Chapter Six – Queen Takes Pawn

Chapter Six – Queen Takes Pawn

Name: George Orbad
Alias: King, The King of the Kings

Reward: 1,750,000Cr

–King of Kings bounty posting, 2057

***

The Underground Kings had their hideout in the same ring of buildings as we were in. The factory they occupied was an old cotton-candy machine factory, of all things. Some of the signs on the outside were still bright and cheerful under the layer of grime that covered everything.

Of course, they’d covered it all with graffiti, mostly crude images of men with crowns on, sometimes just crowns, sometimes giant dicks with crowns on them. Very imaginative stuff. Some of the best bathroom-stall type art I’d ever seen.

Raccoon, our guide, paused on one of the catwalks about a hundred metres away from the factory. “That’s it,” she said. “The King’s King stays there sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Gomorrah asked.

“He doesn’t live here,” Raccoon said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No one that makes a bunch of credits stays underground.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Other than robbing little girls, do these idiots do anything special?”

Raccoon shrugged. “They make drugs to sell to the people above. It’s called syrup. You can smell it when they make it. It’s nice.”

“Syrup?” I asked. I’d heard of that. It was a sort of goopy liquid, golden and clear, and apparently really sweet. It was actually a bit of a classier street drug, the sort middle-class guys would buy for a party or something. “I didn’t think they’d make that shit here.”

“They have to make everything somewhere,” Gomorrah said. “I imagine real estate down here isn’t too pricey.”

I shrugged. Didn’t matter to me. I didn’t come down here to rid the world of some party drugs. “Maybe the stink down here is the special ingredient,” I muttered.

Raccoon giggled. “So, that’s it. You guys are going to go ask them for stuff?”

“Just going to ask them about Gomorrah’s girlfriend.”

“Franny isn’t my girlfriend,” Gomorrah said, voice flatter than usual.

“Not with that attitude,” I replied. “Rac, do you know who we should ask to see?”

“If they even let you in,” the girl said. “Ask for one of the Bishops. They’re, like, the important ones, I think.”

I pat the girl atop the head, because that’s what I’d do with a kitten, then pointed to the front of the factory. “Let’s get this over with; they might not know what we want.”

Raccoon followed Gomorrah and I as we approached the factory, but she let off once we were closer to the doors and the two guys standing next to them, who might have been guards, maybe.

They had guns and were wearing some ratty clothes which had crowns stitched into them like some sort of uniform. The full-faced masks they had looked like they’d been pulled from a bargain bin, not that I’d cast stones from my glass orphanage.

“Heya,” I said as I walked over. My cyberwarfare augs were still on, and they highlighted the doors and the electronic locks keeping them closed. I toggled the option to unlock them, because I was curious, and was only mildly surprised when they didn’t fall apart.

“Hey, hey, stop right there!” one of the guards said. He brandished his gun around, some sawed-off shotgun thing held together with happy thoughts and duct tape. His finger was on the trigger already.

I stopped, both hands rising up to shoulder-level. “Stopping,” I said. I was pretty sure the gun couldn’t hurt me, but then, I was on a catwalk bridge leading over to the factory entrance, and there was a hundred metre fall next to me. One side didn’t even have any railings. It wouldn’t take much for the whole thing to collapse.

I’d probably be fine if it did, but it would be inconvenient and a waste of time.

“What you here for?” the guard asked.

“I’ve got questions. We heard some of your, uh, ‘Kings’ might have some answers.” I was sure to make it obvious that there were some quotes around their title. “Think you two can help us out?”

The two guards looked at each other, considering things.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Myalis, being the gem that she was, tapped into their comms with the ease of an experienced porch pirate stealing someone’s insulin package from their doorstep.