by Jake Bible
“Shut up, Junior,” a woman’s voice interrupted. “Rage? You worried?”
“Not worried, but wary,” Rage said. “Maybe they’re looking for someone in particular. Maybe they’re just casing the place after that brawl last week.”
“A brawl you started, Rage!” Junior said.
“Junior!” the woman shouted. “Get off the fucking comms now!”
“Ah, Mom, come on,” Junior replied. “You know I want to be—”
“OFF! NOW!”
“Fine…”
A long sigh then, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Rage.”
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Rage said. “If they move, I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, and Mascholine?”
“Yeah, Rage?”
“Put someone on the alley doors,” Rage said. “Just in case this is the decoy and they’re coming in from the back.”
There was a long pause. Rage continued scanning and letting patrons into the bar. He waited, knowing Mascholine’s process.
“I stuck the bot there,” Mascholine said after a couple of minutes. “Can you dial into its feed?”
“On it,” Rage replied.
He held up a hand, palm out, and the line of patrons stopped in their tracks. A couple of guys a few spots back began to complain, but Rage gave them the stink eye and they shut up fast.
Pressing his index finger to a spot next to his left eye, Rage activated the vid feed in his implant. When he closed his left eye, he immediately brought up a visual of what the security bot in the alley was seeing. Dumpsters, a couple of homeless aliens peeing against said dumpsters, a couple more aliens waiting to lap up the pee when the others were done because some aliens are just gross.
“We’re clear for now,” Rage said as he opened his left eye and normal vision was restored. “I’ll check every thirty seconds, but be sure and set the bot to force a feed to me if things get weird.”
“You are my best investment, Rage,” Mascholine replied. “You free after the show tonight?”
Rage grinned and several of the waiting patrons shrunk back, more than a little terrified at how it made his face look.
“I could be convinced to socialize,” Rage said to Mascholine.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Mascholine said. “Watch the pigs and keep me posted.”
“You know I will,” Rage said then waved for the line to start moving again.
Three
The line dwindled to nothing as the show began to start up inside the bar. Rage checked the vid feed from the security bot, but still no cops heading for the alley entrance. More aliens had arrived to enjoy the piss buffet by the dumpsters, but they were regular scum that Rage knew by sight and certainly not cops.
That left the unmarked hover car down the block.
“Send the bot to the door,” Rage said into the comms.
“You know what, Rage?” Junior replied. “I am not liking your attitude tonight. You need to speak to me with respect and—!”
“Someone, anyone, send the bot to the door,” Rage snapped. “Before I walk inside and stretch Junior’s sphincter up over his head.”
“Jesus, Rage…” Junior gulped. “I’ll send the bot.”
“Damn right you will,” Rage snarled and killed the comms.
When the barely held together bot arrived, its three wheels squeaking so loud that half the rats in the neighborhood peeked their heads out of the sewer grate to see if one of their species was dying, Rage patted the rusty machine on the shoulder.
“Scan and charge any stragglers,” Rage said to the bot. It beeped. He had no idea what the beep meant and his comms translator didn’t seem to care. Rage didn’t really care, either. “Only room for fifteen more patrons, so shut things down when you hit that number. Mascholine can’t afford to bribe the fire marshal any more than she has.”
The bot beeped a second time then tried to straighten up to its full height, but a servo fritzed out and it froze halfway, a couple of sparks emitting from its midsection.
“You alright?” Rage asked. The bot beeped. “Okay…”
Rage moved away from Crater Ray’s. He walked straight at the hover car, cracking his massive knuckles as he closed on the vehicle. The sound of his joints popping was like gunshots and Rage smiled.
The blue light under the hover car intensified and the vehicle pulled away from the curb before Rage could get close enough to look for identifying tags or marks. It spun about and raced away, cutting across five lanes of Highway 25, nearly causing a hover pileup. Horns blew, voices were raised, middle fingers, or what passed for middle fingers depending on the race, were extended, then the kerfuffle was over and Rage was left standing on the sidewalk with no one and nothing to punch.
“Snoopers took off,” Rage reported over the comms.
“Then you can get back to your spot at the door,” Junior replied.
“Junior, shut up,” Mascholine snapped. “We’ll leave the bot there. Rage? Head on in. Gonna need your muscles with the crowd. Got some Terbelians out for a bachelor party and they’re leaving slime trails in front of the stage. Need you to deal with them ASAP.”
“Copy that,” Rage said, almost back to the bar’s front entrance.
Before he reached the bar, the hair on the back of his neck stood upright and Rage froze. He cocked his head, letting his enhanced hearing scan his surroundings for the threat. Nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn’t mean much.
Rage took two steps toward the bar then was suddenly knocked off his feet and sent falling into the highway. Luckily, all of the vehicles were at least six feet off the ground, so he didn’t get run over. But the constant power wash from the vehicles’ mag lifters forced him flat against the asphalt. Unable to get up and defend himself, Rage was grabbed by the ankles and flung sideways, his body colliding with the ancient brick wall of the magic and novelty supply shop that sat next to Crater Ray’s.
The wall crumbled under Rage’s impact and he found himself inside the shop, covered in rubber chickens and squirting flowers.
“That was a mistake,” Rage said to no one in particular as he forced himself up onto his feet. He saw the shape a split second before it slammed into his chest. But that split second was all Rage needed.
Feet planted, Rage flexed all of his muscles at once. The shape hit him full force, but that force was stopped cold. It fell to the floor, and Rage reached down and plucked it out of a mangled display for marked playing cards and piles of fake alien poop.
A Charbeshun.
Charbeshuns were an alien shadow race. Made of sentient smoke, they could become dense as iron when they needed to, making them very dangerous opponents. The confusing part to Rage was that they weren’t usually a violent race. Unless threatened, then they’d fight to the death without a second thought. Rage had no recollection of threatening any Charbeshuns lately.
“What’s your deal?” Rage asked the wriggling hunk of smoke. He searched for the thing’s face so he could look it in the eyes, but could find neither face nor eyes. So he shook it. Hard. “Why’d you attack me? What’d I do to you?”
The alien hissed a response and Rage waited for the translation to echo in his comms.
“What you will do!”
Rage considered that phrase and the angry tone with which it was spat at him.
“Nope,” Rage said. “Not getting it.”
“You will do bad thing! You will kill her!” the Charbeshun screeched.
Before Rage could ask any more questions, a bright red flash from across the highway caught his attention. He knew that flash.
Rage let go of the Charbeshun and threw himself to the floor as the red flash raced across the fifteen lanes of Highway 25 and slammed into the Charbeshun. The smoky alien screamed so loud that Rage’s comm piece shut off to protect his eardrum from being destroyed. Then the screaming stopped and the Charbeshun exploded into a million strands of gray thread, coating Rage all over.
“
Damnit,” Rage snarled as he fruitlessly tried to wipe the remains of the alien off his body. All he managed to do was smear it everywhere and get the sticky strands stuck between his fingers. “Damnit!”
Rage stayed put for several minutes as he waited for a second attack.
“Rage? Where are you?” Junior called over the comms. “We need you inside! Now!”
“Had a situation,” Rage replied. He slowly got to his feet, eyes locked on the demolished wall of the novelty shop and the highway beyond. No sign of an attacker or of any imminent danger. “On my way.”
“You better be! Now we have some frat boys that could use a lesson in manners!” Junior said.
“You could use a lesson in manners, you little shit,” Rage grumbled.
“What was that?” Junior snapped.
“You heard me,” Rage said. “I’m on my way. Chill the hell out, kid.”
“I’m not a kid!” Junior protested.
Rage ignored the comment and tried once more to wipe the Charbeshun from his clothes. Just more smearing occurred.
By the time Rage made it inside Crater Ray’s, the frat boys had started a full-on brawl. The band was in full swing up on the stage and seemed to enjoy the violent chaos. Mascholine, glaring from behind the bar, her bright yellow skin and blazing red hair hard to miss. Same with the sawed-off shotgun in one hand and the sawed-off baseball bat in the other. The scowl on her face told Rage she was not enjoying the chaos at all. The two weapons said she might start enjoying things if they got any worse.
Mascholine’s eyes locked onto Rage’s as he stepped into the main area of the bar.
“I’m on it,” Rage said, grabbing the closest idiot.
The idiot turned out to be a fat little human with bad acne and dilated pupils the size of Rage’s fists. Rage popped the kid between the eyes and he fell limp onto the bar’s sticky, damp floor.
“They’re hopped up on something,” Rage said as he grabbed another fighting patron. Same dilated pupils. “Best to just gas the place.”
“I’m not shutting down the show to gas the place, Rage,” Mascholine said. “Do your job and stop this.”
“Fine,” Rage replied with an irritated sigh.
“What do you have all over you?” Junior asked.
Rage looked about the bar and saw the punk hiding from the melee in his usual booth in the far corner of the bar, his bright yellow forehead and green hair just visible above the table’s surface.
“Charbeshun,” Rage said. “It’s a story for later.”
“I want to know now,” Junior said.
“JUNIOR!” Mascholine roared. “Let the man do his job! Rage? Do your goddamn job!”
“On it,” Rage said then dove full on into the brawl.
Rage managed to knock five people out cold before the first punch was thrown his way. He caught the offending fist, squeezed hard, then smirked as the owner of the now broken fist screamed like one of the squeaky toys from the novelty shop next door.
A Snorpa, one of the hairiest of the alien races that had taken up on Earth, slashed at Rage with its razor-sharp claws. The claws were only the size of a small cat’s, even though the Snorpa was almost seven feet tall, but they were deadly if they nicked the right artery. Rage made sure the claws got nowhere near any of his arteries as he sidestepped a wild slash, grabbed the Snorpa’s arm, and snapped it at the elbow. The alien roared in pain and fell, allowing Rage to send a well-timed knee to the Snorpa’s jaw. Its head rocked back and it was unconscious before its skull found floor.
A tentacle wrapped about Rage’s neck and he slid his hand under it, yanked hard, then twisted until the tentacle popped, sending bright blue blood spraying over the crowd. Several patrons whooped at the spray, thinking it was part of the stage show. Or they were jerks and just didn’t care that an alien lost a tentacle.
Rage didn’t really care either, and he flung the being across the bar where it splatted against the wall then collapsed into a puddle of floppy skin and oozing blue blood. Rage barely gave the alien a second look, but he did wonder what race it was. Not a species he knew at all.
A fist slammed into Rage’s left cheek, making his skin ripple. But that was all. Just a ripple. Rage slowly pivoted his head and stared at the attacker. A slight woman with wide-set purple eyes, six arms, and one single leg. She shook her quickly swelling fist then blinked up at Rage. He slammed his fist down on top of her skull and she crumpled.
Three frat boys, classic human dicks, rushed Rage and he let them. They jumped on him, but Rage barely felt the weight. He tore one loose and flung him in Junior’s direction. He tore the second one loose and flung him toward the front door. Then he tore the third one loose and held him high in the air for all to see.
“You want to know what privilege really is, you snot-nosed, punk-ass bitch?” Rage roared as he shook the wriggling frat boy. “How about the privilege of my fist destroying your face!”
Instead of bringing his fist to meet the frat boy’s face, he brought the frat boy’s face to meet his fist. Same result. A sickening crunch of bone and a crying, cowering frat boy sent falling to the floor.
Rage faced the rest of the crowd and roared, “KNOCK IT OFF!”
Half the brawling crowd stopped in their tracks. They stared at Rage. They stared at the frat boy crying on the floor. Then they went back to fighting.
“THAT’S IT!” Rage shouted. He picked up the closest patron and threw the flailing alien into the crowd, knocking down a couple dozen humans and aliens like bowling pins.
Rage rushed the remaining patrons and began tossing bodies left and right like he was a train plowing through a herd of cattle. A few of the patrons even mooed as they went sprawling. Those that were able to dodge Rage’s attack began their own counterattack. Fists flew. Feet kicked. Elbows were thrown and knees were lifted. Teeth bared, claws extended, tentacles whipped.
Rage took it all in stride, never giving ground as he endured the onslaught of hands, feet, limbs that came at him. Someone got in a good shot to the base of Rage’s skull and he winced as pain radiated up through his head.
“That fucking hurt,” Rage said. He spun about and received a kick to the face for his effort. “That didn’t.”
The attacker gulped hard and tried to flee, but Rage grabbed her by the back of the neck and flung her straight at the frat boy by the front door, who had just started to get back up. Rage ignored their cries for help as limbs became tangled like a flesh pretzel.
“Done. So fucking done,” Rage muttered as he systematically moved from one patron to the next, sending all into unconscious oblivion.
It took close to ten minutes, but by the end, Rage had ninety percent of the crowd begging for him to stop. The entire time, the band kept playing. The show must go on.
“We good?” Rage asked over the comms.
“We good,” Mascholine replied. “Junior? You and the bot clean up the ones that can’t walk out on their own. I’ll deal with the cops that are about to be here.”
“Me? Why can’t Rage clean up?” Junior complained over the comms, still hiding in his booth. “He made the mess!”
“JUNIOR!” Mascholine shouted.
“Fine…”
“Rage? Make yourself scarce,” Mascholine said. “No need for your mug to be in front of the cops. And go clean up. That Charbeshun gunk is beginning to dissolve and it’s putting holes in your clothes.”
Rage looked down and saw that she was right. The gunk was eating away at his T-shirt.
“Shit. This was my favorite black T-shirt,” Rage said.
“You have like ten,” Mascholine said.
“Yeah, but this was my favorite.”
“Go get cleaned up.”
Rage started to walk away, but was grabbed around the waist by one last hold-out. The hold-out lost that struggle fast. It also lost half its scalp as Rage grabbed it by its spiky hair and tossed the punk across the bar.
“Hey!” Junior yelled. “That thing almost hit me!”
>
“Almost?” Rage replied as he walked toward a set of stairs by the side of the bar. “My aim must have been off.”
Four
Rage had just stepped out of the shower when Mascholine stepped into the small bathroom. There was barely enough room for both of them, forcing Mascholine to press up against Rage’s naked skin.
“I’m wet,” Rage said.
“Me too,” Mascholine replied with a grin.
She pressed against him harder then reached past to grab a towel off the wall rack. Mascholine handed the towel to Rage and laughed softly as he tried to dry off with her still in the bathroom.
“Think this is funny?” Rage asked as he failed at maneuvering his bulk around her to get dry.
“I do,” Mascholine said.
“I give up,” Rage said and tossed the towel to the floor.
Then he grabbed her up in his arms and their mouths met. Rage carried her from the bathroom and into the one-bedroom apartment he rented from her above the bar. With barely any effort, he threw her off him and onto the bed that sat in the center of the room.
Mascholine was already yanking her clothes off by the time she landed on the bed. Her bright yellow skin glowed in the semi-darkness of the apartment. She had shirt off, bra off, and pants almost off when Rage lowered himself on top of her.
“The pay is shit, but the benefits are nice,” Rage said as he helped Mascholine with her pants, completing the task of getting her naked.
Mascholine grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his mouth back to hers. They kissed hard and long then Rage moved his mouth down her body. He kissed her throat, her neck, her breasts, her belly, then got to the good stuff. Mascholine gasped then cried out with an exuberant, “Yes!” as Rage went to work between her legs.
Her yellow skin grew brighter and brighter until her back arched and she screamed with pleasure. Her fingernails dug long, bloody furrows in Rage’s shoulders. The gouges began to heal almost as soon as she had made them.
“My god, you’re good at that,” Mascholine gasped as she grabbed Rage by the side of his head and pulled him away from her.
He moved back up her body, reversing the motions from before. His massive arms came to rest on either side of her hips. Rage’s eyes took in the glowing of Mascholine’s skin.