. It will not close the fabricators or the vat farms. But most people do not expect much from it because they believe you are a lost cause. You can choose to stay here if you wish and perhaps Gidung will win. Or you can grab that chance and turn your luck around.”

Shinoda shrugged.

“You can change and make progress. I can even help you. It will not be easy because no one wants to make it easy for you, but it is possible. Or you can do the same thing you have always done and let the world crush you. It will take a while and maybe you will feel like you’re fighting a noble cause but in the end, it will not matter. You are warriors with homemade guns. They have power walkers and bored users. It is not a war you can win by fighting with the weapons you have now.”

“Sure, ok. Why would you even care?”

“I was part of the crushing force, a long time ago. Luck offered me a mark as a reminder.”

Slowly, the detective opened his vest and unbuttoned the shirt underneath. From her position at his back, Nestra couldn’t see what he showed but the way the thugs flinched told her enough. He had to be sporting the mother of all scars.

“I have carried this mark everywhere I go. I will no longer be part of those who crush, but I cannot escape the trap for you. Only you can do it. As I said, I can help you. I can show you the tools. You will see that I tell the truth. If at any point, you believe I lie…”

He approached the nearest ganger. With two delicate fingers, he picked the barrel of the homemade gun then slowly lifted it until the muzzle rested between his eyes.

“If that happens, you can kill me. I will not try to stop you.”

So that was why Kim had told Nestra to keep an eye on that fucker because, as far as Nestra could tell with her sharp senses, Shinoda was unafraid. His heartbeat was steady. There was no sweat on his skin. He was… truly indifferent to dying.

That felt wrong to Nestra until she realized that until two weeks ago, she’d shared the exact same mindset. But now life tasted sweet and she no longer wanted to let it go. It was a strange feeling realizing how much she wanted to keep existing now.

The thug pulled his gun away from Shinoda’s forehead, breaking the spell. The dynamic of the situation had changed and the promise of violence was now a distant thing, faded into the background. That lasted until the leader realized there was a foreign piece inserted in this perfect scene like the black queen on the white side of a chessboard. Someone who was sticking out. Someone who didn’t fit.

Nestra.

“How about you, pig girl? Why are you here?”

Shinoda stepped to the side and gave her a warm smile. That gesture was aimed at the others, to show them she had his blessing and trust rather than speaking over her to smooth things over. Fortunately, Nestra had actually given it some thought.

“I almost died fighting the gangers during the purge. They had corpo gear, unmarked, and I think we both know how they got it. I’m just here to make sure Gidung doesn’t get free rein over the district.”

“You think you grunts can do anything?”

“Yes, I do. So long as we’re around, no one can just wipe the place and blame it on ‘terrorist action’. I’m not joking by the way.”

“Oh so now you’re our shield against the corpo, eh?”

“Yeah because so long as we’re here, they have to pretend to care.”

Nestra knew she wasn’t as convincing as Shinoda. The gang seemed divided over her statement. She knew she was making sense but it was clear she didn’t really give a shit about them and the fact she was armed and on guard reflected that. They felt it too.

“Nice blade by the way. Can I see it?” the leader asked.

“That’s a family gift, so no. But for the rest, feast your eyes.”

Nestra pulled her vest open, revealing the Wellington body armor along with some of her gadgets and the hand cannon resting against her hip. A few loud whistles welcomed the reveal.

“Nice. Is that an EMP charge?” the leader asked, pointing at the gadget she’d used against Flash.

Nestra knew where this was going. She grabbed the grenade and threw it. The leader caught it in the air with ease. A sleight of hand and it was gone. A toll. A symbol. Nestra could live with that.

“Ok. We’ll see if you mean it or you’re just talk, piggies. See you later.”

The thugs left in good order, leaving the law in control of the corridor and the situation. No bloodbath! They were off to such a good start.

“That went as well as I’d hoped,” Nestra said.

“It is so, ne? Let’s hope this lasts.”