The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 15: Alley Rats

Silence had fallen on Shallow Alley, where only a shift earlier a blazing gun battle had played out. The Redemptionist rat-mutants of Norvegicus had attempted to claim the needleway hub from the Hi-Viz Jackers, but after a bitter fight in the narrow corridors, the Orlocks had held the turf.

Now, two Jacker veterans patrolled the territory: Akilles Lebow, tracking his suspensor-aided heavy stubber left and right as he walked; and Griv 'The Grift' Javinsky, a recent recruit, but nonetheless a son of Bedlam Town, who knew Akilles from way back. The two men discussed the recent fight.

'That was a smart move of yours, hirin' that snouty mutie to dress up like one of them ratmen,' said Akilles.

'Hell, I wasn't sure if it'd come off, but it seemed worth a shot.' Griv had persuaded an old scummer acquaintance to infiltrate Norvegicus in disguise, and it had paid off, sowing discord just as the firefight was heating up. 'Solid play all round, I'd say. You kept your nerve going up the middleway like you did.'

'Yeah,' said Akilles with a pout, 'I should've kept the juves back, though - both of 'em got burned by them ratty boys. Dwice is gonna be okay, but that kid Steez is a goner. Ain't worth the creds the doc's asking.'

'If he were a Bedlam Towner, maybe things'd be different. But who cares about a badzone waif like that?'

Harsh words from Griv, but Akilles didn't disagree.

Instead, he said, 'What about the mob you took through the needleways? Darik and that juve Lorn? Nice work splitting the main mob of rat guys' attention.'

Griv shrugged, hefting his combat shotgun. 'Well, they were trying to take the turf from us. Would've been dumb not to use the crawlpipes to our advantage. An' I gotta say, it was nice to see Darik work his flame pistol - Cawdor jerks getting a taste of fire for a change.'

Akilles grinned at this. Griv continued, 'If only they hadn't got mobbed and taken out... Lorn's gonna be okay, but Darik's leg's all busted, he ain't gonna walk like he did. Sumpdammit, if I'd'a got a shot through the rat boss's armour...'

'Don't sweat it, man,' said Akilles, 'They bottled in the end. Sure,  it was dicey for a click or two, but we steeled it out.'

'Hell, yeah,' nodded Griv. 'Tzig came through good - that frag grenade damn near cleared that room of muties after... well...'

He trailed off. They'd been talking around the problem. The sumpspider in the habhole, as it were.

Akilles gave voice to the thought. 'What the hell was Vints thinking, anyhow? Vain bastard, running in there, pistol blazing. Takes no one out and then gets taken out himself by, what was that, a chainsword on a stick?'

'Chainglaive,' said Griv. 'To be fair, it's a good weapon.'

'Still,' said Akilles, showing unusual ire, 'he has us load up on extra ammo before the fight, which was more of a liability than it was worth, and then when it comes to it, he gets taken out and leaves us to do the dirty work, just like last time...'

'Hell, at least we did it, though. Shallow Alley's still ours.'

'But here's the thing,' continued Akilles. 'You hadn't joined the Jackers when Tzig Oresson turned up. He's a snake, man - got sent down here by the overbosses to keep an eye on Vints and make sure we're holding our own.'

'And so we are - today at least.'

'Thanks to who?' growled Akilles, stamping to a halt. 'Not Vints,  that's for sure. Thanks to Tzig, more like - and you can bet your last cred Tzig'll be reporting all this to that creep Overboss Degister uphive...'

'And what, they decide Vints ain't fit to be leading the Jackers?' said Griv. 'Sumpdammit, man, think about it. Never mind Tzig and his overboss. Maybe we think Vints isn't fit to be leading the Jackers.'

The two men stared at each other. The unspeakable had been spoken. Akilles Lebow snarled and turned away from Griv to continue the patrol.

But again, he didn't disagree.

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 14: A Simple Plan

The plan was simple: rush the stinger mould farm at Whitcap Hole, take out any Savage Kittens on guard duty, get outta there.

Vints Courraine, practically as chauvinistic as a Goliath, was convinced the mayhem raid would scare up the Eschers real bad, and the territory would fall into Orlock hands; the other Jackers weren't sure it would be that easy, especially Ivan and Zam, who'd run with the Bedlam Boys as juves and had heard first-hand about the gang's bitter feud with the notorious Hellbitches. House Escher gives as good as it gets, with added venom.

Still, Vints was the boss, so he and five other Hi-Viz Jackers made the trip across Sector H8, locked and loaded.

Only three Kittens were on duty. The Jackers hustled through the drafty tunnels, seeking to strike as fast as possible. Vints directed Akilles and Dwice to stay central and cover their backs and sent Ijax and Ivan the long way round to outflank the Eschers. Vints himself led Darik straight into the heart of the tunnel maze. Already, there were distant alarms blaring - the Kittens had clocked they were coming and reinforcements were on their way. The job needed doing in a fraction of a shift.

In the end, it all went down over a five-metre stretch of corridor. Fraggle, the most senior Savage Kitten on duty, crept forward to see what was what, toting her grenade launcher. Vints saw her coming.

'Hold back,' he barked to Darik. 'I'll take her out close up. You hustle past and flame whoever's round that there corner.'

Vints charged down the corridor, chainsword buzzing like a mad sump skeeter. Fraggle, encumbered, looked ill-set to take the charge, but Vints wasn't expecting the juve rushing up behind her, living up to the Escher rep for sheer quickness. It was Kes, who'd represented the Savage Kittens in the first bout of the Ba'King's tourney.

Vints found himself facing two foes rather than one but, undeterred, he pressed his attack against Fraggle, solid strikes with boltpistol and chainsword. The Escher didn't stand a chance, but even as she fell, Vints saw it wasn't just the grenade launcher that was impeding her. She'd been lugging a bomb - a big one, at that - and dropped it at she hit the deck.

The bomb began to emit a series of staccato tones, getting faster.

But Vints didn't have time to think about that - Kes was at him, stiletto knives in hand, displaying the same ferocity she'd brought to the fight pit. She was too fast. The knives slashed Vint's hi-viz wear and he felt his flesh sizzle where they'd cut. Toxins.

It happened fast. One moment, Vints was swinging away, the next he was slumped on the floor next to Fraggle.

Kes grinned and crouched over the Orlock boss, reversing the grip on one of her knives with a deft flick of the wrist.

'I'm'a scrag you good, you sumpborn sonuva-'

The bomb went off with a crack and a harsh hiss, belching a cloud of tox gas into the corridor. Kes hadn't caught her breath, and a moment later she was on her knees, coughing up blood.

Darik Zangh took this all in from just a few paces away. Rushing the corridor hadn't really panned out..

The gas was fast acting, but fast dissipating. A few seconds later, the air was clear enough. Darik darted forward and brought his wrench crashing into the back of Kes's head, knocking her out.

'That's for the boss man,' he muttered.

He turned to see where the other Jackers were, but before he knew it, another Savage Kitten was coming at him. This was D-Face, a green juve, but she gave Darik hell. He was hard-pressed to fend off her knife swipes and couldn't get a decent swing in with his wrench.

Elsewhere, more Eschers had turned up and had opened fire. Ivan was down, bleeding, and Akilles was swapping long-range heavy stubber shots with Zobo Bonono. Dwice was running scared, despite Ijax's efforts to berate him back into the fight.

Back in the five-metre stretch, Darik got a telling blow in at last, connecting with D-Face's jaw and taking her out of the fight. He stepped back, grinning, but then a lasbolt glanced off his backplate and sent him sprawling to the floor.

The Savage Kittens were all here, fully reinforced. A well-aimed plasma shot from boss woman Mas the Plaz took Ijax down, bleeding badly. The Eschers were moving to encircle the Orlocks, who were now thoroughly outnumbered.

Akilles was bellowing for the Jackers to back off, quick like. Darik didn't need to be told. He grabbed his fallen boss by the boots and started dragging him away. A dozen heartbeats later, Whitcap Hole was Orlock-free and still in Escher hands.

So much for a simple plan.

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 13: House Before the Rest

While recovering from his pit-fight injuries, Vints Courraine had sent the Hi-Viz Jackers to make a grab for the last remaining bit of unclaimed turf in Sector H8. Given the gang's record so far, Vints was keeping his expectations low, but he wasn't prepared for the news that Akilles and the boys brought back.

Seems the Jackers weren't the only ones pitching for the Clam Breath wastes. They'd run into rival Orlocks The Wasted and, inevitably, a gunfight had broken out. The gangs closed to medium range and started plugging away at each other, but then the Wasted started chucking firebombs around - the benefits of controlling the Ol'Kent promethium refinery. Half the Jackers got lit up, but they rolled the flames out and hung on in there. Akilles stayed cool as ever under heavy fire; recently-recruited veteran Griv Javinski got in some solid shots, as befits a son of Bedlam Town; Dwice and new juve Steez showed their steel by rushing the enemy - though their shooting was far less impressive.

The way Akilles told it, it looked like the Jackers were on the verge of bottling it, but then came a shout from Wasted leader Irving Trudeau, calling for a parlay. Akilles said he weighed up whether to listen to Trudeau or keep fighting. Considering the House connection, plus the Jackers' desperate situation overall in Sector H8, he opted for the former.

If he was honest about it, Vints was grudgingly impressed - he doubted he would've been inclined to hold off on the trigger. But Akilles had made the call and, after some discussion arrangements were made.

And so Vints found himself here, face to face with Irving Trudeau across a flimsy table in an ancient manufactorum block in the Ol'Kent warehouse district. Both men were wary - Trudeau had offered a slug of wildsnake out of a sense of obligation and had been unsurprised when Vints had refused. Both men had backup waiting outside, their toughest gangers steel-eying the competition, weapons holstered - for now.

'So,' drawled Vints. 'You got me here. What's there to talk about?'

'I'll say it straight, I was sump-damned impressed with how your boys handled themselves, Courraine. Especially that big guy Lebow.' He rapped the table emphatically with his fist before continuing, 'Frag me if I ain't ever seen a man take getting set on fire so cool. Just turned and walked down to the domefloor and rolled them flames out. And then takes a krak grenade practically on the chin and doesn't even flinch!'

'We Orlocks get bred tough,' said Vints.

'You bet your last cred we do,' said Trudeau, 'and that's just what I want to parlay with you about. See, after the Ba'King's tournay and so on, there ain't a gang the Hacked Knee with a meaner rep than us Wasted. And the Slagwell Springsteens, well, they've got more turf than any other. We Orlocks are running on top here... for the most part, anyway...'

Trudeau let the words hang for a second, allowing an uneasy silence. Both men acutely aware that the Jacker's less than spiretop performance wasn't being mentioned.

Vints sucked his teeth. 'Go on...'

Trudeau grinned and continued, 'Well, of course, between all those Cawdor faith-bashers, the other houses working the sector, and proper scum like those three-armed muties, I reckon it makes sense to hang together for the House of Iron. Look to protect our mutual interests.'

'Hang together how exactly?' said Vints.

'Well, those wastes at Clam Breath we just tussled over - they mark the edge of our turf. What say you and your Jacker boys take custody of them? Keep 'em safe for us.'

'A stretch of ash-clam-infested deadzone? Why, that's mighty generous of you!' said Vints sarcastically. 'I wasn't born last shift, Trudeau. What the big pict here?'

His counterpart laughed. 'They said you was a proud one, Courraine! Come on, man - turf's turf - and you fellas ain't exactly carving out much of it...'

'Yeah, turf's turf,' said Vints. 'But like you say, the Wasted got the meanest rep in the sector just now. You could hold Clam Breath yourselves - what gives?'

'Alright, I'll level with you. I got big plans. We want the river, total control of it. Sure, it's a dicey run just now, but imagine if it could be secured, made a steady haul route - that's the sort of thing makes an impression on the Guilders...'

'... and the Ba'King's a man with a lot of sway.... I get ya, Trudeau. Big plans indeed. The more hands you've got, the better.'

'Better still if those hands are Orlock iron.'

'The Springsteens in on this?'

Trudeau paused again. 'Let's just say I'm working on that... but in the meantime, here it is, clear as a bolt shell in the brain: I want you Hi-Viz Jackers in an alliance with us Wasted. Whaddaya say?'

Vints made a show of stroking his barbe and pouting, pondering the ins and outs. Really, though, he'd made the decision in a lasflash. A scrap of turf, a powerful ally, with the chance of greater glory down the line - there was no way he was going to pass this up.

Vints clenched his hand into a fist and extended it across the table in a formal Orlock salute.

'Irving Trudeau, I hereby accept your offer,' he said.

Trudeau returned the gesture, slamming his fist into Vints's. 'I'm glad to hear it, Vints.'

Gang before house, house before the rest, as the old Orlock saying goes. Today, the second phrase won out. But Vints Courraine would be spiderfood before he lost sight of the first...

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 12b: Fight Night - Metal Test

Vintsen Courraine was leading a gang with no rep and no turf in one of the most hard-fought sectors this side of the heat sinks. He was a proud man with nothing to lose and everything to gain, which was why he'd pitched to fight in this champion bout in the Ba'King's arena.

With a great grinding of ancient gears, the fighting pit had been rearranged into a smaller configuration - a maze of corridors with an L-shaped central chamber. As before, the crowd above the cage-mesh, geezed on wildsnake and stimms, howled and chanted as the combatants were announced.

Fellow Orlock Soho Jones of the Wasted got a riotous response as he entered the pit, hefting his grenade launcher.  Vints strutted in next, pumping his arms to hype the spectators as his image was fed to the massive screens overhead. Not so Dunkel of the Skymother's Chosen - the three-armed mutie shunned the buzzing capper-drones as he entered, here for the killand creds rather than the glory. Finally, with a clank and buzz of well-honed tech, Servo-Heeled Jallk of the Dust Gate Orb Weavers stalked into the arena. The arachnirig's las carbines and plasma gun tracked in all directions as they ran targeting routines with lethal intent.

At the Ba'King's command, the first klaxon sounded. The fight had begun.

Vints ducked off down a side alley, staying out of sight of Soho and the arachnirig - it wouldn't hurt to have these two soften each other up before bringing some Jacker violence. Against the rumble of the crowd, he could hear his own breath - and another breath, nearby but out of sight. It was heavy and viscous - Vints pictured a snaking tongue drooling between needle teeth. Dunkel, the three-armed freak from the Skymother's Chosen, just round this here corner.

So much for letting his foes soften each other up. Do or die, figured the Orlock boss, revving up his chainsword and readying his bolt pistol - point blank shots were permitted before the second siren. Better to get the drop on the mutie than get dropped on. With an aggessive roar, Vints tore around the corner.

The aberrant reared back and raised its hammer as Vints appeared less than a metre away. But the Orlock had the drop - before the xenos hybrid could bring its weapon down, Vints had clipped it with a bolt shell and torn chunks out of its chitinous outer skin with the chainsword.

Dunkel went down and stayed down. The crowd went wild. Vints spied a nearby capper drone and flashed a sump-eating grin that was relayed to the arena screens. The crowd went wilder.

While this was happening, the second klaxon must have sounded. As he turned away from Dunkel's slumped form, he heard the hiss and crack of lasbolts and grenades being exchanged across the centre of the pit.

Seeking a better view to size up the situation, Vints ran to the scanty cover of a rockrete wall in the middle of the battlezone. He couldn't make out either of his remaining foes directly so he glanced at the pict screens overhead - it looked like both of them had taken a hit or two, but damage was hard to ascertain.

Glancing back down, he saw Soho edging forwards along a wall across the way. The Wasted fighter was intent on Jallk, and Vints realised he had a hell of a chance to take his fellow Orlock out. Gang before House and the rest - it was the Hi-Viz Jacker way.

Vints raised his bolt pistol and squeezed the trigger. Nothing - he was out of ammo. Across the central chamber, Soho had clocked this betrayal. The two Orlocks met each other's unforgiving stare for a second, and then Vints clocked that Soho was looking up and past him, over his shoulder.

It was Servo-Heeled Jallk, looming around the corner behind Vints.

Do or die again - why not? It had worked against Dunkel.

Vints whirled around, bringing his chainsword to bear on the outer plating of the servo-rig and aiming for any exposed wiring or braces. He landed a couple of tearing blows that brought forth showers of sparks, but was hit badly in return, Jallk's servo-claw lancing forward to slash through Vints's mesh armour.

If he was going to make it against this armed and armoured brute, Vints had to make the next few strikes count. He lashed out again, chainsword teeth screaming as they bit into the rig. Damage was done, but not enough - Jallk's servo claw lashed forward again and bit deep into Vints's abdomen.

Blood poured from Vints Courraine's mouth as he slumped foward, his bid for victory at an end.

+++++++++++

The Ba'King didn't stint on docs for those brave enough to fight, and the medicae attention Vints received was exemplary. His torn flesh and guts had been knitted back together, though he'd be in recovery a while yet.

They told Vints that, after he'd been taken out of action, the pit fight had ended pretty much as you'd have called it at the start - Servo-Heeled Jallk had won, though not as easily as you'd expect. The bout had ended with a bloodied Soho in desperate close combat with the critically-damaged rig. Had a single blow gone differently, it might have been a second win for the Wasted that night.

Considering the damage dealt during his own face-to-face confrontation with Jallk, Vints liked to think he'd helped to narrow the margin of victory. Either way, this trip to the Ba'King's battle-court a win in its own right. Since Vints and Dwice had thrown down in the pit, the Hi-Viz Jackers were enjoying newfound recognition in the Hacked Knee. And as any downhive ganger will attest, sometimes rep is as valuable an asset as creds.