by J.G. Martin
Chapter 5
August 23, 2033
The Strip Las Vegas, NV
That antipathy had later cost her a job at the Palace casino. The casino had taken her in at age fourteen as a cleaning lady. It didn’t pay well, but it put a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. As she had gotten older and began to blossom into a woman, they had offered her other jobs like being a drink girl or dancer; but she had always refused. Cleaning the rooms was honest work and she still had some pride.
In her spare time she had hung out with the casino’s fighters and badgered them to train her in self-defense. She had determined that she needed to be as strong and skilled as possible so no one would ever take advantage of her again. The fighters had seen her as more of a mascot and had allowed her to participate in some of their training.
This had caused a little friction as she got older, but she broke the arm of the first young buck to try to cop a feel during training. The older members fighters thought that was hilarious and they got serious about her training with them. They could see that she was very determined and very sincere about wanting to learn to fight. The head trainer, a woman who was widely considered the greatest female fighter of all time, took her under her wing. Rowdy Rhonda had taught Minerva everything she knew and pushed her beyond her limits.
At sixteen, Minerva had her first fight and demolished her opponent in the first round. She unleashed all the anger she had been holding and had pummeled the poor girl into unconsciousness. The crowd had gone absolutely wild and the casino bosses offered her a position in the fighter stable instead of being a cleaner. She had accepted and moved into the fighter’s wing.
That was where it all started to go wrong with Timmy. Unable to spend time with him because of her training, she failed to keep an eye on him. He fell into a bad crowd of teenagers and began doing stupid things, including drugs. Eventually he disappeared and no matter how hard she looked she couldn’t find him. The casino security staff tried to help her, but there were too many places you could go and not be found.
She gave up looking after a few months and focused on her fights. A rising star, she won her first six fights before tasting defeat. A veteran opponent caught her in a submission hold and choked her out. Angry about the loss she had gone to the bar to have a few drinks with the other fighters. Vegas no longer had a drinking age so anyone was welcome to partake in the free flowing booze.
It was her first and last round of drinks. She had gotten drunk quickly and was becoming belligerent. None of the other fighters were willing to throw down to satisfy her growing anger, so she wandered into the hotel looking for some action. She didn’t go far before she found some.
Right there in the lobby was a biker beating on his old lady. No one was intervening and plenty of people just walked around them. Mind your own business was practically the Strip’s slogan. Bikers also made up a large portion of the clientele and no one wanted to drive them away. An old lady was widely considered property by the biker community and many others, so if the biker wanted to beat her; it was his right.
Again, Minerva saw red. The filthy thug was taking advantage of a helpless woman and she had flashbacks of the attack on her mother. She had walked right up to the man and demanded he stop. The dirty mouthed scumbag had just laughed at her. She was tall for a woman at 5’9” but she was still considerably smaller than he was. He obviously didn’t consider her a threat.
Weapons weren’t allowed in the Strip, you had to check them at the airport or Visitor’s Center when you came in. They had a fairly rigorous search procedure. Weapons were still smuggled in, but they were often makeshift or easily concealed. Casinos further screened their guests and especially their employees, so he knew she wasn’t armed.
He thought his superior size and physique would prevent her from doing him any harm. He was wrong, very wrong. She had not only kicked the crap out of him, she had done it in full view of everyone in the lobby and the security cameras. She had broken three of his ribs, dislocated his shoulder, and shattered his nose. More importantly she had destroyed his reputation. Within hours the word was all over the Strip that she had beaten up the biker.
He claimed she sucker punched him and jumped him from behind. The video showed a different story, but she did hit him first. The casino had no choice but to fire her and throw her out. At seventeen she was back out on the street without any job prospects. No reputable casino would hire her for fear of losing their biker clientele. She had gone to every single one to beg for a job.
Skilled fighters were a valuable commodity. The casinos settled any beefs between them with cage fights, and the regular fight circuit was a lucrative attraction. A winning fighter was treated like a hero, and winner who put on a good show was priceless. But they were unwilling to overlook the fact that she had beaten up a paying guest in the hotel lobby.
Finally the Maximus, a fading casino on the edge of the Strip, offered her a job; but not as a fighter. The head of security, a grizzled ex-Navy SEAL, had hired her as a security guard. He liked her spirit and her protective attitude. He also liked that she wasn’t afraid of anyone and had the skills to back it up. The Maximus was a rough and tumble place that attracted the worst elements of Vegas with cheap drinks and slots, not just the coin operated kind. They had trouble keeping staff because it could be very dangerous.
Minerva was a natural and fit right in. Rousting drunks and rowdy thugs was right up her alley. The security staff was a motley crew and was full of undesirables like her. From them she learned the real fighting techniques, the down and dirty tricks that you used in a no holds barred fight to the death; not a sport fight in the cage. She was a quick learner and put the techniques to good use in the dirty back rooms of the casino on thugs and thieves.
The head of security, Jonas Blackmon, took a liking to her and elevated her to his response team. That meant she got firearms and riot control training. Possession of a firearm was only legal in Vegas for Strip Security and a few licensed members of each casino’s security staff. Those licenses were generally reserved for the big wigs and the elite members of the casino’s response team.
The response teams were better trained than the average security officer, whose main job was to watch for cheats and move drunks along. The response teams were for large scale disturbances or outright defense of the casino against an armed robbery. Those things were rare since Strip Security kept most of the undesirables out altogether, but it did happen. Three years earlier a gang had tried to rob the Three Seasons.
The resulting gun battle had killed all the robbers, one response team member, and wounded twenty two patrons. The bullet riddled bodies of the robbers had been put on display in the lobby as a warning to those who might try it again. Several other people rumored to be involved had simply disappeared. It was considered highly unlikely anyone would ever try it again.
But the casino’s still kept their teams, and kept them trained and ready. They also served a secondary purpose of a militia force for the Strip. Strip Security had the option to deputize them if need be to deal with a large incursion. That had never happened, but you never knew. The Strip was neutral, but they had resources and money which was always tempting to some people.
Over time, Jonas had become like a father figure to her and he had taken special interest in her training. He recognized her burning desire to learn and be the best, and her building blood lust. They occasionally took trips outside the Strip where he had taught her hunting and tracking in addition to combat skills.
He had taught her how to sneak up and slit a man’s throat from behind, how to spot snipers and guards, and dozens of other useful tricks. They practiced knife fighting and how to make improvised explosives. She was a quick learner and soaked it all up like a sponge. During those trips she had opened up to him and told him about her past.
He had been very understanding and he had shared his story with her. He had shared how his wife had died from cancer and how his daughters had been tak
en by slavers during the Collapse when he was on a mission. They had cried together over their shared losses. They had ranted about how someone should do something about the scourge of the slavers. And they had gotten drunk together.
After a few trips, Jonas broached in interesting idea to her. “What if we did something about the slavers?” He had asked softly.
“Come on, what could we do?” She had replied.
“Slavers bring people into Vegas every day, we could help stop them and free some of the slaves. Every little bit helps.”
“Slavery is illegal in the Strip.” Minerva had said in confusion. “How are slaves coming in?”
Jonas had laughed. “Anything can be done in the Strip if you know the right people and grease the right palms. Nothing has changed in over fifty years. This is still one of the most corrupt places on Earth.”
“What did you have in mind?” She had finally asked after a minute silence.
“I have friends who sometimes know when shipments are coming in. You intercept the convoy and free the slaves by any means necessary.”
“You mean kill the slavers?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in.” She stated without hesitation.