Another night at the bar- it was becoming too much of a habit. But there was something oddly endearing about the place, from its creaking floorboards, to the juke box that cranked out grungy rock songs, to the cheap- but surprisingly good- alcohol. There was the usual assortment of finger foods (which no one dared to touch) and a constant haze of smoke that hung thickly in the room, dimming the already dull yellow lights above. Several men sat in front of the long wooden bar, their shoulders slouched as they sipped their drinks and talked to one another about the recent pre-season races.
The pre-season in Kras City was always promising no matter the previous year's outcome. It was a time when veteran racers took to the track once gain to prepare for the Grand Prix; when young racers or rookies were shown the brutality of the sport. There was a sense of renewal with each reevaluated team or improvement of vehicles. Almost like a rebirth of sorts.
If Razer found anything worth pining after, racing was it. Nearly a year had passed since he'd come out of retirement to join the fray in the previous Grand Prix. He'd forgotten how it all felt: to cross the finish line with engines screaming, the roar of the crowd as another explosion crackled through the air; the smell of oil, fuel and exhaust. It was as close to love as he was ever going to get. But the wound of defeat still stung him relentlessly- he was certain that boy Jak had ruined his reputation. Of course he didn't believe it at first; there had never been a time when he felt intimidated by anyone, let alone outshined. To have a boy beat him at this sport- it was unbearable.
For the first time in his life, Razer had doubted himself.
It had taken almost a year of drowning in sweet wines and burning whiskey, long nights and many women to rediscover himself and his love for the sport. He'd done away with such stupidity quickly, and managed to carve out quite a niche in the crime business. Currently, there were two head bosses in Kras City- Razer and that prissy heiress to the Krew fortune, Rayn. He was roughly a few more losses away from working for her, which was one thought he couldn't stand. Ever since that boy and his rat had won the Championship, she'd taken power and became the top crime boss in the city. Her practical over-night success disgusted him; the woman didn't know how to run Kras and she never would. And since Mizo was finally dead, she'd become an unstoppable force.
Razer let out a short sigh, ignoring his drink for the moment as he brought the cigarette to his lips once again, wincing at the drunken laughter coming from the far corner of the room. It was always the same idiots running around the place; the same buffoons arguing over trivial things. Even the girls seemed to be clones every time, no matter what they said their names were.
A small puff of smoke coiled into the air as he watched the fish swim smoothly through the clouded glass of the tank behind the bar. He could see his bored and indifferent reflection staring back at him, observing the other blurry figures move rapidly around him. He took another drag on the cigarette, but paused after catching a peculiar figure in the window pane. Someone had come into the bar, wearing a dark coat, the hood obscuring their face. The cigarette hung limply from Razer's lips as he watched from the corner of his eye, now acting as if he hadn't noticed. He reached for his drink, lightly tapping the glass with his fingers. Sudden movement caught his attention and his eyes widened in surprise.
The gunshot was loud, causing a brief silence in which only the grinding of the rock music could be heard. Razer's knife had already been thrown just before the sharp crack of the pistol and it struck the bullet in midair, a large yellow-orange spark flickering above. Screams followed, and every person in the bar scrambled to their feet, swarming for the exit.
Razer hit the floor hard, wincing at the pain in his back as he watched the patrons of the Bloody Hook run around over him, catching flashes of their horrified expressions before he kicked the stool away from him to free his legs. He'd pushed from the bar to flatten himself to the ground, knowing he was momentarily hidden from the assassin by the people that continued to run around him. He rolled for cover, hearing tables and chairs thud to the floor as people continued to scream. Razer braced himself behind a fallen roundtable, daring a look over the edge. The assassin removed their hood as the citizens elbowed past; Razer's eyebrows arched in surprise.
It was a woman.
She tossed aside her spy pistol, useless to her now, and reached for another weapon hidden beneath her long coat. She pulled out a submachine gun strapped to her thigh, all stealth aside, pointing it to the ceiling and firing several rounds into the overhead lights. The bar was plunged into semi-darkness, the emergency lights glowing a dull amber above. Remaining patrons screamed once again and headed for the exits desperately, throwing each other around as they went. The assassin continued her sweep of the bar, the machine gun chattering loudly in the confined space. Several bullets punched through the fish tank, shattering the first pane of glass. Water spilled on to the floor, along with various flailing fish. The second pane spider-webbed, people outside screaming in surprise.
Razer gnashed his teeth, tossing his smashed cigarette aside. With a flick of his wrist, a small sliver throwing knife appeared in his palm from the device strapped to his forearm. He threw the blade over the edge of the table, watching the silver flash as it went. The assassin spun on the spot and moved out of the way at the last moment, her sapphire hair whirling around her face as she turned. Razer dove from his hiding spot just ahead of the hail of bullets that shattered the table in its wake. He threw another knife from his back and it managed to slice a hole through the sleeve of her jacket. She let out a small gasp of pain as a trail of blood blossomed through her coat and she growled, leveling the machine gun again.
Razer knew she was confused at where he was, he found her in too difficult, a position to get directly with a dagger. As gun-fire roared all around him, splinters of wood and food flying through the air, he searched frantically for a way out. Another blade slapped into his palm and he hurled it over his head, eyes trained on the flashing metal as it ricocheted with a small crack off the rafters.
The knife stuck into the floorboards littered with hot casing, shuddering slightly against the assassin's boot. A small smirk curved her ruby lips as she spun to point the gun at his hiding place.
Razer had anticipated her move, leaping for a place behind the bar as bullets riddled the second mahogany table he'd used for cover. The gun-fire was deafening and the woman growled in frustration. Razer rolled to a crouch, knowing he needed to even the fight. He was fully confident with his beloved daggers, but against that submachine gun they were mere toys. Water was still flowing behind the bar, dripping on to his coat as he leaned against the wall. He looked up, his gaze settling on the ruined fish tank. Razer narrowed his eyes.
With gun-fire still blaring throughout the room, he sprang to his feet and leapt for the tank, slamming his shoulder into the glass. The weakened structure buckled from his weight and his body crashed right through it. Several shards of glass sliced into his exposed skin and he grimaced in pain, landing hard on the concrete below. Spitting out gritty water and cursing under his breath from the pain, he heaved himself to a standing position and broke into a run.
The woman leaned through the hole in the fish tank, slipping through it effortlessly. Her boots crunched glass as she went, aiming the machine gun at the receding figure. Her lips curled into a snarl as her finger pulled the trigger, the Vulcan barrel rounds blaring in the quiet night, hot shells clinking to the street beside her.
Razer cursed again as the bullets whined over his head, shooting up chips of concrete or whining off metal street signs with a spark. He darted into an alleyway, thankful for the darkness and the precious time he had to catch his breath. Dark strand of hair now hung irritatingly to the middle of his forehead; water dripped from his nose and his jacket felt much too heavy on his shoulders. Fighting with the straps, he pulled it from around him, making the decision to discard it in the alley.
The air felt cold on his bare arms and pressed through the thin cloth of his black t-shirt as he ran down the remaining pathway, occasionally stepping into the warm pools of light from the tiny slit windows highlighting the walls around him. He needed to get out of this sector; he needed a gun. His car was parked by the Bloody Hook, and he couldn't go to it; the assassin would be expecting that. She'd be waiting for him.
He could hear the distant screams of the frightened citizens echoing through the air as he ran and increased his pace, boots stomping through puddles. Razer looked around feverishly as his thoughts raced to find a coherent plan. With a gasp, he came out of the alley on to a sidewalk, traffic roaring ahead. Brilliant headlights flashed over him as they went.
Razer gritted his teeth as he watched the vehicles drive past, his dark eyes scanning the area for a logical way out. He raised his eyebrows upon catching a glimpse of a parked motorcycle; it rested crookedly in a spot off to his left, the neon lights flashing repeatedly in its polished chrome.
It wasn't his style, but it was better than nothing.
He slung a leg over the bike, sitting comfortably on the leather seat as he fished through his pockets. His fingers found the small pick-lock he'd had since his teen years- something that came in handy more often than others believed. Watching the alley for the assassin, Razer jammed the pick into the ignition, twisting until the engine turned over. He smiled and stomped on the kick start. The bike shuddered to life beneath him and after a final glance at the alley, he revved the motor and took off into the streets, tires screeching as he went.
The assassin reached the end of the alley, breathing sharp breaths, her hair obscuring her vision. She knew he had come this way; her eyes hunted for him, fingers coiled tightly around the grip of the machine gun. Tires squealed suddenly and her head snapped to the left to follow the sound. She grunted a dull laugh, cocking the rifle as the motorcycle rocketed up the street, a fine mist trailing behind it from puddles on the ground. She smiled maliciously and fired. Bullets tore up the concrete in a neat trail, but he managed to outrun them. The assassin was pleased to watch a touch of fear play across his face as he threw a glance over his shoulder. She ran after him, still firing in short bursts, the muzzle flashes illuminating her glowering face.
It had literally been years since he'd driven a motorcycle, but Razer was no longer surprised by what he could do in a desperate situation. At that point, he was facing his current predicament like a race; adrenaline coursed through his veins as the bike roared and bullets thudded the street behind him. The woman was good- he had to give her that.
The avenues widened into four lanes ahead and the air cooled, stinging against his skin. He squinted, hearing the bullets finally cease, the sound overwhelmed by the roar of traffic. Stealing another glance over his shoulder, he wasn't surprised to find the girl still following after him, running with the machine gun raised. He smirked and continued forward, his eyes following the blinking lights along the small bridge he was now crossing. The ocean distorted the moon's reflection below as the bike headed into the shipping sector of the city, large cargo trains chugging sluggishly forward on their respective tracks. Razer narrowed his eyes and gunned the engine as he lurched forward over the tracks, ignoring the blaring horns that sounded as the trains caught him in their headlights.
The woman watched as he vanished from view behind them, her brow knitted into a deep 'v,' her mouth twisted into a growl. The digital display on the SMG read a bold red '0.' She tossed it into the shadows and ran after him.
It wasn't that easy.
With another turn, and he was free of the train, the wind still biting at his skin. He knew the waterfront docks eventually looped around to the crowded working class neighborhoods and if he could get there, he'd be able to lose her amidst the filthy citizens. Razer gripped the steering bars tightly, moving to shift to a higher gear as the bike lurched on to a main road. Briefly, he looked off to his left across the ocean, watching the city lights ripple on the surface.
Where the hell had she come from? More importantly, why was she after him? Several possibilities flashed through his mind; there were plenty of reasons why someone would want him dead, but it felt different this time. She could have been one of his past 'loves' out for bizarre revenge- anything seemed possible. But he soon ruled out that thought, knowing for certain a girl out to kill him for something personal would have come first with a clichéd speech which she announced to the entire bar before attempting to shoot him. The woman after him was a professional, from her little spy pistol, to that fancy hip-holstered SMG.
Razer's gaze was still focused on the ocean alongside him, the cold wind causing his body to tense and his fingers to tighten around the handle bars. A bright yellow light suddenly swept across the ground beneath him, finally settling on his motorcycle, illuminating him fully. He turned and his eyes widened.
A combat racer was following him, painted a striking cerulean with stripes of jet black snaking along the hood and side panels of the car. Sitting behind the wheel was the assassin, the wind snapping back her thick sapphire hair in waves. Razer could see her face more distinctly; her skin glowed a gentle amber from the headlights, her eyes narrowed to slits, her ruby lips parted in a wide grin.
She was laughing at him.
Razer growled, watching as she pulled back the turbo release and the car shot up the remaining lane to come up on his right side. He couldn't tell what kind of racer it was, though it looked like any model he would have gone up against on the track. He tried to shake the surprise from his thoughts, but found it difficult. The car pressed in closer to him and he wrenched the motorcycle to its highest gear. He managed to pull ahead, and the woman's car glided smoothly into place behind him. The odor of burning fuel and rubber was strong; the street crunched beneath the massive tires and the engine roared. Razer's blood boiled at the thought of her laughing at him, of taking pleasure in his distress. If he strained his ears, he could hear her voice over the clattering of the vehicle, a loud, clear laugh much like his own. She was obviously enjoying the chase.
Razer tore his eyes from the sight behind him, training his gaze ahead, knowing the path to the working class sector would be coming up on his right. She could corner him or eventually force him over the railing into the water if he didn't get there soon. The combat racer edged closer to him; he could feel the heat rising from the engine to warm his bare arms. He detested the way she was toying with him, knowing full well she could have killed him easily with one of the deadly weapons on that car.
Gritting his teeth angrily, he twisted the throttle and the bike complied, growling to a crescendo as it went. Razer heaved the motorcycle to the right, wincing from the effort. He narrowly avoided clipping the front bumper of the racer, the bike tipped at a precarious angle. He threw a hand out to balance himself, fingers grazing the concrete before the vehicle bounced over a rut in the road, disappearing into the close-built shops and buildings of the poor section of town. The combat racer screeched to a halt, too large to drive down the narrow cobbled streets. The assassin cursed, glowering at the receding taillight. She punched the dashboard and shrieked.
Razer parked the motorcycle with an abrupt skid, leaving behind a black mark against the dusty cobble as he went. He ignored the inquiring looks of the citizens that passed him, hopping off the seat to feverishly search the satchels strapped to the bike for a weapon. He still had the device on his wrist, but was running out of throwing knives. The sharp coolness of steel suddenly pressed into his palm and he smirked, pulling a silvery pistol from the satchel. It fit perfectly with his hand, and he smiled at his luck. The grip was strangely styled however- a clear, sturdy glass served as small 'windows' that revealed the line of bullets waiting to be fired. Wastelander design. How interesting.
He tucked the newfound weapon beneath his belt at the back of his slacks, pulling his shirt over it as he continued onward through the sector. Having never set foot inside the working class area, Razer took a moment to look around. His shoes scraped up dirt with each step; the place was let by strings of hanging lights and an occasional neon sign advertizing a business or product. There were a few large television screens flashing ads or the occasional grinning face of G.T. Blitz, which now struck Razer as bitterly ironic rather than irksome. A small group of children ran past him, giggling amongst each other in spite of the fact their clothes were baggy and their shoes may has well have been rags. It seemed odd to him that children could find happiness in a place as filthy as this one. He observed them play around in the street for a moment before continuing his trek through the region. Another alleyway suited him just fine, and he quickly pressed into the shadows, doing his best to ignore the posters of G.T. Blitz that plastered the wall. It was almost nauseating to see the man's face so many times; relief came in the form of graffiti that managed to cover the last few before the brick could be seen once again.
Razer heaved a sigh, pausing a moment to lean against the wall, running a hand through his tousled hair. Bangs hung annoyingly into his eyes and he pushed them back only to have them fall once again into view. It was then he realized how desperately he wanted a cigarette. Without really thinking, he looked up toward the sky, and jumped nearly a foot.
She was there already- standing above him holding a rifle in her arms. Razer could just barely make out her smile before he leapt out of the way, falling into a roll. The rifle boomed, echoing loudly as smoke curled into the air from the end of the barrel. A hail of bullets punched through the brick right where his head had been. Lovely- it's a shotgun this time.
Razer jumped to his feet, knowing she would follow. He pushed open the nearest door and disappeared inside. The air was at once warmer and strongly smelled of coffee and several spices that made his stomach twist with hunger. Razer ran past the confused people sitting together in the little café, hearing the door slam open behind him, shuddering on its hinges. The screams came soon after.
Razer braced himself behind one of the walls, pulling out the pistol. He quickly racked the slide to click a round into place, then turned and fired. The woman vanished behind the check-out counter near the entrance as bullets shattered the pile of dishes waiting to be cleared along several bottles of ketchup and hot sauce. The cash register dinged and slid open clumsily. Knowing she was distracted, Razer pushed himself from the wall and sprinted down the corridor to his left. The wine rack ahead of him suddenly exploded, sending shards of glass and bursts of liquid flying. His heart reached a pound at the realization she'd almost killed him with that shotgun blast. He slipped slightly as he ran, cursing as he struggled along. After taking a sharp right, he kicked open the emergency exit and headed back into the street.
The alarm began to rattle above as the assassin crunched over the remaining shards of the wine bottles, drawing a hand over her chest to clear the ketchup from her shirt. With a hard flick of her wrist, the sauce splattered red on the wall and she jogged the rest of the way to go after him once again.