FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

After some much needed sleep and even more drastically needed showers, Corey and I set about killing the remainder of our time in transit. With my metabolism boosters and his caffeine addiction, neither of us were particularly good at sitting around.

"I'm so fuckin' bored," the ram shouted from the cockpit of the Sleipnir, echoing my own thoughts as I moved disinterestedly between watching vids and cleaning my gun.

"So clean this mess off the damn couch, or something!" I shouted back, "Anything other than sit on your ass and complain."

"How long did the port authority say this would take again?" he called, ignoring my jab.

I sighed, setting aside my gun half-dismantled. I ducked up to the cockpit to look over his shoulder at the moon, and Earth beyond it. The two celestial bodies were like diametric siblings, with the moon going through its rough pubescent years.

Earth had gotten through the latter half of the industrial and electronic revolution with some scars, but the formation of the Federation had done wonders for the planet in the century since. Whereas the moon was covered nearly entirely in a singular mega-city, the urban zones of Earth had largely been abandoned for the outer colonies and lower-density habitations in orbital carriers and floating barge-cities. And where the boom of business on Luna had drawn in all sorts of mega-corp and the vices thereof, the Federation's rather strict enforcement of environmental and trade laws kept Earth relatively quiet. Even the architecture of the orbiting bodies showed the break that had developed with the creation of the Federation, with Earth's architecture evolving into cities filled with dense forested parks and biomes. There, it was all glass and greenery. The Lunar Colonial Commission, on the other hand, apparently thought 'Subtlety' was nothing more than was a village in England. Here, the buildings came in two colours, Soviet industrial complex grey, or every shade of neon crammed into the smallest space possible.

It was the kind of place built on greed, lust, and gluttony, and it was anything but bashful in living up to those stated goals. Even from several kilometres in orbit, huge holographic displays advertised casinos, strip clubs, brothels, and anything else marketable.

Residential buildings there were where few and far between, almost all of them serving as company housing for one mega-corp or another. No one lived on Luna. It was a haven for dumb tourists and shifty-types, drawing them in with offers of fun and riches only to shove them out hungover and broke the next day. Hundreds of thousands of ships came and went from this port every day, bringing people and commerce from every corner of colonized space.

I smiled. It was the perfect place for a master thief to make some money. There was the infrastructure of underworld bosses for contract work, combined with a private and corrupt security force open to the highest bidder, with the perfect mix of transient and scum as to make hiding out almost too easy.

"They said twenty minutes," I answered the ram, "granted, that was three hours ago..."

"Incompetent, bureaucratic, shithole..." Corey muttered, raising two middle fingers to the comms monitor, currently displaying a hold image of the Atlas Dynamics corporate logo.

"Well," I said, turning back towards the galley, "if you wanted fast service, you should have paid the bribe."

"With what?" Corey said, "The hundreds of dollars we don't have? Or maybe the stolen sculpture you fired out the airlock?"

"It was an ugly fuckin' statue," I said, shuddering at the memory of the damn thing, "completely threw off the chi of the ship, and that I will not abide."

"Or you could've waited until our contact found us a buyer," the ram said, settling back into the captain's chair, "it would've taken a month, two tops."

"Please," I said as I went back to cleaning my weapon, "no one with working senses would willingly pay for that hunk of rock. It wasn't even worth the atmosphere in the airlock when I spaced it."

There was silence, broken only by the low hum of the ship's machinery.

"... wonder if they'll drop the bounty on me if I turn him in..."

"I can fucking hear you!" I shouted, turning back to where the ram sat, currently splayed across the pilot's chair in a position that looked impossible for anything with a solid skeleton.

"Of course you can, your ears are bloody massive," he called back, bored, "though you're only at about three-quarters strength on that."

"Keep it up, chuckles," I said, re-engaging the ammunition block and heat sink in the same motion, the weapon now fit to fire, "you may just be next out the airlock."

A high-pitched beeping cut off any opportunity for retort, and Corey opened the comm channel with an exasperated sigh.

"Thank you for holding," a robotic voice said, "you have been moved to the imminent landing queue, please proceed to the provided route and land at terminal J-32."

"Fuckin' finally," Corey muttered, immediately moving to the controls. The ship shifted around me, and the sound of the engines grew into a new background.

Corey's interpretation of designated routes was... liberal at best, and the Sleipnir quickly cut through the rest of the traffic waiting in orbit around the moon. The path we'd been assigned was wide open, giving free clearance to the docking terminals. There were three landing strips, with taxiways to hangars for cruisers and ships on their way to dry-dock, but most ships where directed to a number of elevators that provided transport to underground locks. The ram set us down on the designated bay, and within moments the thunk of the magnetic lock signalled we were firmly attached to the platform.

The outside world seemed to shift as the landing bay started to descend, going a couple stories into the lunar surface before following a tack to a hangar barely larger than the Sleipnir. The hangar bay had, to be generous, seen better days, though it would suffice for what I expected would be a relatively short stay. It was always wise to get off the moon before the sleeze seeped into your fur.

The first step from the ship's docking ramp to the floor of the hangar saw a shift of gravity as the pull of the Sleipnir's artificial gravity generator was replaced with the relatively miniscule gravity of the moon. The hangar smelt of old-fashioned gunpowder, a side effect of opening directly to the surface and the sulphur-rich soil above. Beyond that, the room was bare-bones, with an elevator leading to the customs terminal in the far end and scattered refuelling equipment.

Corey sealed the ship while I paced around the hangar, grimacing as my paws clung to something sticky on the metal tiles.

The elevator took us back to the surface and beyond, into a combination hotel-casino-airport that served as the dominant hub of transit across the moon. The 'customs office' as it was called had no actual authority aside from that of the corporations that dominated the satellite. Granted, those corporations were more than willing to use lethal force to assert their dominance over unruly elements of the populace, but they weren't likely to cause a commotion over something that wasn't likely to hurt their profit margins.

Corey leaned against the corner of the elevator as it ascended, turning to me with an inquisitive expression, "isn't this the point where you turn off those implants to 'remain undercover.'"

"Usually, yes," I answered, "but there's no one on Luna that'll give that information to the Federation, and with the amount of heat we've run into in the last couple days, I'd say we need all the help we can get."

"That doesn't explain why you've turned them off every other time we've come here," he replied.

"Oh, that's just for shits and giggles, really," I said, tugging at the bandage on my ear, the weight of it a constant annoyance in the back of my mind, "it makes me work and think harder to get things done, keeps me on my toes."

"So all those times you've gotten kicked out of casinos for counting cards, that's you working on your maths or something?"

"Nah, I'm just good at blackjack, and casinos don't like losing money," I shrugged, "you'd be surprised how much someone who isn't an idiot can take from a place like this, even if you play by the rules."

"When do you ever play by the rules, in anything?" he asked, folding his arms sceptically.

"Rules very rarely make things more fun, now do they?"

The doors of the elevators opened up, revealing the customs centre, complete with the long lines and slow service you'd expect of a government bureaucracy, but with a spicy splash of corporate branding.

There were easily thousands of people crowded into the area, sorted based on the corporation that owned their hangar or their transport. Each company had its own set of rules and procedures, most of which could be boiled down to: pay money to skip the bullshit.

Corey and I moved directly ahead to the line marked 'Atlas Dynamics,' the red and gold of their corporate colours fighting to make an impression in a sea of equally vibrant and gaudy colours. After a few moments of judging the speed of the line, I determined I would go mad before we reached the front. I peered over to the security checkpoint, noting the distinct look of boredom that plastered the faces of the corporate officers there.

I gestured to the line of officers. They were few in number, but the weapons at their sides were anything but show.

"Think you can get through that line without them seeing you?" I asked, keeping my voice low enough for it to be buried under the din of the surrounding lines.

"Maybe," he responded after a moment's contemplation, "not that I'd like to try."

I took a step out of line, shoving my paws into my coat pockets as I approached the group of security guards. Corey remained in line, giving me a look somewhere between exasperation and nervousness.

I kept walking, my pace moderate but deliberate, and I paid close attention to the expressions of the guards as I crept nearer and nearer. I got within ten feet before the first of them noticed me, rather than simply letting his gaze fall in my direction, and he took the time to yawn before he actually addressed me.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"I'm looking for the restroom," I said, feigning ignorance as best I could.

His expression was of a man that had spent the entirety of his youth with grandiose dreams, only to end up as security at a glorified DMV, where the entirety of his job had devolved to answering that single, idiotic question.

"Back behind you, through the entrance to customs, the second hall to the left."

I nodded in thanks, heading off in that general area, stopping only once I was certain his eyes had glazed over once more. I cut between the crowd, forcing my way back to Corey.

"Okay," I said as I reached the ram, who sat impatiently in line, mere inches from where I'd left him, "this'll be even easier than I thought."

"Grey, we are not going to break through security at a spaceport when you are a wanted terrorist."

"We aren't going to break through anything," I said, grabbing him by the shoulder to manually turn him in the direction of the line of security, "You're just going to walk in that direction, and I'll do the rest."

I slapped him on the ass, sending him off in the direction I'd steered him with a backwards glare at me, then turned to the crowd, looking for suitable candidates for my distraction.

The mare directly in front of me seemed like a prime contender: dressed in business wear, and so visibly uptight you could crack acorns in her arse, and a purse left wide open in a way that just begged my attention.

I moved quickly, keeping my motions swift and smooth, my body positioned that those closest to me couldn't see where my hands were going. I passed over a wad of tissue and a glass container of perfume for the slim metallic phone that had sunk to the bottom of the bag.

I looked over my shoulder to the group behind me. They appeared to be a bachelor party, led by the man I could only assume to be the groom. He was bulky, and his clothes were simple. Likely a miner or operator for some mining station in the system. The bull was laughing and smiling along with the rest of the group.

I passed them by: too happy, and I was willing to let hangovers and poor financial decisions ruin their party for them. The next line over was far more promising, with a pair of rodents, a young couple by the looks of it. The man was scrawny, his face looking as if he had recently been on the losing side of a fight, while his girlfriend looked - to be perfectly blunt - like a grade-A bitch, with the facial expression and attitude that indicated she was the sort to demand to speak to a manager at the slightest inconvenience. They were in the midst of some argument concerning a borrowed car and needing money for rent.

While I didn't particularly enjoy dumping something like this on somebody I wasn't quite sure deserved it, I disliked standing in line a fair bit more. And more to the point, they looked just seedy enough to be thieves, and the equine woman wouldn't doubt for a moment that they would pick her pocket.

"Hey," I said, getting the attention of the rat closest to me, "catch."

I tossed the phone, at the same time tugging at the mare's purse with my free hand, watching just long enough to see the unlucky man catch the small metal and glass rectangle.

I turned on heel and started towards the line of guards immediately, leaving the confused rodent to peer above the crowd as I disappeared.

I hadn't walked five feet before I heard a furious voice rise up, "Why you little..."

I heard a noise that sounded like a slab of meat being hit with sock full of nickels, and glanced back to see a furious horse woman beating the rat with her purse like a flail.

"Ow! Ow! What the hell, lady?!"

Hell thusly raised, the line of guards broke from their post to pull the two apart, passing me and Corey by without a second glance.

The ram passed the security checkpoint and turned the corner without a backwards look, acting for all the world like he was supposed to be there. I smiled. He wasn't completely hopeless after all.

I decided to pick up the pace, and looked down at my wrist to the non-existent watch there, then set off after him at a light jog, mimicking panic.

He was waiting for me around the corner, leaned against the wall.

"Was that completely necessary?" he asked, falling in step behind me as we passed baggage claim for commercial transport vessels.

"Not unless you'd prefer to wait in line or shoot our way through," I responded, "Though I assure you, corporate police are far less likely to take us in alive compared to the Federation."

Baggage claim opened up directly to a massive transit hub, with connections to cabs, trams, and shuttles to every place on the rock. It was a maze of people and lights, all fighting for your attention and money. Scantily clad women held up signs directing people to casinos and nightclubs, while kids as young as ten were scampering around handing out pin-ups of strippers and hookers, the clubs they could be hired at printed at the bottom.

A small racoon shoved several of them into my hands at once, disappearing into the crowd before I could offer a refusal. I looked them over with an amused smile.

"These places always seem so classy," I said, meandering through the crowd to the tram station, "What man could resist a place like 'the Rack,' or maybe 'Cock Bottom.'"

"There is no way that's an actual place," Corey said in disbelief.

I showed him the flyer, with a picture of a zebra, face cropped out of the picture, gesturing to his abs and bulge, the name emblazoned downwards along the length of the fabric of his thong in gold lettering.

"Fuckin' hell," he said, snatching the flyer out of my hand, "someone actually got paid for coming up with that, you know. They defiantly know how to pick their spokesman though," he said, gesturing to the well-muscled and hung zebra.

The tramway was simple enough, with one train line running north, the other line heading south, with smaller routes running east and west along the major intersections, usually through big casinos.

"So where to?" Corey asked, looking over the map, and knowing him, taking a snapshot of it with his ocular implants. Not a bad idea, mind, I just didn't think it was all that important. On Luna, you had bars, casinos, and brothels; the direction you went just changed the flavour of neon.

"We're going to pay Marcus a visit," I said, moving towards the northbound train, "maybe take in the view on the way to his office."

Said office was on the seventh floor of a club, the letters 'X-S' proudly proclaiming the establishment's motto and business model. It wasn't quite as packed as some of the more mainstream clubs, it certainly held steady sway over those who were interested in the 'goods' it provided. The bar was long and lined with lights, shining off the chrome surfaces and crystalline glass, different colours of bottles and glasses sending spirals of technicolour into the rest of the club in a liquor-fuelled light show. Music thumped through the club, thick bass lines providing a background not so much heard as felt, rattling flesh against bone, burning a hole in the bottom of my gut as it called for me to give in to the base desires of the silent mind. It was accented by techno singing on the verge of tribal chanting, indistinguishable from any sensible tongue, but touching upon the darker, more bestial tracks of the mind. It was the kind of environment that was simply lacking in a sober state, and the crowd that moved as a mass on the dance floor was eleven flavours of fucked up, drunk being the least of them.

They were as varied as they were chaotic, with men, women, mammal, reptile, amphibian, and every other conceivable niche was represented in the throbbing mass of people. All that energy, that primal, borderline psychotic mania was channelled through drugs legal and illicit towards the main attraction of the club: the stage.

X-S was the finest club on Luna purely for the quality of its employees. The fastest, most capable bartenders. The most graceful, courteous waiters and waitresses. And bar none, the hottest, most talented strippers this side of the void.

Male, female, it didn't matter. So long as they something to wave about, they were given ample time on stage, and the money of the unwashed masses was drawn in like a whirlpool. Even now, the centre stage was occupied by a lithe female zebra, fully nude, with the black of her stripes replaced by an iridescent rainbow that hugged her form tightly enough to show it wasn't makeup or dye, the grand caveat of her exquisite modifications being the narrow horn that protruded from her forehead, giving her the look of some ethereal unicorn straight out of a lewd fairy-tale. She was hanging from the pole at an impossible angle, without any visible means of support, and taken from an objective perspective, showed true mastery of her craft.

The stage to the right was currently being worked by a pair of foxes, male and female. He was the typical red colour, though it was far more intense than any I had seen before, like a living blaze clung to his tight body. She was an arctic variety of the species, as pure a white as fur could manage, and the two danced in tandem, their motions both sexual to the extreme and graceful as was ever want to see, the movements sensual and rhythmic.

The stage to the left was more... crude, but nonetheless impressive. An alligator, massive in size with a bodybuilder's frame, dragged his muscled form around the stage, showing off abs, biceps and ass as fine as the wine of Valhalla. As I watched, he peeled away a pair of scale-tight briefs to proudly display a truly remarkable cock, the kind of thing that would win first place at the county fair, if only because the judges were afraid of it.

I felt Corey's hand on my shoulder, and I turned back to face him. He shouted something, but it was quickly lost to the din of the music, and I could only shrug my shoulders. He got the message, then repeated his thoughts, this time with the physical gesture of licking his chops hungrily.

I smiled, sharing the sentiment, and pressed my fingers to my mouth, pulling them away in a manner typically reserved for cliché chefs and pretentious foodies, though I imagined there were few gestures that so captured my feelings towards the place.

It was with great sadness that I lead the way past the stage to one of the side rooms, separated from the heaviness of the bass and hum of people by a thick wall. Here, sick and tired looking people waited in lines for both the bathroom and the upstairs VIP section, and it was questionable which line was longer, and whose occupants seemed most desperate.

I walked up to the bouncer maintaining the line to upstairs. The pit-bull looked as if he were about to tell me some variation of 'fuck off,' but paused to give Corey and I a once over. He looked past the clothes to the holsters and body armour, quickly surmising wordlessly that we were not of the common rabble, and stepped aside wordlessly.

The stairway opened up to the VIP section, and let me tell you, if the first floor was heaven, VIP was that, Nirvana, Valhalla, Elysium all rolled into one massive orgy of divine proportions.

The lighting was darker, the bass heavier and more frantic, with the smell of sex more clear and all-encompassing. Bodies writhed and moved in the shadows in formless heaps, cocks, breasts, asses all blurred together beneath the light of dark and brooding neon. I led Corey through the mass of bodies, doing my best to keep some semblance of purpose to my guidance, assailed on all sides by debauchery worthy of the end-of-days.

I passed a pack of wolves going to town on a slim tiger, cocks filling both ends of the smaller male, though he seemed just as lost to lust as the canines that buried themselves in him. Musk and cum filled the air in equal measure, and were I not already lost to the intoxication of lust, the smell would've been too heady to bear.

Further back was a stallion, leaning back in his chair as a vixen lowered herself onto his thick length, unable to sink fully onto his flesh. Two males, an otter and a lynx came out of the woodwork to aid her, lapping at the chestnut stallion's balls and the bottom of his shaft without hesitation, drinking deeply from the well of fluids that ran down his length.

Beside them was a panther, his face vaguely familiar to me, until I placed him as the star of one of my favourite 'movies,' currently displaying his prowess as his balls slapped against the backside of a fennec before pulling out to leave the small fox shuddering in the afterglow of orgasm, proceeding down the line to a husky, a line of men as depleted as the fox laying before him in various stages of recovery.

Scenes as debaucherous and more filled the room wall to wall in an unending sea of nudity and lewd activity. It was a place the more religious would define as hellish and those like me would define as heavenly.

The third floor, unlike the third, had no line leading up to it, and rather than a simple stairwell, it featured an elevator with armed guards on either side. Granted, they weren't so brazen as to wear their weapons openly, and to the untrained eye they appeared to be nothing more than regular bouncers, but I could spot the points in their jackets where pistols lay.

I stepped up to them, signalling I had separated myself from the crowd in as non-threatening a manner I could.

"Evening gents," I said, accompanied by a cavalier wave, "Is the boss-man in?"

The one on the left, a tiger, gave me a once over. He was older, somewhere in his mid-forties or early fifties if I had to hazard a guess, and was grizzled enough for me to deduce he was a veteran of Marcus' little gang, likely a lieutenant or even head of security here tonight.

"Mr. Kanatara has left for the evening," he said, his tone professional and neutral.

"Ah, don't give me that shite," I said, slipping my hands into my pockets, pulling apart my jacket in the motion just enough to show the firearm at my side, "I don't give a damn about whatever fat-faced accountant Marcus has got running the place, and I know damn well he wouldn't call it a night this early."

If the man was surprised, he hid it well, his expression remaining as placid as if he were watching a kindergarten recital.

"Regardless," the tiger continued, "the boss is not seeing anyone tonight."

I feigned indignation, pressing my palm to my chest theatrically, "not even an old friend?"

The tiger shot a sideways glance to the Rottweiler on the other side of the door, and the junior guard stepped to the side a bit, out of earshot and brought his hand up to his ear, no doubt calling in to the building's dispatch.

"Sir," the tiger repeated, moving his hands to cross his chest, the right one slipping beneath his coat, barely perceptible underneath his thick arms, "no one without an appointment may access the upper levels. You sir, do not have an appointment."

I smiled, the expression filled with teeth, "Would you care to guess how many people I've killed in the last year?"

Almost imperceptibly, the tiger's expression shifted to that of an old-west gunslinger seconds before a duel, his companion noticed it and moved his own hand closer to his gun.

"No," the tiger said, a miniscule *click* from under his jacket signalling that he had unholstered the weapon.

"None," I answered, drawing my smile into more of a snarl, "and I intend to keep it that way as long as I can. I can tell you're a smart man, good at your job, and I trust you to recognize the honesty in my voice when I say you will not win this fight."

He seemed to weigh the words for a moment, his eyes alighting on something behind me. To my right, Corey stepped closer, seemingly indifferent to the conversation going on as he inched closer and closer to the Rottweiler.

"I'm asking for permission, which is more than most get," I continued, shifting a foot so I could turn around and face the guards circling behind us if the need arised, "And out of respect of Marcus, you, and your men, I ask that you grant it, because you will not live long enough to see me take it."

"You must be monumentally stupid," the tiger said, his voice full of disdain.

"I have been told that, on occasion, yes."

"You come here and threaten me," he said, "blabbing all the while twelve of my men are circling you. You'll be dead without anyone even hearing a thing."

"Funny thing, that," I said, nodding appreciatively, "but there are only seven of them behind me."

My hand had dropped to my belt and drew my pistol before the breath of the final word left my tongue. I left the safety on, swinging the barrel like a club to strike his own arm away from his gun, taking the backswing to slap the point of the gun across the tiger's face, finally switching the gun into firing mode as I swung myself around him, positioning him between myself and the guards wading through the throngs of sex behind us.

Corey moved just as quickly, drawing his two pistols in tandem as he thrust a stiff knee into the Rottweiler's gut, coming around him to leave one gun aimed at the group behind us, the other pressed firmly against the dog's temple.

I used the barrel of the gun to press the earpiece in the guard chief's ear, activating his radio.

"To all the fuckwits in the VIP section," I said over the tiger's shoulder, hopefully loud enough to be heard through the music and moans, "the first person to fire a shot kills every guard in this place, as well as anyone else that gets in the way."

The tiger grunted out a curse, the slowly moved his own arm up to the earpiece, checking for my permission with a cautious gaze as he did so.

"Do as he says," the chief said, "too many civilians here."

I smiled as I whispered in his ear, "so gracious in defeat."

"I'm not dead yet."

"Well," I said, digging through his pockets until my fingers alighted on the metallic security chip that allowed access to the upper levels, "Neither am I, and despite your best efforts, I will try to see to it that everyone survives this night in relative peace."

I pressed the chip against the wall behind me, and the elevator doors promptly opened. Corey and I stepped backwards into it, the doors closing shut behind us without so much as a whisper of alarm from the civilians beyond. Granted, they all had much more interesting things to look at, but still, a remarkable move of stealth, I must say so myself.

The ride to the penthouse floor, if a seventh floor on a world filled with superstructures could be called a penthouse at all, was silent, save the angry and pained breathing of the tiger and dog respectively.

With a *ding* the door of the elevator opened, and we were greeted by two assault-rifle wielding guards, dressed in a manner that was far more hostile than even the burliest of bouncers.

"You two," one of them, a bull of considerable stature, yelled, "weapons on the ground with your hands in the air!"

The second, a slim yet fit rat, remained silent and raised his weapon, his grip on the weapon familiar to anyone who's seen expert-level marksmanship, and his eyes seemed to be lining up shots even as his companion spoke.

"Hold this," I said, shoving the tiger from my hold closer to Corey, who repositioned his second pistol to lay against the orange of the tiger's scalp. I dove forward at an angle into the hallway, rolling to the side of the bull, leaving him in between myself and what I judged to be a far deadlier shot.

I came up to my feet in a smooth motion, swinging the butt of my gun in a wide arc towards the bull's face. He reacted quickly, dodging backwards without giving up ground, and I came to analyse his movements.

He was much, much taller than me, at least by two feet's measure, with muscle that spoke of training, if not extensive bodybuilding. Long and deadly-sharp horns burrowed out of his skull to extend neatly a foot to either direction from his head. He was quick on his feet - er, well, hooves - and moved with the grace of a martial artist despite his considerable mass. He dropped the gun in his hands, taking a single step back to give himself space to manoeuvre as he came up in a stance somewhere between krav-maga and karate.

I decided a bout of hand-to-hand combat could only end poorly, and I remembered my last attempt against the smaller, less experienced bull in such a contest the day before. Instead, I set directly against him in a dead sprint, tossing my gun to the side as I did, as if to tackle him. He seemed startled for a brief moment, but quickly gathered himself into a more compact form, kneeling to brace for the coming blow.

Rather than use my momentum to strike him, however, I drew my legs up, planting a paw firmly on his upper thigh, reaching upwards to grab hold of his horns; I then extended the leg I had lain on him, vaulting over. I imagined had the building's ceilings not been so spacious, I would've been able to drag my paws across it as I did so.

The move took him completely by surprise, and I slammed against his back with force enough to stagger him forwards. The blow took the air out of my lungs and shook one of my hands from his horns, and I was left hanging face-to-face with the rat as he peered down-sight towards the elevator. His mouth was agape as he spotted my move in his periphery, and he began to turn his weapon towards me.

I swung my weight, catching hold of the second horn once more even as I felt the bull's searching grabs as he fought to pull me off him. I used the momentum of my swing to bring up both paws in a double-legged kick to the rodent's chest.

I used the rat as a springboard, taking the momentum back to drive my feet into the back of the bovine's knees, and he dropped with a pained snort. Having now dropped so his head was nearly level with mine, I released his horns, and spun on one heel, driving the other into the space between his neck and the bottom of his horns.

I doubted I had stuck with the force to knock him out, but had sufficiently incapacitated him long enough to deal with the second guard.

The rodent had rolled with the force of the blow, seemingly not ignorant of martial combat himself, and was reaching for the sidearm at his belt as I turned to face him.

I quickly stepped closer, close enough for his weapon's range to be useless while simultaneously forcing him to bring it close to his body if he meant to use it. Much as I had with the tiger now captive in the elevator, he used the gun itself as a melee weapon, punching with it as if the barrel were a baton.

I sidestepped the punch easily, grabbing the rodent's arm with my own. I forced him to turn further into the punch, until it was only his back facing me. I then kicked upwards, my foot rising above both of our heads without making more than grazing contact with the rat. My leg now extended, I hooked my knee over his arm, and then with all the strength I could manage with the limb, drove it to the ground, breaking his elbow as I forced the limb to stay extended with my arm.

He dropped to the ground almost as fast as my paw, his eyes wide with pain as the hook-kick threatened to break even more bones in his arm and shoulder. The pistol in his hand clattered to the floor, his broken grip unable to maintain its hold through the inflamed nerves and shattered muscles in the limb. Just to be safe, I kicked it and its rifle counterpart aside before doing the same to the bull, Corey now holding all four hostages at gunpoint.

I took a moment to take a breath as he kneeled over one of the rifles, eyeing it like a child at a sweets-shop. He picked it up and ran his hands over it more gently than he ever did with me, and tested the sights of it.

"Very nice..." he said quietly, "Daedalus A-7 carbine, reflex sight, modded for snap-shot competition if I'm not mistaken."

He looked to the fallen rat, who nodded in confirmation, apparently willing to work through the humiliation and pain if it meant talking shop.

"I'm taking this," he said, shrugging apologetically, "it's been too long since I've had a good rifle, and with your arm, you won't be using it any time soon."

I looked over the assembled crowd of shamed and battered guards we had collected.

"You guys weren't half bad," I said, stretching my neck, "maybe if you combine all your skills into one person, you'd almost be as good as me."

Corey gave me a look.

"Add a couple more guys and maybe Corey will have something to do besides babysit next time."

I took the time to survey the room, now that the threat of large-calibre piercings had been reduced to friendly fire. The hall was wide and long, with rough, unfinished floors and bare-bones furnishings beside. The hallway connected to four other rooms, three of which possessed no doors, and led into wide storage spaces. From a casual glance, they seemed to hold weapons and drugs, in addition to the bottles and furniture for the club downstairs.

Marcus had stepped up his operation somewhat since I'd last visited, and he'd moved up from simple unregistered pistols and rifles to machine guns and explosives, most of which would run in the five to six figure range, even in a supposed haven of lawlessness like Luna. I couldn't really speak to the drugs, but some of the bottles he had in storage could easily pay for a starship.

I reached down to pick up my pistol, looking it over quickly for scratches before returning it to my holster. I started towards the left end of the hallway, to the only closed door.

As much as Marcus had spent on his security staff, he apparently decided he could skimp on internal locks, and his office was only secured with a computerized magnetic lock, not unlike the kind you could find on anyone's front door.

"Damn," I said, mostly to myself as I knelt in front of the lock, pulling up the hack program through my implants, "for a moment I thought this was going to be fun."

Corey cast a look back at me as he held the four guards at the point of his new rifle. He had shoved them into the far corner of the hallway, between one of the storage rooms and the elevator door. He was only a foot or so behind me, staggered back to the right a bit, and held the rifle in his hands like a newborn baby.

My program got through the lock in less than five seconds, and I stood as I heard the magnetic lock *thunk* as it disengaged. I moved my hand towards the knob, halted as the metal handle moved of its own volition.

The door swung open inwards, revealing six and a half feet of gruff, greying elk. I had just enough time to process the familiar smirk on the old man's face, and what looked like a shotgun at his waist, lowered and ready to fire.

My following thoughts were a bit of a blur, but I'm sure the words 'fuck' and 'ow' comprised most of them.

The blast of the weapon took me off my feet and threw me back past Corey into the middle of the hallway, close enough for me to hear the ding of the elevator as it opened once more, and all seven of the pissed-off guards from downstairs piling out of it to glare over me, weapons at the ready.

From the corner of my vision, I saw Corey gingerly lay the rifle down at his side, clearly loathe to part with it, before folding his hands behind his head as he kneeled on the floor under the supervision of a pair of guardsmen.

I vaguely heard the sound of clopping hooves as I writhed in pain on the floor, though that may have been the sound of my throbbing head for all I was aware. There wasn't an inch of my body that didn't ache, as if I had died and was now haunted with the ghosts of every hangover I'd ever had. The clopping continued until I was certain it was not my imagination, and a shadow fell across me.

Marcus stood above me, the weapon he'd used now resting on his shoulder. The butt of a cigar hung from his mouth, and he looked down at me with a combination of smirk and smug satisfaction.

"That was a right fool thing of ya to do, ya hear me?" he said, his voice drowning in the thickest, most indistinguishable north-country accent you could hear outside of Northumbria.

I groaned, then shoved an accusatory finger at the tiger, who was now being helped to his feet.

"It's that twat's fault," I protested, "I said pretty please and everything."

"Now that's what ya get for not comin' round more often, like," the elk said, lowering his free hand down to help me to my feet, "ma boys don't hardly know ya't all now, not least how they knew ya back in the day."

"What can I say?" I said, dusting myself off as the pain slowly subsided and air returned to my lungs, "as much as I enjoy your hospitality, this rock's too boring for me to settle down like some old fart."

As for the guards, beyond their initial surprise, handled the situation quite well, cleaning up and giving aid to their injured without much hesitation before heading down the elevator to take the rat to a hospital and resume their patrols. The exception was the tiger, who now glued himself to the old elk's side, shadowing him with a stern, but blank expression.

Marcus led the way back to his office, gesturing for us to follow. Corey scooped his new toy off the floor before rising to follow us.

"Watch who you call old round 'ere," the elk said, setting the gun he'd used against the frame of the door, trading it for a narrow cane.

His office, in contrast to the rest of the club, was very refined and sober, done in dark oak and frosted glass. It was the kind of office you'd expect of a university president, not a strip club owner and gun runner. He sank into a thick-cushioned office chair, resting the head of his cane across his legs as he gestured to the chairs opposite him.

There were four smaller chairs, and Corey and I sat beside each other. The tiger chose to stand in the doorway behind us, no doubt glowering over the humiliation we'd inflicted on him.

"So," the elk started, tapping the ash from his cigar into a crystal tray, "what brings you lot to ma door, unannounced like?"

"I'm not sure if you've heard about the bounty or not..." Corey began, cut off by a gruff and hearty laugh from the elk.

"I ain't just 'eard 'bout it," he said, "that shite's been blarin' all 'ours of the day from the Feds, and ya can be damn sure I ain't the only person that's 'eard it, too."

"So you know how it happened?" Corey continued, "and how high the bounty is?"

"I know," the elk said, taking a deep breath before billowing an equally thick cloud of smoke, "Ulysses Grey: mass murderin' terrorist, worth close on four million, and Corey Rhys: deranged veteran, with near 'bouts half that number."

The elk chuckled, a laugh that had no humour to it, then leaned close to them, "I also know that story's a load of piss, except maybe the 'deranged' bit."

Corey was too taken aback to respond to the jab, and merely stared into the middle-distance, mouthing the total silently.

"Six... million..." he said, finally catching his voice, "we're fucked."

"That ya are," the old man responded, nodding sympathetically, "and I'm betting ya just wandered around the place like newborn calves who don't know their ear from their arse."

"Hardly," I answered, feeling at my collarbone where a bruise had already begun to swell, "We didn't pass through customs, so people scanning the networks for us won't find us, and we've managed to slip away from the two tails we picked up on the way here."

"Wait," Corey said, turning to face me, "what tails? What are you talking about?"

"Come on Corey," I said, "why would I ever go into a souvenir shop if it wasn't to lose a pursuer?"

He thought back on it, realization dawning on his face, "the cougar that was checking you out on the train."

"Yup," I said, fishing the tail's wallet out of my pocket, already having siphoned the money from his credit account, "he's a corporate rent-a-cop, likely making sure I keep my distance from their casinos."

"The bouncer to VIP stopped the second one," the elk interjected, "one of mah boys recognized him as a freelance bounty hunter, and I don't let them troublemakers start trouble on mah property."

"It's a temporary solution at least," I said, beginning to fold one leg over the other before the pain stopped me.

The old man noticed it, "ha, ya like that new concussion rifle the boys brought in?"

"I would like it a hell of a lot more if I hadn't been the target," I said, looking back at the weapon with a healthy degree of suspicion, "besides, you've got it loaded with a regular rifle cell instead of a non-lethal one, they carry about thirty percent less charge per shot."

"Where's the fun in that?" the elk chuckled, "anyone stupid enough to come charging in 'ere deserves the whole bloody package."

"It also means the heat sink isn't designed to handle such high temperatures and could melt the damn thing if you aren't careful."

"Hmm," the elk nodded, "point taken."

"Excuse me," Corey said, "Maybe we can talk shop about weapons after we figure out what the hell we're going to do about the bloody bounty?"

I looked over at him, confused, "what do you mean?"

The look he gave me left the distinct impression he was about to punch me, "how the hell are we going to stay alive with six million on our heads? We're a walking lottery for any half-wit with a gun, and we're sitting around staring at our dicks like the solution's gonna' pop out our trousers!"

"Fuckin' hell Corey," I said, "relax, everything's handled."

"Seriously kid," the old elk chimed in, "ya gonna give yerself a haemorrhage with all that shite."

"Marcus is a fixer," I explained, "so he gives us jobs so we can pay off the bounty."

"That isn't how a bounty works!" Corey said, on the verge of shouting in frustration, "You can't just pay the reward for your own capture and get off scott-free!"

"No," I conceded, "you have to pay two and a half times that amount, directly to a federation admiral."

He opened his mouth to speak, but froze, a single finger held up in a point that died in his throat, "wait, what?"

"Federation piracy ordinance twelve," I said, "any bounty related to piracy of an amount higher than three million is considered a rouge faction at war with the federation, and the standard conditions of surrender include reparations equal to 2.5 times the prize reward."

"How is it I've never heard of this?" Corey asked.

"The Federation hardly advertises it," Marcus said, "if the taxpayers knew the government was willingly accepting bribes in exchange for free passes on criminal charges, there'd be bloody revolutions in the streets."

"That and the fact the clause doesn't apply to those who've killed Federation citizens," I added, "you have to be pretty damn obnoxious to get a bounty that high without actually killing someone."

"Haven't they framed you for 'mass murder' though?" Corey asked, thinking back to the elk's earlier words.

"No doubt they worded the bounty that way," I said, "they're just trying to justify the cost without saying 'we royally fucked up and let this guy escape a heavily policed space-station without much of a fight.'"

I turned to the elk, "so how's about it? We do some work around the station until we get the money, and you get the help of the best damn criminals in the galaxy for a good amount of time."

"That's jus' the thing," the elk said, shaking his head, "ya lot are a pair of daft bastards, but yer too good for this place. I don't rightly know if I got somethin' worth yer time."

"Not even some casino hits?" I asked, "maybe a smash-and-grab on a rival gang?"

"Casinos been crackin' down hard, lad," the elk responded, "things bein' as they were, you'd have to be dumber than a rock to try them. Can't rightly say if I still got any rivals either, boy. I've my territory and they theirs, any expansion on mah part'd draw too much attention."

"Well we aren't going to come about fifteen million running drugs and weapons for you," I said, rubbing the scruff of my chin in thought, "we need to think much, much bigger."

There was a glint in the old elk's eyes and a sly grin broke on his face.

"Just about how big we talkin' here, lad?"

I returned the gesture with a smirk of my own, "bigger than that alligator you've got downstairs."

"Well now," the elk said, "that does sound lovely."

"You've got something in mind?" Corey sat forward.

"Small ideas," the old man said, "but they've got some mighty big potential."

Marcus drummed his fingers on his desk as he mulled it over in his mind.

"I'll have to talk to some people, test the waters with this one," he said, "what I've got in mind just might be big enough to keep even you lot on yer toes, but it's not so simple as to jump into it."

"What do you suggest we do in the meantime?" Corey asked.

"You mentioned Kovic, the alligator?" Marcus grinned, "I'm sure he and the rest of the crew would love to show you some hospitality."

I could barely stop myself from drooling at the thought, "you sure do know how to treat a man, Marcus."

The greying elk smiled as he shrugged off the compliment, "I simply know how to cater to one's tastes."

He turned his gaze to the tiger behind us.

"Take them backstage, and give them full run of the place."

If the security chief had any objections, he hid them behind a placid expression, "of course, sir."

Before we had even reached the door the old man was calling up his holoterminal to get into contact with whomever he had in mind, and Corey and I followed the grim-faced tiger back to the elevator we'd held him captive in.

Corey, like myself, seemed to be giddy with anticipation of the fun that awaited us backstage.

"This is the best bloody job in the galaxy," he said as the doors opened back up to the orgiastic VIP section.

"It's all about the perks," I said, wrapping an arm around him as we headed off to our own personal session with the sexiest men in the system.