48 Shoah Ultramax: The Gang 2

I could hear the heavy boot steps heading our way with grunts.

Garan flipped his middle finger up with his left at the speaker.

"Hah, not so tough without Zhiva now. You and I all…" said the speaker.

"GggggnnnorrrrzzzZzzZOORRRR."

Bloody Trey started snoring loudly at the worst moment, giving us away. I threw a quick glance at the troublesome human. His chest rose and fell, and he rumbled like a mountain as he slept, blissfully unaware of the danger about to arrive.

"… there's someone with you."

Garan let out a sigh and backed into my cell as a heavily tattooed Satesian I'd never seen before lumbered towards us with his top prison overall off.

Tribal tattoos decorated each curve of his bulging muscles. He looked putrid with the snarl stuck on his face.

From the partially unzipped trousers with rather obvious wet stains, I wondered if the Satesian attempted to make a beeline for Garan earlier. And failed.

I felt the overwhelming urge to gouge those pair of beady Satesian eyes out, staring at me.

The way the Satesian looked at me, as though hungry for food, made me think of stomping on his eyeballs on the ground after I gouge those eyes out.

"Not advisable to mess with the Cap's orders," Garan warned. "He said no screwing with these two."

"Piss off," the Satesian growled. "Worry about yourself later when I'm done with this pretty boy here."

The Satesian needed to worry about himself first if he was concerned about my exterior.

Despite his precarious situation, Garan remained cool enough to speak calmly. "Just saying. So you know."

He slipped slowly into a defensive poise, enough to pounce to or away from his opponent with his arm relaxed to do a block.

His moves looked innocent to the Satesian, but not to me.

Garan knew how to fight. Not by brute force, but by turning the enemy's strength against himself.

I was more than experienced in sizing up opponents to know whether they are novices or experienced in close quarter combat.

Novices tend to tense up, stiffening their muscles, reducing their speed to block or strike. Garan looked more relaxed, yet ready to strike.

"Probably his lil snitch bitches," the Satesian said with a snarl while flexing his muscles in a show of intimidation while glancing at me. "This one is a pretty boy."

"Go elsewhere," Garan said firmly.

The Satesian started laughing. "My gang is now dealing with yours. Perunians can't fight very well."

True, most Perunians suck at physical fights, but not this one.

Still, the Satesian didn't fit the description of the sewer mutants they mentioned.

He looked healthy enough, with no discernible features of the tumours they spoke of. Did the prison transfer prisoners from another side instead of the sewer mutants?

The Satesian shoved Garan out of the way to approach me with his foul smelling body.

Garan nearly fell, but stopped because of his stance. He grabbed hold of the cage to steady himself quickly as he slid behind the Satesian, who remained oblivious.

I caught a sharp glint of metal in Garan's hand.

The Satesian's arm reached out for me.

I prepared to block and hit.

Out of the blue, Garan lept up, lifted the syringe and plunged it into the back of the Satesian's neck.

The metallic syringe emptied its brownish contents into the Satesian, whose face contorted.

His hands started clawing at his neck as he knelt down, desperately gasping for air. Veins on the Satesian's face bulged. He gagged a whitish froth from his mouth. His eyes rolled upwards, transfixed on the wall, before he finally collapsed at my feet.

I took a step away from the convulsing body and stared at Garan, speechless.

"Very nice," Garan said, as he moved in closer to observe the reaction with keenness.

His face was a sea of calm while his eyes, cold like a killer, as he went nearer at the moving body, as though admiring the poison's effect.

Garan only slicked the loose strands of his long blonde hair back and flashed me a big smile before squatting down to prod his finger at the dying Satesian's cheek.

I underestimated this Perunian maniac.

He was more dangerous and unpredictable than expected.

And where the hell did he get the poison?

"Didn't expect the sewer sample to be so potent…" Garan placed his foot on the cheek of the Satesian now lying in a pool of greenish tinged froth, still twitching from the effect on his central nervous system.

Sewer sample? That was the poison?

"What a waste of a good syringe. Can't use it anymore." Garan took his foot off and crouched down to press on the top of the now empty syringe from the Satesian's neck with his nimble fingers.

With a yank, he broke it off from the end of the needle with brute strength.

He pulled two gloves out and a small roll of duct tape from his pocket while I moved aside.

"Safety first. Not good if anyone gets stabbed by the tip," he spoke, while wrapping the syringe up in his glove. "Sewer samples are toxic."

His actions made me too flabbergasted to say anything.

Zhiva came walking with a swagger towards us with strands sticking out of his plaited hair. Only reddish marks on his jawline, which he rubbed.

"Miss me?" Zhiva winked while Garan pulled the duct tape off to plaster over the wound on the dead twitching Satesian.

"Was there a fight outside?" I asked.

"Just the usual scuffle," Zhiva chuckled with his arm on Garan's shoulders once he stood up. "Just a new gang wanting to move in on the turf."

So the prison transferred prisoners from other sectors in.

"Anyone I need to check for injuries?" Garan asked casually, like it was business as usual.

Zhiva nodded and pointed in the direction where I heard the odd sounds earlier. "Three cells down, a neutral. I think he tore up bad two ways."

I think I know what he meant.

"Are we treating neutrals now?" Garan tilted his head.

Neutrals are those who refuse to be part of any gang.

More of lone rangers. Often the ones to die first anywhere, whether in any jail or in the wheeling and dealing areas of the Narakan system.

Almost like me, but I tilt towards the Nuwans because of Rong. Now I may have no choice but to align with the space pirates to live undisturbed in the Ultramax.

"Ever seen drowning?" Zhiva said, like he had seen the most interesting thing of his life.

I wondered what he meant.

Garan brushed off his shoulder, acting uninterested. "Who drank too much?"

"Ah, load shot drowning."

I almost choked on hearing that.

"Really?" Garan asked, with that same creepy look he had when he was about to give Trey a shot of seratin.

"Have I ever lied?"

Garan skipped out fast to have a look at his new victim before I could open my mouth.

"Now that he is off," Zhiva said while peering out of the cell after his brother. "We need to have a little chat, too."

It didn't sound like a request. More of an order.

"For what?"

Zhiva glanced down at the dead Satesian in my cell and gave it a little kick in the side. Then he looked at Trey for a bit, narrowing his eyes.

"Eden. Shard."

His voice grew icy. He reminded me of the onyx shard we spoke about in Eden when we first met.

"Come by my cell towards the end of the quarters in a bit after you clean up," he said as he turn and took a step out of the cell. "And… you don't happen to have a Kamuy war cruiser, do you?"

"So what if I do?"

He stopped. A wry grin formed on his face before he left me without an answer.