His family was missing, and he owed a debt to a strung-out vet. Connor’s return home had not been the joyful occasion he had dreamed of while trapped in a Kemprex laboratory. Now that he was free, and had nowhere else to go, helping Allan seemed like a good idea. It was also an excuse to dry-run his assault on Kemprex, and to build his body into a weapon he required raw material. To get the material, he needed to sell the few possessions he had. Hence, he found himself in a shady pawnshop, emptying his pockets.

“How clean are these?”

“Well they’re not dirty or anything…” replied Connor, looking over his shoulder at the sound of ringing metal. It was only Allan bumping into a display rack of necklaces. Connor turned back to the pawnshop owner with the most pleasant smile he could muster. “So… do we have a deal?”

The owner, a woman with vibrant pink hair and facial tattoos, frowned back at him, her patience seemingly taxed as soon as the conversation started. The glare of the LED lights made her skin look thin and every wrinkle popped with definition. “Are they stolen?” she said speaking into the mouthpiece on the safety glass screen as if Connor were stupid.

“I found them,” he lied, recalling the dying Pro whose pockets he had liberated.

“Known value?”

Connor shook his head.

The woman rolled her eyes and moved the credit chits to the side. She picked up the phone. “This is worth twenty bucks, tops.”

“That’s a four hundred dollar phone!” protested Connor.

“A four hundred dollar phone which needs scrubbing. Twenty is fair for the amount of work I need to do to sell it.”

Connor looked to Allan. The vet nodded and continued his browsing. “Ok. What about the piece?”

She hefted the cannon with both hands, an almost reverential act. “M.R.I authentic. Fourteen round clip. Lots of people want these in their collection… people who don’t shop in this part of town, though. I’ll give you five spot for the gun.”

Connor sighed. “How much is that total?”

“Five twenty and half of whatever is on those chits,” replied the owner firmly.

“Half!?”

“Yes, half. I’ve got to scrub them clean too. A jockey can trace that shit. That’s heat I don’t want.”

“Fine. Half of what’s on the chits,” said Connor rubbing at his jaw.

The pawnshop owner stood and placed the .50 on the display rack behind her. Dozens of small arms sat on the wire racks, a veritable cache of firepower tantalisingly out of reach behind the bulletproof glass. The owner disappeared out the back with the chits, her long all-weather coat crinkling as she walked.

Connor walked over to Allan who pawed through a collection of musical instruments, tapping the wooden casings and plucking strings at random. “Let’s assume we walk out of here with a grand, total. That doesn’t buy you out, but it does give me enough money to build my suit. Will you be cool with that?”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about. This talk of weapons and suits and shit… I thought you wanted to pay off my debt,” replied Allan, picking up a ukulele and strumming several notes.

“That’s all the gear I have. I can’t conjure any more up. And I told you, I’m trying to build a suit that can protect me.”

Allan nodded slowly; his eyes distant in thought. “You could find some more… Streets are full of ‘em.”

“Find what? More guns to sell? You want me to just stroll around, beating people up until I find enough loot to settle your debts? I’m not a fucking bully,” said Connor.

“I know plenty of thugs that could do with a little bullying…”

“You want me to beat up gangsters to clear your debts? That could buy us a whole lot more trouble.”

Allan shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with the questioning. “Sorry… I’m a little on edge is all. I’m not thinking straight.”

Connor shook his head and moved away before he broke something he’d have to pay for.

“What if you offered to do a job for them? Something they can’t do by themselves?” said Allan loudly. “Do your wormy arm thing again.”

“That’s an option. But would they take it?” hissed Connor, motioning for the vet to speak softly. “You can get basic care for free from any military hospital. What could I offer them?”

“Thugs and gangsters might have a warrant for their arrest. May not want to venture into the Man’s clinic.”

Connor looked at the floor as the pre-emptive feeling of defeat radiated through him. “We could try. Short of turning tricks or gunrunning, I don’t know how else to get you money. Will they just give you up?”

“Depends on their mood. Ask a man after he’s had his dick sucked and he might give you the world…” said Allan sagely.

The pawnshop woman coughed loudly to signal her return. She gave Connor an oily, snake-ish grin as if to apologise in advance. “I’ll give you a maximum of three hundred for the chits. Deal?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. He was sceptical about the credit value on the chits, but he wasn’t going to waste all day trying to get a better deal. He needed four thousand to clear Allan’s debt. A couple extra hundred wasn’t going to cut it. It looked like he was doing things the hard way. It was time to build the suit.

“I can buy a lot of meat for eight hundred bucks…”

“I don’t give a fuck what you blow it on. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure…”

Allan and Connor left the pawnshop, eight hundred dollars richer and their pockets lighter. Rain drizzled down from an inky grey sky. The road was filled with shallow puddles, the water unable to flow away through the blocked drains. Despite the rain, the sidewalk was crowded with people, heads down and eyes averted as they commuted to and from work. Bright yellow gyros buzzed through the air, disrupting the falling rain, their flashing lights mixing with the LED signage which illuminated the city at all hours of the day and night, counterpoint to the drab grey clouds and buildings. Connor threw up the hood of the borrowed raincoat and looked up and down the sidewalk.

“What next?” asked Allan, letting the rain wash over him.

“Where can I find the cheapest butcher?”

“You’re really going to spend all of that money on meat?” asked the vet with a hint of jealousy.

Connor shook his head. “Not if I can help it. I need as much bone and meat that I can get my hands on. There’s something that I want to try before I go to the Lions.”

The veteran took off, motioning for Connor to follow. “There’s a shop downtown. They sell the bones to make soup with. A buck will get you a small bag of them.”

“Alright.”

They walked together, dodging pedestrians and the congested road traffic at crossings. “You sure you want to do this?” asked Allan after several hundred metres of silence.

“What? Buy meat?”

He shook his head. “No. Help me and my stupid debt.”

Connor breathed deeply, thinking. “I… I can’t keep running from problem to problem without doing something tangible. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve got people hurt… killed even. I don’t want to be that person. I want to be better. I want to help people. I’m back here,” he said, indicating Boise with a sweep of his arm. “I’m back where it all began. Who better to pay back than the first person who helped me?”

“You might hurt more people by helping. Consider that yet?” said Allan.

Connor nodded his head. “I’ll draw a line somewhere.”

Allan poked Connor in the chest and leaned in close enough he could smell the old man’s rancid breath. “These men are criminals, you understand? Gangsters. They’ve only gotten worse since I first got mixed up with them. They’ll use you up and throw you away. You mean nothing to them.”

“I’m not scared,” replied Connor, meeting Allan’s piercing gaze.

“I know that, Boy. But what if they get you to do something horrible? Something totally reprehensible! Will you go through with it?”

Connor looked away. “Well… I won’t kill any innocent people…”

“Who determines who is innocent? Are you the fucking judge?” asked Allan with a note ofanger. “You’ve got this mighty, god-like conviction that you are right. That everything you do is righteous or something. People like that gravitate to power. Espouse their fucking opinion to everyone, whether they want it or not. Make their opinions law when they can… What makes you any more right than every other asshole out there?” he said, pointing to the world.

“You want my help or not?” snapped Connor.

“Do whatever makes you sleep at night,” returned Allan. “I know I can’t.”

“Is this about Bill?”

“Fuck you!” shouted Allan. He strode ahead, thunderous face meeting the falling rain without flinching.

“…strung-out bloody kook…” sighed Connor, kicking a pebble onto the road and following behind.

They walked another block, passing European and African style cafes, cyber-dives and massage parlours. Coffee, spice, and cheap perfume rode heavy on the air, masking the wet stench of the city. Kids stood in what shelter they could find, playing hooky from school or the factories, vape in hand as they blew fruit scented clouds at passers-by. They watched Connor with interest, a kid their age hanging with a homeless vet and dressed in hand-me-downs wasn't exactly common.

“Shall we?” asked one.

“Nah. He’s got nothing.”

Connor adjusted his hood and walked faster to keep up with Allan.

Allan stood outside of a blue painted shop. A red glowing sign read ‘Halal Meats’.

“Here it is,” said the vet indicating the door.

He was hit with the stench of meat and cleaning products as he opened the door. A young boy sat behind the sparse display counter, a hair net covering his head, a handheld game in his hands, the bleeps and bloops of the game the only noise in the silent shop.

The boy looked up as Connor walked in and stood to serve. “Can I help?”

Connor leant against the cabinet, briefly looking at the steak and other high value meats he could never afford to eat. Did they even sell the synthetic stuff in a shop like this? “Yeah. Can I grab some like… big bones and whatever cheap meat or offal you have, please?”

The boy pursed his lips as he took in Connor’s appearance. “You have money? This isn’t a charity.”

Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp plastic note. “There’s more too.”

“How much do you want exactly?”

“As much as we can carry,” said Connor, pointing at Allan with a thumb. “Doesn’t matter if it isn’t the freshest.”

“Kay,” said the boy, disappearing out the back. “Give me a sec. You feeding everyone in the slums or something?!” he shouted as he went into a cool-room.

“Yes! Food!” replied Connor.

“How much of this crap do you need?” asked Allan from the doorway. “Surely not eight hundred bucks worth? That could feed me for weeks. Or get me high for days.”

Connor shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. I’ve got to grow a body and weapons capable of war. It’s new territory for me.”

“War? You’re going to war for me?” asked Allan incredulously.

“You? No. This is for me. It may prove useful to test it on the Lions first.”