by Sean Davies
Licinia, a fierce looking blonde-haired woman with inquisitive blue eyes, saluted. “Nice to meet you.”
“Alright? Most people just call me Webby,” Hector said warmly. He had tanned skin, short black hair that was thinning considerably at his crown, a round clean-shaven face that was dotted with scars, and kind chestnut eyes.
Sergeant Winters gestured towards the two members of the Tropican Military Forces that the Queen of Tropica had loaned to the mission. “These two are—”
“Azalea’s flower power rangers,” Licinia interrupted with a cruel sneer.
Hector Webb laughed, and the TMF troopers shot the Justiciars an evil look.
“That’s enough of that!” Matthias Winters commanded, bringing instant quiet from his comrades. “This is Joran Ward and Olishia Rose, of the TMF,” he continued.
Olishia was a striking black woman with bright pink hair that was braided beautifully and tied back loosely with a white ribbon. Her dark eyes were sultry and alluring, and she gave Genevieve and Constance a kiss on each cheek in lieu of a salute.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Olishia said sweetly.
Joran—a young man with dark olive skin, light brown eyes, and cheek-length hair that was gelled into dangling spikes and featured wicked blue and white highlights—greeted them in a similar fashion.
“Always a great pleasure to meet two alluring beauties,” Joran Ward said flirtatiously. “I apologize in advance for the others. They never removed the Inquisition sticks from their arses.”
Licinia Florens surged forward, but Sergeant Winters quickly barked some orders at her, forcing her to stop in her tracks and return to her duty.
“See what I mean?” Stitches said out the side of his fabric mouth.
“It’s going to be an interesting trip,” Genevieve said with a raised eyebrow.
Alice stomped down the ramp, holding her war-hammer in one hand like she was already prepping for an imminent fight. Everyone stiffened and saluted, including Olishia and Joran, as the Lord Imperator’s presence and all too apparent bad mood alone were commanding enough.
“Winters, Florens, and Webb—you’re with me,” Alice barked, not stopping for a reply as she stormed along. “Rose and Ward—go with Genevieve and Constance. The airship crew can carry on loading your truck.”
The Justiciars walked away, trailing after the angry Lord Imperator and leaving the others to make their way to the dragon Quoronastra’s personal tower.
✽ ✽ ✽
The Stitches and Britches Bawdy House was a black three-storey building that was relatively well-built by Gloom standards, due to its previous life as a small hotel; however, its Needle Maiden owners had completely refurbished the interior to meet their own nefarious standards of living. In place of windows, the brothel had glowing pink panels featuring permanent silhouettes of gorgeous individuals in various illicit poses, and one big sign with the establishment’s name written in fancy glowing calligraphy that was surrounded by fluttering Blightmoths. A pair of pink curtains covered the front awning, and they were being held open by a female Alt in old-fashioned lingerie and a deathly pale human woman wearing nothing but a fishnet body stocking.
From across the street, Alice Eve studied the human woman in disgust, and not just because she was a member of the sex industry. Her snow-white skin was broken only by the outline of black blood vessels which had been deliberately emphasised using make-up, and her eyes were so dark it was hard to tell what colour they were. The prostitute was part of a growing trend in humans and Supernaturals who had chosen to live around the eerie Alternatives; she had deliberately exposed herself to Gloom water to be more like the strange ex-denizens of the Gloom.
“Hey, sugar!” the working girl shouted, mistaking Alice’s fiery stare for infatuation. “You looking for the sweetest ride of your life?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Alice growled like a wolf as she clenched her hands around the hilt of her war hammer, causing her Justiciar entourage to flinch.
They crossed the road, and one stern look from the Lord Imperator got them into the brothel without a single word being spoken. Most people knew better than to stand in the way of Justiciar business, and Alice Eve’s fury was a thing of legend, even amongst the Alternatives and their wannabes.
The ground floor of the Stitches and Britches Bawdy House was a large open space filled with an odd mix of themed sections, a strange mish-mash that could only look good through the eyes of an Alt. There were four sections which were particularly prominent: one part of the brothel had the layout of a classic tavern, including a rustic old bar and a well-worn piano where a scruffy-bearded sailor-Alt (potentially the ex-Commodore of the Colonies) was playing his material heart out; another section was a candy-themed nightclub, centred around a catwalk where dancers were strutting their stuff for the customers below; another area was a fancy monotone cocktail bar with leather sofas that were arranged around polished stripper poles; and the last was filled with an alarming amount of bondage equipment, and filthy-looking, brightly coloured leopard-skin beds.
All manner of Alternatives, Supernaturals, and humans, all in varying stages of undress, were dancing and fornicating with the brothel’s clientele. For a brief moment, Alice wondered if she’d been dragged into the bowels of hell.
“Check that Werewolf woman out!” Hector gasped to Licinia, pointing to the catwalk in the club section. “That’s the most hair I’ve seen on a Werewolf pre-transformation!”
“But she’s still not as hairy as your grandma,” Licinia replied dryly.
Alice and Sergeant Winters gave the troopers a sideways glare, and Hector and Licinia immediately snapped into focus.
“Oh, it’s the Lord Imperator,” a blonde woman said in an extremely bored voice.
At first, Alice thought she was being spoken to by an attractive human female in a black cocktail dress, but at second glance she could see that it was in fact a Needle Maiden—a disciple of Mortissa Aurorana, the half-Alt, half-Demon that Alice had defeated in a Desem ghost town.
The Alternative had ‘upgraded’ itself using what appeared to be parts from a very life-like sex doll (and potentially a human cadaver), with only the faintest lines of stitching giving it away. Even the creature’s eyes were the real deal, rather than black glass spheres.
Mortissa Aurorana, who was fascinated by the Gloom’s reflection of humanity, had spent her early days in the dark dimension studying the odd puppet people. She became so obsessed with them that she actually converted herself, leaving little of her corrupted Archmage form intact. Through her many twisted experiments, Mortissa had learned a myriad of terrifying things that she would later put into practise on any poor Book Wielders that crossed her path—or anyone else she pleased on Mydia during the War for Reality, including the late songstress Marissa Aluniana and Autocrat Edgar Aurelius II—but chief amongst her skills was the ability to create more Alternatives.
The Needle Maidens had been Mortissa’s devoted followers, and during their timeless eons ‘playing’ together within the confines of the Gloom, they had learnt most of the infamous assassin’s dark craft. After Mortissa’s death, the maidens had divided her arcane instruments amongst themselves. Alice had expected that the beauty-obsessed Alts would continue in their former mistress’ footsteps; however, the Needle Maidens had instead chosen to monopolise on the flourishing peace between the Alternatives and everyone else, and put themselves into various positions where they could live the high-life while staying out of harm’s way. The Lord Imperator was sure that they were still up to no good behind the scenes, but the Justiciars had never caught the sly Needle Maidens crossing the line, much to Alice’s disappointment.
“I hope none of those parts came from a person,” Alice said to the Needle Maiden accusingly.
“A few bits did,” the stunning blonde Alt replied, rolling her stolen blue eyes. “But they were already dead when I found them,” she added, sticking out a very real human tongue.
Alice scrunched up her face in fury and forced herself to stay calm. “We’re looking for—”
“I don’t care,” the Needle Maiden replied, shoving a hand in Alice’s face. “Spensa! The cow that killed the mistress wants something!”
A brunette with sweet brown eyes popped her head over the top of a leather recliner in the swanky section of the brothel, sweeping her long silky hair out of her face. “I’m working, Hannar! Can’t you deal with it? He’s nowhere near done!”
The back of a human arm waved from the side of the chair.
“No, I don’t want to,” Hannar replied, twiddling her blonde hair as she ignored the Justiciars completely.
Spensa grunted and climbed off her client, revealing her slender and slightly tanned body without a care in the word. She apologised profusely to the man before strolling across the establishment, wiggling her hips seductively.
“We’ll swap,” Spensa said, unzipping Hannar’s cocktail dress and causing the blonde’s big realistic breasts to pop out. “Unsatisfied customers are bad for business.”
“Anything to get away from these losers,” Hannar said like a broody teenager. She wriggled free of the dress, passed it to her brunette colleague, and took her time crossing the room.
“It’s bad enough that we’ve got humans trying to look like Alts,” Matthias Winters muttered, “but now we’ve got Alts trying to look human…”
“They look better than human,” Hector said, eying up the Needle Maidens’ perfect artificial bodies.
“They’re just like the dolls I used to play with when I was little,” Licinia said, looking both awestruck and disturbed. “Except these ones are fully equipped,” she added, awkwardly gesturing to her chest and groin.
Spensa pulled a needle and thread out of a hidden compartment in her wrist and tailored the cocktail dress in five seconds flat before sliding it on, covering her life-like brown nipples and artistically crafted pubic hair that was trimmed into the shape of a little heart.
“Sorry about that,” Spensa began, putting her hands on her hips. “Welcome to the Stitches and Britches, where your every need, desire, and seedy pleasure is ours to satisfy,” she purred with the skills of a saleswoman. “But I’m guessing you’re here on business?”
“Did the power armour give it away?” Alice asked sarcastically.
Spensa raised her fake eyebrows and smiled with her painted plastic lips. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first Justiciars we’ve served here.”
“No way!” Licinia gasped.
The brown-haired needle maiden ran a finger down Licinia’s breast plate. “Everyone has needs,” she winked, before poking Hector playfully on the nose.
“Ricardo Stern,” the Lord Imperator said angrily. “Where is he?”
“Client info doesn’t come cheap. This is a business, don’t ya know?” Spensa said, putting on a snooty accent.
“You really think we’re going to pay you?” Sergeant Winters scoffed. “We’re Justiciars—you’re required to assist us by global law.”
“I know,” Spensa sighed, “but you can’t blame a business girl for trying. Follow me.”
They trailed behind the Needle Maiden as she led them deeper into the brothel, forced to barge their way through groups of Alternatives on a sugar-high, and humans and Supernaturals who were drunk and stoned out of their minds as they kissed, groped, and screwed the Stitches and Britches’ wide assortment of sex workers. Alice shuddered to think what happened on the upper levels of the establishment out of eyeshot.
In the Western-style tavern section, a group of people clustered tightly around one table, seemingly enthralled by what was at the centre. Even over the boisterous laughter, the screams of pain and pleasure, and the admittedly good piano playing from the old sailor Alt, Alice could hear snippets of adventurous tales in-between excited gasps of anticipation from the crowd.
“Hop it, boys,” Spensa said, putting on a coarse common accent. “Ricardo’s got ‘imself a guest, he ‘as.”
The circle of people scattered without needing to be told twice, knowing that the Needle Maiden was as deadly as she was stunning, and allowed the Justiciars to see their prey.
The Adventurer Ricardo Stern was easily distinguishable in his light brown cowboy hat and expensive overcoat of the same colour, a look he repeated on every television show, book, and magazine cover. His skin was a light shade of brown, and Stern’s famously overconfident demeanour radiated out of his sly russet coloured eyes. He was shorter than Alice had been expecting, and most of his form was blocked by the naked Needle Maiden with tanned skin perched on his lap, sporting sleek black hair, plump lips that were wrapped around a massive multi-coloured lollipop, and long athletic legs with faint lines of scars and stitches.
Sitting beside Ricardo was a blue-eyed human dressed in a hooded leaf-green trench coat, armed with a strange bow made of a smooth white polymer and translucent blue crystal, and on his other side was a scruffy rough-skinned Werewolf with a bushy brown beard and long wild hair. Standing behind them were two men with smart brown hair, dressed in suits of grey-silver plate armour. One was older with purple Mage eyes, armed with a silver and gold bastard sword, and his armour was adorned with blue and gold filigree and fitted with large yellow gems. The younger knight had similar blue eyes to the bowman, and was equipped with a short sword and a tower shield (almost completely made up of sleek blood-red crystal, reinforced with black steel and littered with Archmage runes), while the edges of his armour were decorated with black and red motifs.
Ricardo looked the Justiciars up and down, and then sighed with boredom. “How much is it going to cost for you to forget I was here? I’ve got Imperial Credits, Desem Dollars, Tropican Pounds, gold, silver, gems, artefacts, relics…”
“You’re not bribing your way out of this one, Stern,” Alice said dryly.
The adventurer flicked his wrist and a thick lapis lazuli wand popped into his hand, and in an instant both Ricardo’s retinue and Alice’s Justiciars were prepping for a fight. Spensa clicked her silicone fingers, causing deadly turrets to fold out of the ceiling and train their green laser sights on the Justiciars and mercenaries, while the Needle Maiden on Ricardo’s lap slid a long needle out of her index finger and pressed it against his jugular vein.
“I wouldn’t make any trouble in our lovely establishment if I were you,” Spensa said in her normal voice, gesturing to the cluttered array of guns above.
“It’s bad for business,” the Needle Maiden sitting on Stern purred, nibbling at his ear playfully.
“Emileelee, how could you? After everything we’ve been through,” Ricardo chuckled, before moving his head away from the needle and licking along the tip. “I thought we were soulmates?”
Emileelee giggled lovingly, climbing off the adventurer and snogging him quickly. “We are, sugar, but the bawdy house comes first. We’ll catch up another time.” She popped the lolly in his mouth and strolled off.
Ricardo, seemingly unbothered by the situation he’d caused, threw the lolly and his wand on the table and turned away from the Justiciars to watch Emileelee walking off. “Alt or not, those legs are divine… I’m telling you, she’s the one—if only to see the look on mum and dad’s faces!”
The Needle Maiden heard the remark and turned around to blow Stern a kiss, which Ricardo pretended to catch before biting into it savagely, causing the adventurer’s retinue to roll their eyes.
“Remember, you can’t tie the knot until Arria and the Mayor have had their ceremony,” Spensa said, clapping her hands together to make the turrets retract. “Now, play nicely you lot, unless you want to end up us part of the buffet,” the brown-haired Needle Maiden warned, cheerfully waving a finger at the ceiling as she left the two groups to their business.
“You’ve got an impressive amount of Archmage relics here,” Alice began threateningly. “Most of them are more magic than tech—you know I can stop magic, right?”
Ricardo groaned. “I always forget you’re a Book Wielder,
Lord Imperator. You know, that must have been pretty interesting during your days in the Inquisition.”
“I get that a lot,” Alice said flatly.
“Let me guess…” Ricardo stroked his chin. “The pretty pink Queen of Tropica sent you to scoop me up? I can tell you right now, we’re not heading back to that bloody tower—it near on ruined us! We won’t go back, no matter what you’re all paying.”
Alice chuckled coldly. “We’re not paying you anything. You’re going back free of charge.”
The adventurer scoffed. “And why the hell would we do that?”
The Lord Imperator acted like she was pondering the subject, before fixing her strict white eyes on the spoilt adventurer. “Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to arrest you for deliberately obstructing the course of justice, regarding not one but two global terrorists. Sergeant Winters, what’s the penalty for that kind of transgression?”
“Unrestricted interrogation followed by summary execution,” Matthias Winters answered, like a good student eager to impress his teacher.
The adventurer and his entourage stiffened, but Ricardo quickly recovered and took a sip from a wine glass filled with a glowing bright green cocktail.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stern replied with a shrug. “I hope you have some proof. Accusing and punishing a publicly renowned figure such as myself could damage the Justiciars sparkling reputation.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Alice said. She pretended to leave, only to return a second later. “I could always run it past Emperor Reynolds first, though? He has some really extravagant ways of punishing criminals, and his renown surpasses even yours. I heard that one time he made a group of rapists fight a fully-armed Spidertank with wooden sticks…”
“It was brutal,” Hector Webb reminisced with a smile.
“It’s a good thing the arena’s shields block gore, too,” Licinia added slyly. “Otherwise we’d have been drenched in charred entrails.”