15th Bullet: Clipped Angels and Smokin' Barrels

Navier Kincaid was never a popular person in a positive sense. He was unruly, mean and downright foul. The only reason why people put up with his vulgar attitude is his undeniable talent at mechanics. No one knew where he had come from, how he acquired such skill and who he was but when his hands polished the headlights of a buggy or revived the dead engine of a Desert Mover, nobody could ever complain or truly hate him. Even high corporations and businesses wanting proper fixes to their transportations went to him on the low.

His attitude and talent were unmatched.

Until Vadars' ego came in the picture.

  "Let me go, grease monkey!" Vadars hollered as he was tied to the I-beam pillar of the garage. He had been going on for as long as he had been awake. His head was throbbing with pain but his anger gave him strength beyond natural understanding.

Navier was pacing around. He had a lawman within his hands and a pretty expensive Desert Mover as well. When he felt the ominous energy coming from the wrapped object, he steered clear. He knew from the rumours it was a Death Arm. However, he had never seen a Death Arm of such shape. It wasn't like a gun of the sort but it was almost like a crucifix.

He knew if he touched it, he would die an excruciating death. 

Death Arms were no toys. They were the first and final defence of a Killright. The weapons were crafted by a blacksmiths, far greater than any mechanical hands he had seen. Dead Engineers were their name. They kept themselves in far parts of the Badlands, custom suiting guns based on the desires of a customer. They were almost exclusively Killrights-only but later as time passed, Death had been more lenient and allowed them to be more independent with their crafts. Navier always wanted to study a Death Arm but the power would kill any normal being.

"HEY! QUIT IGNORING ME MAN!!" Vadars shouted. Navier leapt out of his train of thought with a quite annoyed look.

"Shut it," he growled. "I'm thinking."

"About what? Possibly going to prison?"

"Killrights aren't like regular cops. People can bash the hell outta them and still walk a free man." Navier walked in close. "And to be quite frank, I feel like exercising that right."

"Touch me and I'll break your jaw." Vadars glared. It was an evil and stubborn glare that almost made him flinch but Navier stayed composed.

"Don't test me, Killright." Navier walked over to the Desert Mover. His hands glided over the cleanly cut metals, the handle bars firm like a someone giving a good handshake. The wheels had a disc that was meant to glow and a line across the body with a similar feature but when he tried to rev it, the hum puttered and coughed. "The hell did you do to this thing?"

"I was riding it. What's it to you?"

"You bashed the frame and the engine's one foot in the grave. Who the hell drives like this? Have you ever ridden one of these things?"

Vadars looked away sheepishly. "Not until a week ago or something..."

Navier leered. There's three things he hated in life: annoying people, Killrights and careless dunces.

"You," Navier began, "are the single most stupid individual I've ever laid my eyes upon. Do you not know how much even a wheel of this thing costs? More than your life. This bad boy isn't meant for crazy speeds in the desert, it's meant for city drives and the occasional bumpy trail." 

"He ain't a boy. It's a she." 

Navier looked at him and then an uncontrolled chuckle left his lips. "A she? What's her name?"

"You're talking an awful lot for somebody who despises Killrights."

"My mood swings depending on the vehicle. Now, her name?"

"Shirley."

Navier nodded. "Not bad." He analysed the bike more, feeling it, knocking on it and sniffing it. It made Vadars question the mechanic's sanity but he eventually stood up.

"Luckily, it ain't too bad. It just needs some frame change and a better engine. I can do it but it's gonna cost ya... A lot."

"How much?"

"About..." Navier racked his brain for a suitable and reasonable price. "1.2 millions dollars."

"ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR GODDAM MIND?!" Vadars screeched. "I don't even have half of that amount!" Besides, Vadars was a rookie. Despite him killing a D-class Desperado, he only got a quarter of it, majority going into tax and Rosner. Rookie's dilemma; always disrespected and work always stolen.

"Too bad. The fact I was even considering helping a Killright is beyond me," he said, scratching his short hair. "But... you polished it. You washed it, you took care of it. I've met wild people before but you didn't whether it was custom made for specifics, you just rode it without a damn in the world." He turned around and assorted his tools.

"That sounds..." Vadars blinked.

"Shut the hell up," Navier interjected. "As I was saying, I'll help you if you help me."

"What kinda help?"

Navier lifted up a tool. "I got a shipment deal with the Black Angels, illegal parts that are state-of-the-art. I'm starting to trust those bastards less and less. If I don't get any protection, I'm gonna get kicked in the rear." He set it down. "Stand by me, kick ass if needed and we get the hell out."

"Why can't you do it?" Vadars scoffed. "Anybody would scatter the second the deal is done."

"The Black Angels are the worst of the worse, just as awful as those Satan cronies from the Virtuevice War." Navier turned around. "Everybody steers clear of them but not everybody has the option. When you're the best mechanic in the city, eyes start to follow."

"So you want my help?"

"Plain and simple, Killright. In and out. And then you get out of my face and this is me on my Belle behaviour."

"More like the beast..." Vadars muttered. Navier shot a glare before Vadars rolled his eyes and kept quiet.

"So you in or out?" Navier offered.

Vadars stood there for a long time. He was growing sick of this Navier guy. But if he wanted to catch up with the others, he needed to do this fast. "Fine," Vadars decided. "I'm in."

"Good... C'mon, we leave tonight."

                                                                                  ♱♱♱

Kenkaicho Yuzen was a pretty boy. Tall, handsome and charming. Every girl wanted a bad boy and his chimed into conversation. Every knew the Black Angels were bad news but if he knocked on your door and gave you a clean look, you'd want to talk to him the whole night. However, he was stuck on deal duty.

Ever since the Black Angels had started to chase people away, more and more people wanted no part in their antics. They looted stores, robbed even the homeless and tailed and cat-called every woman on the streets. Besides, their initiation was the toughest of them all, almost impossible to pass. The Black Angels were like that. They didn't want sane and kind power, they wanted pain and madness amongst them. Fear was their power. To symbolize that, a wing stabbed by a black spear was tattooed on their neck.

"Yuzen," one of the lackies asked. He was short, stout and dressed in the dark purple overalls that was their uniform. Kenkaicho wore the same except his black T-shirt was exposed and his top part was tied around his waist. "Have you heard the news of the Killrights in town? It used to be only two of em but more are coming."

Kenkaicho scoffed. "Those law dogs always come in but they don't do jack. There's no sheriff even. It's not like they could take us on." He pulled out a pistol, silver and etched in a pretty detail. "You see this, Johnny? This thing can knock a wrestler off his feet within a millisecond. If one of those Killright come up, he blast them to kingdom come. Also, what kind of Black Angel is scared? Are you scared, Johnny?"

Johnny shook his head. "Of course not?"

"Do you know what we do to scared men?" Kenkaicho questioned.

"Y-Yuzen... I'm not scared. Quit kidding me, man." Johnny let out a soft, nervous chuckle before two bullets fired into his shoulders. He screamed in pain in the vast and open harbour. Nobody was nearby. If anyone had heard, they assumed it was some kind of bad thing happening to some poor fool. None of their business at all.

The other men looked away, stern faces of all sorts. 

"Shut him up," Kenkaicho demanded. "His screaming's hurting my ear drums."

The other men beat Johnny up for several minutes until he was nothing but a quiet whimpering ball of banged up flesh. He crawled on the floor and laid on a crate, tears mixed with blood streaming down his face. Kenkaicho scoffed and pushed his dark magenta hair out of his face. Crying men made him real mad. So annoying.

Up ahead walked two men. One of them wore red overalls, Kincaid Motors poorly stitched on the back, and the other wore a pair of black sneakers, baggy denim jeans and a gray hoodie. On his head, a large wrapping of a bandage banded around his head. They were both rough-looking, one of them having a cross-stitch on his cheek. However, the one with the half-missing ear was just as mean-looking. Kenkaicho blew a piece of hair out of his face and yawned. Time for business.

                                                                                  ♱♱♱

Janda crouched low and saw the cat sit on the restaurant floor. It was a small cat but well-fed. It had two ginormous green eyes and jet black fur. Janda reached out a fingerless gloved hand but the cat run away and Janda blinked, a bead of sweat created by embarrassment dropping off his face. A boot suddenly kicked him over and he shot up to look down at Akio who was standing straight up. Janda rubbed his side and looked around the quite big restaurant. It was the most popular in San Francisco, men drinking beer by the counter and women gossiping around the round table. It was quite a fun place. He gazed about and noticed some women staring his way, hushing in their whispers of playful comments and romantic admires.

He made a quite uncomfortable face before following Uvo and Akio to a booth. There sat two Killrights, a large, buzzcut haired man with piercings on his ears, smoking a cigarette and a good-looking woman with her arms on the back rest. Both of them looked pretty wild but they were high-ranking Killrights, all of them looked wild.

"Deacon," Uvo called out, shaking his hand. "Good to see you after so long. It seems your ears are starting to turn into metal."

The Killright named Deacon blew out some smoke with the cigarette still in his mouth. "And you're still lifting up that dumb sense of humour." Deacon nodded at Akio who nodded back and the woman Killright waved at them in delight.

"Good to meet some Delta workers," the woman said with some hip in her tone. "The name's Zelpha Laylock, the prettiest woman to bless the Badlands."

Akio rolled her eyes and Uvo let out a booming laugh that made everyone jump. "Good to see you as well, Laylock."

After their greetings, they all settled down whilst Janda decided to stand for reasons that were unknown. It was Janda. Everything was strange about him but boy, did he make standing look cool.

"So about Andreius," Zelpha said. "We got caught as we know. That boy, he can never do anything right on his own. Maybe if he stopped hitting on me he would notice the over piling amount of Chain Dogs toppling on him. Oh well, we live and learn."

Akio cleared her throat. "We are quite aware. We have yet to discover his current location. We communicated with you via telecommunicator, right?"

"Jeez," Zelpha exhaled, resting her face on her hands. "People still say 'telecommunicator?' We just call 'em telecoms, grandma." She giggled a bit. "Quite the old soul, aren't you?"

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Laylock, but I do not appreciate your comment and tone."

Zelpha stuck out her tongue that seemed to tick Akio even more but Uvo interrupted in time.

"Composure, ladies," Uvo said. "We have two missing Killrights in our hands and a gang war that's gonna turn our heads on our rears. Let's focus and then we can see your catfight."

"If we're talking cats," Zelpha said, "I hope you're referring to me as a lioness and as Miss Akio over here as a kitten. She really needs a cat nap too the way she's so tense." She let out a playful, smug purr that made Akio flash a face that only Janda noticed. He read it as: 

I'm going to strangle your neck with barbed wire if you don't shut up.

Classic Akio.

"Andreius and Vadars," Deacon began, "seem to be our problem children."

"Include Janda as well," Uvo said.

"Seem so." Deacon let out a long drag. "Currently, Vadars' whereabouts is unknown. He should be in San Francisco or a day away of some sort. When we have time, which I doubt, we'll go look for him."

"Wouldn't be more wise to give us telecoms?" Janda asked.

"Rookies don't receive telecoms," Akio answered.

"Moronic rule," Zelpha complained. "I mean, when we got dummies like Andreius running around, keeping track of them would be much better. I advocate for the rookies."

"Agreed," Janda said.

"See? Even the brooding pretty boy agrees."

Janda blinked before adventuring for that cat again.

They all stared. 

"Odd guy, ain't he?" Zelpha asked.

"You have no clue," Akio and Uvo said in unison.

Deacon let out an attention-grasping cough. "Back on the subject, our current task at hand is retrieving Andreius. We know that he's in the hands of the Chain Dogs so now all we need to do is get somebody and make him squeal their location."

"We can't just pick up anybody either," Uvo informed. "Not every street lackey knows where the main base is."

"How about striking at a rendezvous?" Akio asked. "We arrest them on the spot and force them to tell us where they're keeping him."

"If we do that," Deacon jabbed in, "we might make a mistake and they'll lay low. We need a quick and final attack at their weakness. We arrest them all in one go, by any means necessary. Black Hand Monroe isn't an easy man to catch."

"Between Black Hand Monroe, Atticus Sarmiento of the Black Angels and Leonis Ceres of Imperium, who's the worst threat at hand?"

"Well, if we're talking the toughest, definitely the Chain Dogs. Their weakest division can rival a militia. Well-calculated; Imperium is a snake. They slip out of our hands just as we think we got 'em. They're responsible for the inflated drug-related deaths in the city. The most brutal are, by all means, the Black Angels. Their bloodlust is moon-high." Deacon puffed out a cloud. "We try to avoid them by any means. The reason why there's no sheriff in San Francisco is because they're all dead. Every sheriff and deputy were found mangled in gut-wrenching ways."

Zelpha flipped a butter knife in her hand. "I heard a story once. Apparently, one of the sheriffs had a wife. His name was John Marviews. He was a kind man, helping the elderly cross the street and stopping the occasional barfight. Hell, one time a kid walked in his station just to ask for help with some homework." A little smile flickered on her face but it quickly died. "One evening, they caught him in his house and waited until his wife got out of the shower. They held her down and started slicing up her face. They cut off her ears and nose and then things got even more wicked, doing every charge in the damn book." She bent the knife. "After they were done, they gave him an option. He could either gun his wife down or she could gut him with some rusty shears."

"It was like a snuff film, Epsilon reported," Akio repeated, remembering the report. "Good-naturedly, he made a secret gesture to his wife to pick for him. She gave him the answer and he ended up gunning her down. He had enough crying that night. He was never found again."

Uvo pushed his sunglasses up and Deacon looked away, blowing some smoke before snuffing it out. Akio sat still, gripping her pants tightly. That feeling of weakness rose up spine. She understood the sheriff's pain. The feeling of trying to do some good but eventually resulting in nothing but being the liability. She could still remember Khasta, the chains latching onto her body, her wavering conscious of her being unclothed and covered in that white sheet by his meticulous and rotting hands, wrapped in those rubbery gloves. She could feel the overwhelming stench of deteriorating flesh punch her nose like a boxer's right hook.

Her stitches throbbed in pain and a dull feeling of uncomfortableness warped in her stomach like a creature from sort of disfigured realm appearing to eat her from the inside out. Weakness was a brutal fact of life; something so troubling that it could ruin everything you could've ever worked for. Weakness wasn't imperfection, it was simply yourself.

Wandering about somewhere else, Janda searched for the cat. The small feline could be anywhere. Janda wasn't the type to be ignored. Where does such a creature gain an attitude like that?

He found the cat sleeping on a table in the part of the restaurant where little sat. By the table sat a woman with long black hair reading a battered novel. Her eyes were shy and her skin was smooth, paler than the moon. She looked young but mature beyond her years. Wearing a simple dark blue summer dress, she kept to her corner as the desperate men of her capturing beauty of simplicity and serenity could drown in their own inaction. Their drowns were quiet yet painful, her presence seeming to toy with their hearts like sport.

Janda stepped forward and looked down at the woman who read her novel, ignoring the world around her. She felt the presence of Janda and stared at him, a gentle smile rising on her full, black lips.

"May I help you?" she asked.

Janda stared coldly and then at the cat. She noticed and softly rubbed the purring beast's belly with compassion. "Quite adorable, is she not?" she asked.

Janda nodded.

"Not a man of words, I suppose." She didn't seem to mind but only smiled to herself. Janda sat down and tried to stroke the cat but the cat only awoke and ran into her lap. She held the cat and softly wrapped her fingers around Janda's, placing his on the cat's neck. She guided him with technique and a sense of tranquillity washed over him in a warm sensation.

Janda let out a small sound of shock and didn't pull away. The woman pushed some of her hair away to reveal a smile that could create wars that men would willingly fight with no hesitation. Her simpleness mixed with her otherworldly gentleness slowly seeped into Janda's bones and trying to swim into his heart. He tried to fight back, tried to regain control but it was all futile. He couldn't resist her at all.

"My name is Leoria... Leoria St. Francis. May I know your name, Killright?" 

Janda almost said it instantly but he regained some sort of composure. "Janda Elliot..." He voice was quiet and smooth, almost pure. Janda had never spoken that way before. His crudeness was gone and he felt like a brand new man, reborn under her angelic touch.

Her fingers brushed her hair again to reveal a mark. A mark so insignificant that it seemed to taint her beautiful white skin. Such a sight almost made him repulsed. 

It was the mark of a wing stabbed with a black rod.

How disgraceful to her.