Sci-Fi – Space Western – 30-35 Minute Read

Despite the fusty smell, Jonny Velvet’s Blue Moon and Neon Jazz Emporium was one of the only sure places you could find Gus when he was on Here Nor There. The off-the-record space station wasn’t exactly a vacation destination, nor a place one could expect to find any reputable sort of person. So, Gus figured he might as well embrace it and go to the dingiest dive bar in the sector when he was there. And really, no other bar nailed the sad, grimey, grandma’s basement aesthetic like Johnny Velvet’s with its tattered couches, four leaf clovers, and wood paneling.

The dim red light above the bathroom door switched to a dull green, and Gus nearly got off his stool to go, but for the fifth time, someone beat him to it. He’d had to pee for at least fifteen minutes, but the single-stall bathroom had been on a constant rotation of occupants since he realized he needed to go. 

It wasn’t an emergency by any means; he could wait a few minutes. It’s not like he had anywhere to be, anyhow.

He really did love this bar. It made him feel lonely and sad in just the right ways.

Johnny Velvet’s was a nice spot despite how much grime you can wipe from the counter and how likely you are to get stabbed just a block away. Well, maybe nice wasn’t the right word, but if nothing else, the nice thing was that even though it was a bar at the Here Nor There, the chances of violence were about as close to zero as one could get.

Gus suspected it was probably because of the music. Who’s looking for a fight in a place with a round-the-clock saxophone singing about your sorrows, speaking to you in a way that no words can? 

Well, it wasn’t always a saxophone; they played all sorts of stuff here. Tonight just so happened to be a quintet with a soft sax as the frontman. The point was that someone was always playing something, and it was typically melancholy.

Gus knew a bunch of the people here, but for the most part, everyone tended to keep to themselves. The music was at a nice volume, where it gave everyone the excuse to not talk to each other, but it was quiet enough to where you could have a conversation if you wanted. But people don’t go to Johnny Velvet’s Blue Moon and Neon Jazz Emporium for the conversation. People come for the music…and the cheap drinks.

The bathroom light switched to green again, and Gus stood to go but was stopped by a notification that flashed in the corner of his vision— a message from Weaver. Gus opened it and saw a picture designed to look like some old-timey cowboy WANTED poster of a guy with long hair and a crescent tattoo under his left eye. The tattoo was probably covering a scar from a cyberoptic replacement.

Weaver said something below the picture, but Gus was trying to relax for a few minutes, so he didn’t bother reading whatever she said. He closed out of the view and started toward the toilet again, but in the time he’d hesitated, the light above the bathroom was red again. Occupied.

There’s less than thirty of us in this bar; how do we all have to piss at the same time?

He thought about opening the message from Weaver and looking closer but decided he’d rather leave it for later. He didn’t take time to himself too often, and though he kind of hated the bounty-hunting gigs, he was fine with whatever job Deets and Weaver found. It had been a few weeks since their last gig, so funds were getting a little stretched. Gus would be fine with whatever, but whatever can wait a few minutes while he pisses and listens to another song or two. And even if this gig passed them by, he wouldn’t exactly stay awake if missing the headache of a bounty hunt.

So Gus closed his eyes for three seconds, which put his E.Y.E.S. in rest mode. The crew could still get ahold of him if they were persistent enough, but that was pretty unlikely. Deets hardly messaged even under the most dire circumstances, and if Gus ignored Weaver once, she tended to take it personally and stopped messaging.

Gus knocked back his drink and waved for another, which he realized would only make him pee more, but at this point, he was almost willing to stand at the door and wait if he needed to.

Though the barkeeper had been leaning against the bar with his eyes closed, he poured and slid Gus a drink without looking up. 

Well, he didn’t look until the drink got to Gus’s hands. Then he peeked open his eyes to see if he’d made it.

“You’re getting better at it.” Gus raised his glass.

“You’re giving me enough practice this week.”

Gus smirked, then spun in his stool, glanced at the still-occupied bathroom, then continued swiveling so he could see the band.

The keys had a classic Rhodes sound that made a nice warm covering layer under everything. The bass and guitar moved in sync while dancing around each other but didn’t do anything too distracting. The drummer used those sticks that were more like brushes, which created a more muffled shuffling sound. 

And that sax — that sax just wept. 

All of those worked together so that when Gus closed his eyes he imagined himself floating through space. Not in a catastrophic, terrifying way where there was no saving him, but in a deeply relaxing way. Almost like he would have no way of knowing what freedom was until he listened to this song while free-floating between stars.

Gus opened his eyes and glanced around the room. Here Nor There had a certain reputation. The people who visited the station and, even more so, the people who lived here were of the disreputable sorts. 

This made the rumors about the people here revolve around how tough everyone was. The reputation is that everyone here is that guy who smokes in the corner, and with one wrong word, bam, he’ll knock your teeth out. If you asked the average person across the galaxy to describe the people here they’d probably say something about tattoos and drinking and smoking and muscles and weapons — which of course means that everyone here’s real tough and scary.

But that was just the reputation. Really, most of the guys looked like guys. Just dudes, both men, and women, even a few aliens, just wearing regular clothes, hanging out. They did their chores, went to Odd Job for an odd job or two, and came to lose themselves for a few minutes at places like Johnny Velvet’s.

Yes, there were a few rough-looking ones of the bunch. And yes, they were people you were better off not picking a fight with, but even the scary-looking ones also tended to be relatively normal dudes who just liked to wear sleeveless shirts to show off their muscles and tattoos. 

Like Grim Jim over there in the corner- he’s guaranteed to be one of the top three scariest-looking guys in any room he’s in. The sleeveless shirt, bulging muscles, bald head, scowling expression, tattoos, the big knife strapped to his chest, and the scar across his face that was from a fight he got into with a werewolf— it was almost cliche how much he matched the description of a generic thug.

But Jim– he lost his partner a few months back, and since then, day and night, he’s just sat in the corner, switching between staring into the void and weeping along with the sax.

People are just people most of the time. Most of the guys around here were like Gus— never settling down into a ‘normal career.’ They all were caught in gig culture, jumping from job to job, just trying to make ends meet.

It was great because they had some of the benefits of coworkers without most of the drawbacks. They’d made a little community chat where they all looked out for each other, tossed out jobs they couldn’t take, or did white elephant gifts around the holidays — things like that. So when a situation like Grim Jim’s came up, they did what they could to help the guy out.

The song ended, and the crowd showed their appreciation with some gentle clapping. In the space between songs, Gus heard the recycling door open behind him. The barkeeper was considerate enough to wait till the song was over. It would have thrown the whole vibe off if, mid-song, they heard the hiss and slam of the recycler.

As far as Gus knew, Here Nor There had the last incredibly effective but dangerously outdated recycling system in the galaxy. It was the old system that was the size of a closet. Every restaurant had one, and all the public spaces outside the apartments had one to share. There were even a few spread throughout the station.

It’s pretty simple. All you do is throw your trash, or really anything, in there, hit the big red button on the outside, and after a two-second delay, the doors would slam shut, and a puff of some kind of chemical would blast and immediately begin to decompose whatever was in there. It only took a few minutes at most for the chemical to bring the trash back to its base elements and send it down to the recycling system. The base elements would sorted and stored, then be used later to make…well, whatever you want as long as it’s composed of those elements.

It was actually pretty incredible. The new recycling systems were essentially the same but with way smaller entry ports. It turns out that when you can decompose anything in a matter of seconds, and your entry port is the size of a small room, a lot of people start mysteriously going missing. So, they banned the old model.

But Here Nor There doesn’t care much about laws or bans most of the time so when the ban went into effect they made a big deal about keeping the old system. Gus suspected that the real reason they kept it was that it would be incredibly expensive to replace, and while they saved loads of money, they could make the people here feel extra ‘damn the man’ by keeping it.

It didn’t matter much to Gus what system they used. It was pretty fascinating to watch though, and you could see in there way better with this old recycling system than the small new one. It all just happened so fast. The button was pressed, the chemical puffed, and the stuff started decomposing faster than he could put what was happening to words.

Another notification popped up in Gus’s field of view, overriding sleep mode. It was Deets.

Now, Deets never calls, so Gus sighed and figured he needed to at least check it. He long blinked again to open the messages and saw six missed calls between Deets and Weaver. I’ll give ’em a call after I pee.

The bathroom light was green, so he should go now, but the song was so good. Gus ignored the growing pressure in his stomach, closed his eyes, and went back to floating in the cosmic space waves.He’d finish the song, go pee, even wait in line if he had to, then he’d call Deets.

He was trying to enjoy the song, but the pang in his stomach demanded his attention. The light above was still that subtle green, and thankfully, no one was moving towards it, so thank god he could finally go; the pressure was distracting him from really floating in the waves. 

Just as he stood, the swinging doors slammed open, and a rowdy group of people he didn’t recognize burst in. Here Nor There was a big station and he didn’t live there so he didn’t know all the regulars, but even with knowing only a handful of people, it’s easy to tell when someone is new around Jonny Velvet’s Blue Moon and Neon Jazz Emporium— they have no respect for the vibes.

Ten guys walked in decked out in leather, long coats, sunglasses, and smug looks. They stood at the entrance posing for at least five seconds before they strutted to the bar. Honestly, it was the sunglasses that pushed it over and made it all too much. Sure, you’re wearing a coat that you liked when you saw some old cowboy wear it on the REELS, and you don’t want to carry it around, so you wear it; it’s reasonable. 

And leather is leather; who has a problem with leather? The whole outfit being leather was a bit much for Gus personally, but to each their own.

But the sunglasses? E.Y.E.S. have a dimming feature that acts like sunglasses, but there wasn’t even a sun viewable from the space station, so it was doubly obnoxious.

Now, some people got eye implants and preferred to hide them, but these guys were too showy; they didn’t seem like the type to be bashful or hide anything. 

Gus’s dad always said not to judge books by their covers and people by your first impression… But even his dad would have admitted that these guys were definitely tools. 

“A round for me and the boys!” The frontman yelled.

He literally yelled.

As if he had just entered a festival with blaring music, not a grimy basement playing smooth jazz. His compadres looked around the room and stood with their hands on their hips and their feet strangely far apart. Like really far apart.

Read the room! People are lounging on mismatched worn-out couches around here, for fuck’s sake! Gus wanted to yell at them, and judging by the look of literally everyone in the bar, they wanted to do worse, but he doubted any of them would. 

Why pick a fight? Especially when the guy has nine buddies with him, and you aren’t getting paid for it. Besides, Gus’d seen too many people get into a fight, and a freak accident happened, and someone ended up dead. Just wasn’t worth it.

Another call from Weaver came in, but Gus looked at the ignore icon; he was now wrapped up in whatever was happening with these guys.

He glanced at the still green light and considered going pee quick but didn’t know what this was about to turn into.

The bartender tonight wasn’t the owner and looked totally caught off guard. But so far, they hadn’t done anything besides break decorum, so the bartender just poured each of ’em a shot with a glare and pursed lips.

“Sheeit! What’s up with this place? Y’all lookin like yer bout to cry yourself to sleep listenin to this music!” The frontman said. His hair was shoulder length, and he wore a big wide-brimmed hat. His accent was dramatically…odd. He turned to his compadres. “Looks like whatchu boys said was right! The boys here at Johnny’s Blue House got pissy attitudes. Makes sense comin from a buncha job mercs who aint got the nuts to actually stick to anything. Aint even good nuff to get into any guild or group, just pissin their life away and listen to sad music to feel sorry for themselves.”

It’s like he walked in here to pick a fuckin fight.

Gus’s pee was urging him to get antsy, to start bopping his knee, to dance a little, but he didn’t want to start anything with this guy and definitely didn’t want this guy to think he was feeling any sort of nervous way. So Gus took a breath.

It was a doubly beneficial breath cause Gus was twice pissed. He had to pee so bad and he was getting pretty bothered by this guy. 

But, luckily Gus was still sober enough to bite his tongue and keep his mouth shut.

“Man, I was wondering why you all were standing with your feet so wide apart,” Gus said. “We got some real huge balls on these guys.” He said sacarastically.

Well, maybe not quite that sober.

The man walked up to Gus with a big dumb smile on his face. It was when he got close that Gus noticed the man’s sunglasses were covering a small tattoo under his eye. But he was a little too intoxicated to remember where he knew that tattoo from.

“You wanna see why we stand so wide legged? I’ll whip it out if you want. Maybe I’ll just bend yuh over and show yuh. Bet you’d like that.”

“WOW…” Gus paused. “Well… That. has. GOT to be the gayest thing that I’ve ever heard someone say while trying to sound tough.”

The guys smile turned into a bit of a snarl and his face turned a shade more red.

The tension eased a little as the rest of the room laughed. No part of him wanted to be the center of starting something with these guys…but once Gus got goin, it was hard for him to stop, especially after a few drinks. That giddy feeling of making people laugh always made him do stupid shit, but when doing stupid shit is not only making people laugh, it’s making fun of a dick head — well, it just doesn’t get better.

Gus looked the frontman up and down, then leaned to the side, looking past the frontman and at the rest of his posse. “I didn’t realize Here Nor There had a leather convention happening. Oh, don’t make that face; I’m not kink-shaming; I’m just disappointed I didn’t know about it! You and your compadres look like you’re ready for a real good time!” 

The group of men looked like they had just bit into a lemon, but the rest of the room laughed so hard, which, of course, made Gus feel giddy.

Gus turned and watched his reflection in the mirror across the bar, acting like he wasn’t looking at the guy but really was just goading him to take a swing if he was gonna do it. And right on cue, like it was fucking scripted, the dude punched at him. 

Gus shifted the punch to the side just as the saxman ripped a crazy riff, which cued the band to join in with something way more fun than they were used to at Johnny Velvet’s. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and it couldn’t have been planned if they’d tried— but maybe that’s just the benefit of jazz.

If nothing else, Jonny Velvet’s was nice in that even though it was a bar on the Here Nor There, the chances of violence were about as close to zero as one could get…but never quite zero.

They were on a lawless space station in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of people who had no life and no reason to live; of course, this kind of thing happened every once in a while.

And the band was feelin it, which, of course, made Gus feel it.

Still seated at the bar, Gus kicked one of the compadre’s square in the chest, which was actually pretty painful because anytime he bent or straightened, it reminded Gus how bad he had to pee. He looked at his drink, and the thought of knocking it back, but that just made him want to pee more, so he just stood up, which didn’t help either; just made him feel like he was about to explode.

A semi-translucent WARNING blocked his vision just enough so he didn’t see what hit him across the face.

“Well shit,” Gus mumbled as his stool tipped and he crashed to the ground.

After standing, he didn’t need the WARNING to tell him he’d had way more to drink than he’d realized. He wasn’t drunk and was mostly cognitively there, it was just that everything was just a little more fuzzy than he’d realized.

Was he sober enough to pilot anything off the station right now? Doubtful. 

But was he sober enough for a fight? Absolutely.

Gus scrambled to his feet and stepped on the foot of the person in front of him, pushed and sent the guy sprawling. A second guy came up punched him straight in the face, which was a way better than a pucnh to the stomach right now.

Gus caught himself on the bar counter.

Well, he was probably sober enough for a fight. That punch knocked the realization into his mind that a problem with alcohol was that it made everyone way too confident that they could actually win whatever fight they got in.

But that was other people. He was probably sober enough for it. In fact, he’s seen those REELS where the alcohol actually helps the guy in the fight. He suspected this was one of those situations.

Someone or something bumped into him from behind, pressing his stomach against the bartop. He was a little more numb to his surroundings than he’d realized and a little less numb to the pain in his bladder than he wished. 

Gus turned around; whoever ran into him was gone, so he squared up with one of the other compadres. He wasn’t in the mood to dance around it, so he dropped down, grabbed the guy’s ankle, and shoved his shoulder, sending him back. He preferred to redirect and throw in these kinds of situations. He didn’t want to accidentally kill someone and get a vengeance bounty on his head or anything like that. 

Gus looked around the chaos of the room. Tables had flipped, and Grim Jim was relentlessly beating the shit out of some guy — Someone should probably pull him off. Though Jim had a soft spot, he had his Grim name for a reason and was known to get a little carried away from time to time.

But looking around the room, Gus was struck by how odd all this was. Usually, the adrenaline had hit by now. Where his knee should be bouncing even when he’s standing. He should have felt extremely nervous, near the point of puking, but that usually tended to happen before the fight, he had supposed.

Everything besides his desperate need to piss was numb.

Even though the music was great and really added to the energy of the moment, it sounded far off and almost muffled.

Then, he saw the green light cutting through the room. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He watched the violent chaotic scene play out in front of him, but really, he was just looking for a clear path to that green-lit bathroom. Unfortunately, there was just no clear path between here and there. The thought of just pissing on the floor flashed in his mind, and he actually considered doing it for a second, but decided against it.

Some dude ran up and tried to kick Gus straight in the chest, but Gus just grabbed his heel and lifted, sending the man to his back.

If that kick landed, I would have pissed my pants. He knew it was true, so he started towards the bathroom.

It was right then, right as the path to the toilet came open, that the first guy, the frontman who wanted so badly to seem tough, stepped into Gus’s field of view. Only now, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses. So Gus got a real good look at his face and remembered why that tattoo under his eye looked so familiar. 

That’s the bounty Weaver sent! 

Gus pulled up the chat with Weaver and glanced at the WANTED poster. 

Dickie Hartfelt– blah blah blah, terrorist– blah blah blah — HOLY SHIT! 5,000,000 daos? 

Gus couldn’t believe his luck— and he doubted anyone else here had noticed, or there would have been more infighting among them. They were buddies and helped each other where they could and sent white elephant gifts and all that, but at the end of the day, the bounty is the bounty, and … well, the one to bring the bounty in gets the reward.

Then that bounty, Gus’s bounty, Dickie, that fuckin idiot, stood on the table and whipped out a quantum disruptor — a fucking quantum disruptor. 

There are things that are illegal that are fairly universally accepted and widely used despite their illegal status–especially on this station. Then there’s a quantum disruptor, something that has been banned to the point where Gus thought the technology had died– something that even on Here Nor There, a place that prides itself on its conveniently located body disposals in every restaurant and around every corner, wouldn’t allow.

A quantum disruptor is a gun that disrupts the atomic bonds of whatever matter it hits. The stories say that, given enough time to store energy, it can sink spaceships and blow holes in space stations large enough to wipe it out. Didn’t matter much where he shot the gun; it would surely kill everyone in the room and potentially everyone on the station. 

There’s illegal, and then there’s a quantum disruptor.

The whole room froze, and the music came to an abrupt halt. Grim Jim stood holding a new limp compadre by the front of his leather jacket with his fist raised, ready to strike again, but he didn’t. You stop everything when some psycho whips out a quantum disruptor. 

Gus has met some good friends, not exactly trustworthy people, but reliable, competent people, and their meeting started with a fight like this. For a split second, he’d wondered if this guy would end up one of those new buddies he had spread throughout the galaxy. 

But not if you’re carrying a quantum fucking disruptor.

Well, that’s good anyway cause when a bounty went out on a friend, it got extra complicated. So, as long as no one else notices, he may still be able to get a payday from this anyway.

Dickie stood on the table with the gun sweeping the room.

“CLEARLY, NONE OF YOU KNOW WHO I AM! I’M THE GREAT CRUSADER! I’M FUCKING RICHARD THE LION HEART! THERE’S A BOUNTY ON MY HEAD FOR 8,000,000 DAOS! YOU WANNA SEE HOW I GOT THAT?”

Gus sighed and rubbed his face, pulling his cheeks down. What a fucking idiot.

“CLEAR A PATH!” 

They did, and Dickie stepped off the table and started backing towards the doors. His hand was now raised, pointing the disruptor to the ceiling. It was unlikely that he’d shoot it because shooting that in here would kill him, too…but you never know what a crazy person is going to do.

“THAT’S RIGHT! SO Y’ALL’RE GONNA GO BACK TO YER DRINKS AND CHILL. THE FUCK. OUT!”

Most of his compadres were unconscious, but none of the conscious ones were able to follow him out. Clearly, Dickie was just gonna leave ’em behind. He grabbed a bottle, knocked back a swing, and bolted out the door. 

The room, which had been frozen, sprang into movement at once. Obviously, everyone was after that bounty.

Gus glanced at the bathroom— he seriously needed to pee. It wouldn’t take that long…but Dickie would definitely get away if he did, so he bolted out after them, hobbling along. 

I’d run a lot faster if it didn’t feel like every step was gonna make my stomach explode.

Dickie was already down two levels running across the busy walkway, his long black coat flapping behind him. No one he ran past stopped him. It was hard to tell if anyone noticed the quantum disruptor or if they just ignored yet another guy on the run. 

Everyone from Johnny Velvet’s followed a good distance behind him, tripping each other and fighting over who’d get the bounty. Dickie had too much of a headstart; there was no way anyone was going to catch him, especially with everyone fighting amongst themselves.

Gus followed, running on the bridge two levels above the rest of them. Dickie shoved some people as he rounded the corner, which put him out of Gus’s view. 

Gus opened up the map of Here Nor There on his E.Y.E.S. The translucent blueprint overlayed his vision enough for him to see what was happening in front of him and also look at the map. Gus followed Dickies path– the direction he was running was a shot to the central hangers, and if he got out of sight of the guys from Johnny Velvet’s they would likely go straight there. 

But there was another possibility. If Dickie turned and cut through a few stores and restaurants, he could circle around and go to the secondary hanger bay.

There was no knowing if Dickie was smart enough to think ahead like that, but Gus took a chance and turned around. The last restaurant along the route was a little shop called the Balls to the Wall, whose name came from the balls of fish covered in sticky rice that the chef would make and throw against the wall and customers could just go up and help themselves to whatever balls were on the wall. It’s actually one of Gus’s favorite restaurants, but it’s a little overpriced because of the gimmick, so he didn’t go often.

I’ve never passed so many bathrooms in my life. He thought after he ran by the third bathroom conveniently along the route. The pressure was getting a little wild at this point.

Time’s real weird when you’re a little tipsy, especially when that’s coupled with the mounting pressure in your bladder. Somehow, it felt like an eternity, and yet no time at all, but however long it took when he made it to Balls to the Wall, he was way more out of breath than he should have been. 

“Get everyone out,” Gus said to the chef between huffs. 

The chef didn’t even acknowledge him as he threw a sticky ball into a section of the wall designated for salmon. 

“Hey, guy, someone with a quantum disruptor is running through here. Stay if you want, but if it’s not your shop, I wouldn’t say this job is worth dying for.”

The chef’s eyes went wide, and without a word, he bolted, and so did the other 4 people in the restaurant. Gus was still trying to catch his breath but needed to calm it down. That run dried him up, so he took a sip of water from one of the full glasses on the table, which he instantly regretted as it just reinforced how bad he had to piss. Then he snagged a sticky ball off the wall and leaned against the door in the kitchen across from where Dickie would have to come in. 

Maybe I had time to pee along the way. He noticed the green light above the restaurant’s bathroom but didn’t even have time to think about using it, cause just then Dickie skidded through the door. Gus inhaled and really forced himself to play it cool. He had to seem he wasn’t fighting to catch his breath and not double over from having to pee. He took a casual bite and pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on.

“What’s up Dickie?” Judging by the sour face, the guy hated his name. “Well, you might as well put the disruptor away— a big tough guy like you can take me, I’m sure. No need to kill yourself and a couple dozen people on the station when it’s just me.” 

This is the part he hated— really, he hated it. It was a bit of a bluff; he needed the guy to put the gun down, and goading his ego was part of it, and frankly, Gus wasn’t all that good at fighting. He was fine and trained plenty, but there were plenty who were better, and that was when he was sober.

Dickie holstered the gun, and in a flash, grabbed the long chef’s knife from the counter and lunged at Gus— which, for some reason, Gus didn’t anticipate.

It didn’t matter how well someone was trained with a knife or against one; it could easily go south real quick. Bounty hunting would be way more fun if it wasn’t so life or death. If he could just set up an agreement with a guy, and if Gus beat him, he could haul him off fair and square, that would be fine, and if Gus lost, the guy could leave with no hard feelings.

But it was rare for these sorts of things to go the way of fair and square. 

It’s not like every bounty was being hauled off to be executed or something — it didn’t matter if they were just being taken in for questioning; people panicked. And when people panicked, they did crazy shit— so Gus wouldn’t be surprised if that disruptor got brought into play real quickly if Dickie sensed things weren’t going his way.

Gus pulled a stool with his foot and then kicked it into Dickie, it didn’t stop him long, but it did buy Gus enough time to look for something to grab. Gus couldn’t grab something that made it seem he had the upper hand or that disruptor would be brought right back into play– but he needed something to help him out against that knife.

Dickie shoved the stool aside and lunged again; Gus snatched a thin wooden water catcher for tea, sending the white little cups flying as he did, and lifted it just in time to stop the blade before it stabbed him in the chest him. Gus twisted the wood board, hoping to rip the knife from Dickies hand, but it was too thin and shattered instead.

Weaver was calling again, blocking part of his vision, and at the same moment, a blood alcohol content notification began flashing, followed by the big red ‘zone five heart rate warning.’ A majority of his vision was totally blocked. 

As if he could sense Gus’s distracted state, Dickie swung; Gus was able to block it, but Dickie managed to get a small slice on his arm. Nothing too bad, but Gus’s position wasn’t getting better the longer this went on. Dickie wasn’t giving him a moment to close out of notificationss — there was no way he could take the time to blink for the necessary three seconds required to send the E.Y.E.S into sleep mode.

Dickie lunged again, and Gus could barely see it through the E.Y.E.S but was still able to slap it away as he stepped back. But Gus wasn’t looking where he was stepping, so he stepped on a menu on the ground, which sent him knocking over a full table and landing on the bench. He wanted to blame it solely on the menu, but the blinking red exclamation point in the corner of his vision hinted that the alcohol may be playing a part in it.

Gus’s dad always said it was important to see the best in people. And Gus agreed, so he did his best to see the best in people, even— no, especially his enemies. Up til now, he didn’t have much nice to say about Dickie, but in that moment dawned on him; the man didn’t hesitate. 

Dickie was on him, basically straddling him the second his ass landed on the seat. Apparently, the leather had been holding back the smell of garlic and pickles– Dickie needed to shower. Gus wanted to pull away, and think about what to do, but he hadn’t expected such an intense smell, but now couldn’t think of anything else with Dickie so close. 

Gus managed to keep the knife away, but that wasn’t so easy with Dickie pressed against him.

But that was the bad thing about a knife — you had to get a little too close. 

Now, Gus didn’t want the quantum disruptor, but he reached for it anyway. And that was enough. Dickie stopped paying attention to the knife and focused only on the disruptor. With his attention off the knife, all it took was for Gus to pin the knife hand against his chest, bring his other arm over, and wristlock him. Instantly, Dickie let go of the knife. Gus was about to wrap his legs around Dickie and get him into a position where he could secure the bounty, but again, Gus had to give it to him — Dickie never hesitated.

Dickie frantically pressed and backed away from Gus as he ripped the quantum disruptor out. This was exactly what Gus was trying to avoid. 

I got him feeling the loss before it came. Damn.

Dickie stood in front of the recycling room and smiled as he raised the disruptor and pointed it at Gus. It made sense that he didn’t pull the trigger, why kill himself if he didn’t have to? But Dickie smiled. He felt good about the victory. 

Gus looked to his left and saw that, somehow, some of those sticky salmon balls were still clinging to the wall.

“My lucky day,” Gus said as he grabbed one and took a bite. “Have you tried these? I usually say they’re overpriced, but god, they really do taste good. Maybe they’re worth the extra few daos.”

Dickie was a little put off by it but didn’t say anything.

“Here.” Gus grabbed a second one. “No hard feelings?” He raised it to Dickie, who didn’t reach out but notably didn’t pull the trigger. “Well, catch then.”

Gus chucked the rice ball, and Dickie just watched it fly by and hit the button outside of the recycling room. Before he had time to turn his head back at Gus, Gus had already teep-kicked him sending him stumbling back into the recycling room just as the door slammed and hissed shut. The immediate puff of powder covered Dickie, making him lose all control over his muscles, his face already melting, and his long hair falling out in clumps.

Taking a lesson from Dickie, Gus didn’t hesitate. Slowly, he limped, hunched over to the bathroom— the need to pee had become legitimately painful.

Besides, it’s tough to look at a man’s face melt and disintegrate right in front of you. It’s not like Gus wanted to do it, but the guy really didn’t give him a choice. Luckily, he should be able to scrape a little goop of Dickie up for DNA as proof for the reward— that is, if this pee didn’t take too long.

He was midstream when he let out a deep sigh of relief. Weaver was calling again, this time Gus answered. An artificial version of the light elf appeared in the right corner of his vision.

“What’s—” Gus started.

“What the hell is wrong with you? How many times did we call! Were you too distracted at your Bath House to answer?” 

She’s pissed.

“Sorry, been a little busy.”

“Busy! You’re a little— are you peeing right now?”

“I’ve had to go so bad.” 

“So you finally answered my call while you’re peeing? You’ve ignored my calls and messages for like an hour and couldn’t hold it for another thirty seconds?” 

He was very glad she was not here right now. These types of conversations with her are a little easier when you’re not in person.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could have held it for another second.”

“Bullshit— It’s gross and disrespectful. Whatever, we don’t have time for this. We’ve been calling you because a big bounty was headed to that dirty shit hole you’re always at.”  

“Actually—”

“The bounty is 5,000,000 dao, so don’t fuck this up.”

“Well,” Gus smiled. He was proud and couldn’t keep a straight face.

“He’s got long hair and a crescent scar under his eye.”

“Yeah, I saw the picture you sent and—” He zipped his pants and walked to the sink.

“Good, and make sure you get him alive.”

“What’s that?” He stopped scrubbing his hands.

“He’s really connected with some terrorist organizations, so they only want him alive. There’s no reward if he’s dead.”

Gus just looked at himself in the mirror. “Huh.” He said as he walked out of the bathroom.

“Has he come to the bar yet?”

“…That’s… a good question…” Gus looked into the recycling room window. Dickie looked to be about the consistency of pudding already. The technology was pretty incredible, and it really was understandable why the new models modified it to be less convenient for murder.

“A good question? Deets said you were going there.” Weaver was nearly growling at him.

“Oh… Uh… I went to the Bath House first. I’ll swing by Johnny Velvet’s now.”

“Forget it.” Weaver scowled and hung up on him.

Gus grabbed the sticky ball that was still stuck on the red button outside the recycling room, sat on the bench in the chaotic little restaurant, and rested his head against the wall.

As he chewed, he turned on a little recording he’d taken at Johnny Velvet’s and closed his eyes, floating away in the cosmic space waves.