The subtle scent of seawater permeated the air, mixing with the fading spicy smell of the slop served before noon at the canteen. The distant sound of waves lulling, one could think, all of creation into a blissful state of an afternoon daze. Though this peace was not meant to last for long, as the ship’s turbines whirred back to life.

“We are nearing the port. Prepare for touchdown!” crackled a low, deep voice through the loudspeakers.

Sounds of heavy boots hitting against metal reverberated through the vessel, echoing through its long corridors in a chaotic cacophony of sounds, as dozens of men clad in dirty maroon uniforms emerged with a groan from various nooks and crannies, and made their way to the upper deck. Mechanical servos in their limbs buzzed and screeched as they hurriedly grabbed wrenches, ropes and cables along the way.

From this mass of bodies, frantically moving to their designated positions, one particular man stood out. Though he also wore a shade of brown, his attire seemed different. A bit more tidy. A leather coat covered his body down to his knees, and from under it a thin white shirt peeked out by his neck. His long, grey pants were crumpled, but clean, not dissimilar to his thick, black strapped boots, tips of which were reinforced with scratched metal plates.

He did not seem to have the same sense of urgency as the rest of the crew, as he slowly made his way up the stairs, into the blinding sunlight. The smell of the sea finally hit him in full force, and as he gazed over the busy upper deck, he took a deep breath of fresh air.

The technicians were already lowering the grounder into the harbor’s socket to offload the excess charge buildup into the city’s grid – a sort of docking fee, widely accepted in most parts of the civilized world. The steel anchor attached by a thick metal cable dangled beneath the ship, slowly making its way downwards, but something felt off.

“Here comes the final stretch,” the coated man thought to himself, as a faint tingle ran down his spine, prompting him to grab the nearest railing in preparation for what’s to come. “Wrenches ready, everyone!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and the sailors, heeding his warning, rushed to four humongous canisters covered in tangles of pipes in each corner of the ship’s hull. Just then the vessel shook and rumbles, tilting a little to the side.

“We are going manual, boys!” boomed the voice in the loudspeakers once again and the sailors twisted some twenty valves in perfect sync, violently releasing four streams of pressurized air from the pipes, all pointing downwards.

“Looks stable enough. Good work everyone,” continued the disembodied voice in a rather jolly tone. “Work like that some more and who knows, maybe you’ll find some more rum in the stowage,” he laughed heartily and the crew followed suit. “The drinks are on me tonight, so look forward to them. Also, somebody bring a bucket of water to Eliziah, the poor sod. The journey must have sucked him dry.”

The coated man let go of his support, breathing a sigh of relief. It was hardly his first time experiencing an emergency tank release, but he could never really get used to it, each time being as nerve wracking as ever. He looked up and around as the horizon and the cloudy sky were slowly being engulfed by a maw of concrete and steel. Walls rose up from beneath the vessel as it descended through the harbor’s roof into the landing platform, much to the man’s disappointment.

As the commotion slowly died down and the ship touched down, one of the sailors moved past him, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the warning, Gerv. Good having you around,” a moment later another man came up, and then a couple more, all of them expressing their gratitude for his brief assistance, if it could even be called that. Their words felt nice, if a little undeserved, but he accepted them nonetheless, as he made his way towards the side of the ship to take a quick peek at the port.

But just as he’d laid his hands on the cold railing, he heard a familiar voice from behind, though this time less crackly and somehow even louder. “Now, now, boy. Keep your pants on for just a little longer,” he smacked him on the back lightly. “ I get your excitement, though.“

“Captain,” He replied, respectfully nodding his head, as he turned towards the source of the voice. There before him stood a burly old man in a blue sailor coat, loosely resting on his shoulders, from underneath which peeked out a grey cotton sweater. His sapphire eyes glimmering with energy of a youth long past , as he scratched his salt-and-pepper beard, looking a little dissatisfied with the lukewarm response.

“Why the cold treatment, Gervyl?” he asked, visibly upset, then pointed towards himself. “Sildor. Repeat after me. Sil-dor,” He joked a bit, smirking warmly. “To think out of the two of us, sclerosis would get to you first,” he shook his head.

“Captain Sildor, I congratulate you on another safe journey,” he smiled, a bit of mockery showing on his face, though his words were sincere. “This one was tougher than most.”

“I suppose it is that part of the year again. Can’t help one or two hullcrackers showing up around these parts, considering the coming storm. I bet they were on their way to Eshara, like most sane creatures, human or not, would be.”

“I suppose,” Gervyl exhaled.

“But don’t be so humble. If not for you, Luxvise would have been in a much worse state,” Sildor exclaimed, wrapping his robotic arm around Gervyl’s neck and pulling him closer with incredible ease.

“I merely bough some time, while the boys handled the beasts,” he denied the importance of his contribution towards keeping the ship safe.

“Would it hurt you to just enjoy the compliment?”

“Not as much as you are hurting me right now,” he tapped on the metal limb locking him in place, but quickly got impatient and reached for the captain’s hat, pulling it down over his eyes, freeing himself as the grip loosened.

“So why the long face?” Sildor asked, adjusting his hat.

“I wanted to take a look at the city from above, but got a little side-tracked. Get the lay of the land, the usual,” he combed his brown hair with his fingers. “Don’t suppose you could tell me much?”

“There isn’t much to say, really. It’s whorehouses built on bars, built on gambling dens. The island’s called the Capital of Sin for a reason. A black crown jewel of the Ornan Sea, you could say. As for the layout, there’s not much I remember. The whole thing’s built on an incline, that much is obvious. The golden rule that most people follow is that the higher up the slope you go, the more expensive things get… But you won’t regret going a little high, promise you that,” he nudged him with an elbow.

“I didn’t come here to diddle androids. I’m here to do a job,” He dismissed the suggestion with a sour expression.

“Oh, but there’s so much more in store than just sex bots. They have real ladies too, and not just human, if you know what I mean.”

“I would lie if I said that I do, but please, do NOT enlighten me,” he grumbled. “That aside, don’t you think you are a little too excited to be here?”

“You have no idea, boy. This place is ready and willing to gift you exactly two things: excitement and pain, and, when offered, you take both with a smile on your face. It starts out innocent enough. You go around, eat some street slop, wash it down with cheap beer, play some cards and all is well. Maybe you’ll visit some strip club, or win a bet at one of the pits, who knows? But then you take one wrong step and down one glass too many, you wrong the wrong guy, or maybe a whole group of them and it’s all downhill from there. They’ll beat you bloody, take your money, along with your pants and throw you in the gutter. Ah, memories,” he gleefully described what seemed to be a rather horrible day.

“Doesn’t sound like very good memories, though,” Understandably, Gervyl was put off by this little tale of old.

“They weren’t then, no… But they are now!”

“That’s just silly…” Gerv sighed, walking away from the railing. The crew just finished setting up a bridge across to the land.

“Hold up!” the captain stopped him midway, and just as Gervyl turned back, he threw him an apple he kept in his pocket. “So what’s this job of your about anyways?” he inquired. “And why here of all places?” he added before biting into a fruit of his own with a satisfying crunch.

“Beats me. Didn’t get many details about ‘what’ or ‘why.’ Maybe the guy wants to make some memories too,” he quipped back with a shrug. “The pay is promising, however, so I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I don’t at least check what’s going on here.” He explained, whipping out a small knife to peel the apple.

“Hey, the peel is the best part!” Sildor mumbled in disapproval, seeing the unwanted part of the fruit being thrown overboard. “Ah… So it’s probably dangerous?” he kept on prodding like a dotting parent struggling to let go.

“Most likely. After all they wouldn’t bait me with so much advance pay if that wasn’t the case,” he took out a small, but round moneybag tied with a neat little ribbon out of his pocket and threw it into Sildor’s hands.

The sailor caught it, if barely, and squeezed it a little in his other, fleshy arm. It was surprisingly light, even for a bag that was small enough to comfortably fit in the palm of a hand. He felt out the contents, as they quietly crunched beneath his fingers. The bag was practically bursting at the seams, filled with tiny granules.

“Pure titanium, all of it,” Gervyl explained indifferently, almost causing Sildor to choke from sheer shock.

“That’s a small fortune! Don’t just throw it around!” he extended his hand with the bag towards Gervyl, prompting him to take it back, but he instead pushed it away.

“Keep it.”

“I can’t! Are you out of your mind? Marine delirium got to you? A heat stroke?” the sailor protested.

“Consider it my own down payment for the return flight.”

“For three lifetime passes you mean. Why don’t you just buy this ship, crew and all, while you are at it?” it seemed like a huge joke to Sildor, a prank, a dream, but alas, he felt the weight of titanium in his hand and Gerv had no intention of taking it back. “Take it!” he vehemently objected.

“No,” the man flatly refused. “It’s safe in your hands. I can’t risk losing it to some wretched pickpocket, now can I? Besides, I’ve never really been good at keeping track of my things,” he raised a brow, looking at the old man expectantly, sinking his teeth into a neatly cut piece of the apple. That was it. He won.

Sildor grimaced, fighting a whole inner war inside his head. “ Fine!” he grumbled at last, rolling up the sleeve on his mechanical arm. The metallic limb hissed and cracked, revealing a small hidden compartment on the bicep, where he reluctantly stuffed the money. “But you are taking it back the moment we leave this island.”

Gervyl just smirked. “A whole month of shore leave. That should be enough time for you to change your mind.”

“The boys worked hard this past year. They deserve a vacation,” he crossed his arms, thanking fate for being able to meet all those wonderful bastards. “They are family.”

“That’s one big family you’ve got there,” he said mockingly, but in a friendly enough way.

Surely, calling some forty men family was a little outlandish, Gerv thought to himself, but then again, their loyalty was undisputable. They owed Sildor their lives and then some on top of that. Exiles, troublemakers and vagabonds, all of them united under one man. The captain’s charisma was truly out of this world.

“You are a part of it too, Gerv... So come back safe, why don’t you?” he laid a hand on Gervyl’s shoulder and patted him a bit, signaling that he’s free to go.

The younger man stood there awkwardly for a moment, wondering if and how he should even respond. He frankly didn’t want to say anything.

“I don’t like promises, so how about I just try my best?” he replied, turning towards the bridge.

“Aye, fair enough.” He gave Gerv a smile filled with indecipherable emotions, though the young man wasn’t looking anymore, instead briefly raising back a hand to wave his goodbye.

And so they parted ways, Sildor going back inside Luxvise and Gervyl stepping down into the streets of the corrupted metropolis.

The city was unlike anything Gervyl has ever seen in his ten years of life as a mercenary, or even his entire life in this world for that matter. Rusted architecture seemingly built from scrap and trash rose up from the ground high into the sky, blotting out the sky in the long, busy alleys filled to the brim like thronging hives.

Canopies of cables hanged above in an infinite black web stretched over the whole city. Like a thick membrane of rubber and metal it isolated the people below from the rest of the world. Because of this, the lower stratum of the city rarely saw the face of the sun, but where the sunlight didn’t reach, an abundance of neon signs illuminated the streets. Designed specifically to confuse and overwhelm, the glowing signboards lured in the unsuspecting and, more often than not, inebriated clientele to the innumerable whorehouses, like insects to the sweet nectar of a carnivorous plant.

Perhaps Gervyl would have been distracted by those too, if not for the unbearable stench that filled the entirety of Porriga. Festering gunk of unfathomable origins flowed through the sloped streets like a mountain river, spreading an indescribable fetor strong enough to possibly knock out a grown man. Amidst the unending masses of thrillseekers and troublemakers, Gervyl was the only one who seemed to mind, though, as most people he’d seen so far were far too busy enjoying their drinks and various pleasures of the flesh to really notice.

The few tales that Gerv had heard on his journeys failed to convey the true disgusting essence of this place. Then again, perhaps there just weren’t any words which could truly describe this filth. Nevertheless it was still a bustling and diverse city, which attracted hundreds of thousands of people from all around the world every year. Esharan traders mingled here with Kerran generals, discussing possible business contracts. Esteemed sailors arm wrestled against common brigands to the sound of exotic music, while animalistic mutants cheered, betting money with slave traders over who would win. All this in the ever-present company of eerily realistic androids dressed in skimpy, provocative outfits, who shrewdly served alcohol to anyone who asked, fueling the endless cycle of revelry and debauchery, inviting people for “a private night they would never forget…” For a price of course.

Though the robots had a certain queer charm to them, acting in ways almost indistinguishable from regular humans, even engaging customers in simple conversations, they too fell victim to the spreading corruption which, like acid, burned away much more than just the architecture. Their synthetic skin, cut and torn in some places quickly gave away their true nature, breaking the illusion. Metal bits stuck out at their joints, shining in the neon lights. Cables hanged out in the open along the tender limbs, like pulled out tendons. Doll-like eyes were cracked in places, like crushed balls of porcelain.

Weirdly enough, the androids seemed to try and hide those imperfections to the best of their abilities, though never stopping their wild ballet of lust and gluttony, dancing from person to person, from table to table. It was as if they were ashamed of those flaws, but unable to go against their programming.

For Gervyl it was those brief moments of humanity, when an automaton covered its missing eye with artificial hair, or pulled a sleeve over a broken arm that he felt weirdly uneasy. But he didn’t dwell on this feeling. They were all just machines after all, if a bit too realistic for his tastes.

This aversion towards the island’s most popular attraction turned out to be quite a boon for the mercenary, as refusing their services came to him quite easily, each flash of a silicone breast or a pearly white thigh being a reminder for him to look the other way. As for the alcohol, he never was much of a drinker. He enjoyed neither the taste of drinks, especially those forcefully served to him by Sildor at Luxvise’s bar, nor the distracting buzz in his head that, without fail, would always come after just a few pints of the nasty liquid.

That being said, his mind right now was thankfully very clear, unlike his objective. He was yet to meet face to face with the person seeking his help to discuss the details of the job, but the exact spot where the meeting with his would-be contractor was supposed to happen was never clearly described in the letter he received. Actually, the entirety of its contents were rather cryptic and very brief, only mentioning a possible high-paying job and a bar “marked by a heart, broken in half by a dagger” on Porriga.

Perhaps finding the place was some sort of a test, or maybe the man who sent the letter was just a little insane... But the money attached to the letter spoke to Gervyl stronger and more clearly than any words ever could. No ordinary man would just blindly send a small fortune to a person they had never met as a down payment for a job they could simply refuse. It was something more than a simple business proposal. It was an alluring invitation that stimulated not only Gervyl’s greed, but also his curiosity.

And so he pushed through the tides of sweaty bodies, looking around in search of the sign that fitted the description, filtering out the overabundance of trashy depictions of naked females in a wide variety of poses. To no avail, unfortunately. Hours passed and, though it was hard to notice, the sun was already starting to set. It was high time to find a place to stay for the night, which could be more troublesome than expected, depending on the type of “stay” one was looking for. But just as Gervyl was pondering his current problem, he realized a crucial fact. He left all of his money back on the ship in one way or another. He didn’t have even a single grain of copper on his person to pay for a room.

Luckily for him, he was pretty good at “finding” pocket change here and there, especially in crowded cities. Porriga might have her fair share of fearsome pickpockets, but the deft fingers of this man were nothing to scoff at either. Crowds to him were like piggybanks, and although initially he felt a little bad about the idea, he quickly changed his mind when he remembered that in just the past hour at least a dozen of passersby had an “accidental brush” with his, thankfully empty, pockets. Who knows how many he didn’t even notice?

He planned to act quickly, but not recklessly, scouting out just the right targets. Stumbling drunks were easy enough, but not the most profitable. On the other hand those whose satchels were a little heavier, be it due to a won bet or a big vacation fund, were easy to spot and even easier to steal from. They constantly, almost maniacally kept patting their pockets to check if the contents were still there. A dead giveaway and an easy mark. But Gervyl didn’t need, nor want that much at the moment, knowing full well that too big of a sum would return into “circulation” before long. Thus he settled for the middle ground, the unassuming and grey nobodies. He’d already decided on a target, a hooded figure in a rush with its head low, probably too distracted to keep track of its belongings. Things weren’t looking too difficult. All it took was a brief bump and a split second decision. The movements of Gerv’s hands were impeccable, swift and delicate, nigh undetectable. With a smooth slice of his knife even the string securing the bag to the man’s belt was no match for the thief. After the act was complete, the crowd provided adequate cover and even if his victim realized what just occurred, there would be virtually no chance for him to find the perpetrator as he made his exit.

The same crowd Gervyl used to blend in, however, quickly started becoming more and more chaotic as unease on the faces of people before him grew more apparent. He felt a force tugging at his shoulders, pulling him back, at first lightly, but in mere minutes is grew noticeably stronger, and soon it became difficult to even stand up straight. The mercenary soon found himself fighting for each step against the panicked crowd rushing past him. Was it divine retribution? “Bollocks!” He thought to himself pushing forwards, but before he realized what was truly going on, it was too late.

He felt a sudden chill when a prickly sensation ran up his leg and back, as a terrible screech rang out right next to his head. Something was holding onto his back and didn’t want to let go. Not until a single fist emerged from between two people, and struck Gervyl’s stomach, the sheer strength of the blow bending him in half. As if by magic, the surrounding throng of people dispersed with a cacophony of screams. The second strike was swift, a knee to the face, which sent the mercenary stumbling back a good meter or two.

“Found you, you thieving rat,” a booming voice bellowed, the echo of which reverberated in Gerv’s ringing ears. “Holfee, fetch!” The assailant commanded and whatever was stuck to the mercenary’s back moved towards his waist, rummaging through his pockets. At last it found what it was looking for and jumped off. It was the satchel he just nabbed.

Gervyl was completely stunned on his knees and gasping for air, barely holding in a barf. Whoever just struck him, did so with brutal precision, exactly where it would hurt the most. Who was it? Just who? Was it the person he robbed? No, he was going in the completely opposite direction. The guards? Were there even any guards in this city? Gerv’s mind was going blank from the trauma, his senses dulled by pain. The only thing he could hear was a faint murmur which quickly transformed into a roaring storm of hushed voices. It was the crowd standing in a large circle around him. They were whispering something.

“Yadar… Yadar… Yadar…” was all Gervyl could make out though. Was it the man’s name? It didn’t matter.

“You chose the wrong person, wretch. Nobody steals from me. Nobody even DARES to think of robbing me!” he growled like an angered beast, pulling Gervyl up by the collar with incredible ease. “And if even one comes up, I’ll make sure to reduce this number back to zero.”

Did Gerv really make a fatal miscalculation? Impossible. He robbed a thin and meager man. Somebody who could never muster up so much overwhelming strength. So how? But his doubts would soon be answered with a single look at his opponent’s face as he pulled Gerv closer.

What he saw was not a man at all, but a terrible abomination with thick brown fur all over its face. Emerald horns protruded from his forehead and bent back around close to his skull. He had a stubby snout for a face twisted into a terrible grimace full of dull yellow teeth. An eyepatch covered his left eye, while his right pitch black eye burned with fury fivefold stronger than Gervyl thought possible. He was a mutant, and a hideous one at that. And even though he was short and stout, probably a head shorter than Gerv, his burly arms looked like they could break a man in half.

“I took it off some fool down the street, not you,” Gervyl whimpered, stalling for time, waiting for the ringing in his head to stop.

“Ha! I don’t give a damn. After I’m finished with you, I’ll kill the other bastard too. After all, I alone am the justice of this godforsaken city. Judge, jury and executioner, and unfortunately for you, that last one’s my favorite job,” He grinned, throwing Gerv onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

He whistled, beckoning his pet, almost as ugly as himself, to come closer. The thing was a biped, small, round and hairless, looking almost like a severed head with no eyes and a giant maw with a long fleshy tongue hanging out, attached to two pairs of limbs. Weirdly enough it walked, or rather jumped on its muscular arms growing out of side of its head, grabbing things with its small, underdeveloped legs that hanged just underneath its chin.

The thing obediently leaped onto Yadar’s shoulder and with a terrible smile filled with a million tiny white needles gave him the stolen goods. The mutant scoffed at Gervyl and undid the knot on the bag with his teeth, revealing something astonishing. Yellow-orange gems, vibrant and brimming with energy now laid in the executioner’s hand, in such a way that only the two men could see them, as the mutant looked upon them with satisfaction, before quickly storing them in his belt.

A terrible chill ran down Gervyl’s spine. He knew exactly what those things were. “Ambers.” He muttered to himself in disbelief.

“Spot on, bucko,” he cackled, slowly reaching for a handle sticking out from behind his back. “Top quality goods.”

In a rush of adrenaline Gervyl pounced forwards with a knife in his hands, aiming for the guy’s throat. He’d dealt with his kind in the past. Murderers of the worst sort, crazy in the head and too strong for their own good. He knew that if he didn’t defend himself, he’d surely end up dead. It was him or the mutant, right here and now.

A glint of surprise shone in Yadar’s eye, but fear seemed alien to him. Without a flinch or even the faintest shred of doubt he grabbed the steel blade with his bare hand, millimeters away from his artery and squeezed. In an instant, the weapon shattered into pieces, and without fail, the abomination followed through with a headbutt. Gervyl fell to his knee again, propping himself up with his hands, submerging them deep into the vile gunk.

“Enough struggling, I will put you out of your misery,” with a click his weapon of execution was set free from its harness. An enormous mace with a giant round, studded head appeared in the madman’s hands. Without losing a second, he raised it above his head and swung, the steel ball whooshing through the air at unbelievable speeds. The end seemed inevitable… But!

A flash of blinding light, a crack of deafening thunder and a fearsome whirr of flying metal filled the alley, as the tip of the weapon was suddenly severed from its handle and sent flying at breakneck speed into the nearest building. Like a cannonball it flew over the onlookers’ heads and struck the nearest building, penetrating it like a sheet of paper. Its walls shook, sending a devastating shockwave throughout the whole street, ripping various hanging cables and shattering dirty windows, bathing the whole alley along with its terrified, screaming audience in a hail of glass shards and deadly sparks. The struck building collapsed like a house of cards, raising a thick curtain of dust into the air.

Yadar was pushed back by the mysterious force which bisected his weapon, barely stopping his fall by sticking the handle he still tightly gripped with his hands into the ground. Like an animal, he quickly turned back towards his would-be victim with a blood curdling roar filled with rage. But just as his single eye caught a glimpse of Gervyl, a putrid ball of filth struck him right in the face, blinding him briefly.

Gerv then struck him in the head with the butt of his knife, forcing his opponent to swing widely in retaliation, which made him lose his balance. The blow was weak and inaccurate, barely able to tear the mutant’s brow, drawing some blood, but it fulfilled its purpose. Buying time.

Before the executioner could clear his eye, Gerv had already made a dash towards the safety of the dust cloud. With the mud gone Yadar felt his blood boil as the faint silhouette of his prey faded right before him. In a last ditch effort to complete his feral hunt, he rushed forwards, twisting his whole body like a spring and sending the handle of his weapon whizzing towards the smokescreen like an impromptu javelin. It sank into the cloud like a hot knife through butter, but with another faint flash and a boom, was sent back thrice as fast, missing Yadar’s head by a hair’s breadth. Or so it seemed for a moment, before a flap of flesh on his cheek slid off his face, exposing his teeth, gushing, painting the rotting mud red with his blood.

The mutant stood there for a moment in complete disbelief, before suddenly letting out yet another roar. “You are dead meat, you hear?! I will feed you to hloaferas and rip out that Amber of yours with bits of brains still hanging from it!” he thrashed around in a tantrum. “You better remember my face, because I sure as hell remembered yours, you hear?! You will rue the day…” he kept yelling obscenities, but Gervyl was long gone, unable to hear him.