Lone Wolf in the Metal Jungle

I am not so good with words, but I know people.

I know how they think, how they react and what words they say when they are liars. So today, I am hunting for very good liar. He tricks Nepleslian government out of funds meant for schools, blows up sex android factory as distraction and escapes to Funky City, thinking that density of assholes will protect him.

Asshole.

I have good bullets for him in my gun, and a good gun in my pocket. I do not get to kill him for full bounty, but the government does not care as long as he is breathing long enough plead guilty in court.

This is a good day for Thorsten.

Click to expand...

Thorsten Calhoun was a well built man in his late thirties, a small paunch from his love of food, but he was otherwise very healthy looking by Nepleslian standards. He was clad in a beige trenchcoat, underneath it wearing a simple black shirt and tie. His imposing, rough hewn and slightly beaten in features hinted at a savage origin, and yet his eyes bore some degree of innate wisdom to them.

Today was the first day of his hunt from one Dirk McManus, a notorious con artist and swindler who snatched a large amount of funds, and destroyed corporate property out in the colonies. most funds were recuperated once the IPG dismantled his bank account, but he cashed out enough to be a real hassle to track down. He might have changed bodies, gone cybernetic or is living in his own slum palace filled with hardened criminals.

Not that Thorsten was worried, though. He knew people.

The streets of Funky City's eastern market district bustled with activity as shoppers of all kinds wandered between shop and stall, looking for deals on anything imaginable. The long strip of road serving as main street for the district held the spillover of pedestrian foot traffic from the jam-packed sidewalks.

A police van incessantly honked its horn in futility, trying to clear a route so it could continue its patrol. Most people ignored it until the rumbling grill of the slow-moving vehicle threatened to make contact with their bodies.

Thorsten Calhoun was standing near a light pole, scanning the crowds. He was waiting for one of the people that he knew.

There he was. Calhoun saw the hunched-over lump dressed in shredded jeans and a torn leather jacket. The long mane of shaggy brown hair veiled the figure's face. It walked with a fast hobble, one of its legs just a little longer than the other. The hand it raised to signal his approach was hardly human at all, mottled with boils and leathery with what could almost be called a claw at the end.

The mutant called Marty knew a lot, and Calhoun knew that. When he finally reached Calhoun, his entire figure seemed to nod as he spoke. His voice was like gravel on the street.

"Thor... good to see you," Marty said. "How are things?"

"Eh..." Thorsten knocked the side of the head gently, where his first made an audible metallic sound. "Paddle wound heals too slowly, cats try to kill bounty hunters over some bounty ethical hippies post, and you smell worse than before. But today is good day, Marty!"

The bounty hunter grinned, or at least attempted to, his features experiencing a very unusual shift due to the blocky and battered look of his face. He retrieved what appeared to be a small bottle of mid-priced cologne, a short plastic canister filled with stim pills and a wrapped cigar from his jacket and held them out for his misshapen informant in an outstretched hand. "This is bonus for last time. Knowing of airvent and security codes made last asshole easy."

"But come, I need to talk business. New asshole came running from colonies, and have only name and a face from YE 28."

"Heh," Marty let out with a rumbling chuckle as he crammed the goods into his jacket pockets. "I thought your ugly head looked a bit shinier than normal."

The hunched-over mutant turned and waved his hand behind him, beckoning Thorsten to follow.

"Let's get out of the public's eye. Don't know who's listening to what. I gotta place I like to call my office. Come on."

Marty led the Nepleslian through twisting alleyways until they came to a tiny metal shack with a bolted door. The mutant brought a shaking hand up to the handle and pulled. The door opened and he slipped inside.

Inside the 'office' was a tiny, beat up circular table with a small computer on it and two old wooden chairs. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, barely illuminating the room. It was a good thing, too, because from all the paper and trash scattered around, being able to see everything would not be pleasant.

Marty made a groaning noise to match his chair as he sat down at the table.

"Tell me about this guy."

Thorsten pulled up and sat down at the unoccupied chair, somewhat glad that he had decided to wear his cheap clothes today.

"Eh... Dirk McManus. Nepleslian, 31 years." He pulled a severely creased photo from his coat pocket and pushed it down the table to Marty. The image was that of a lean man with sharp features and wary, comparable to those of a weasel clutching a knife it it's teeth. He wore a rather sharp navy blue suit and bowler hat, from under which small tufts of curly bright red hair escaped. There were other figures in the image, but lighting and motion blur made their faces impossible to make out.

"Thirty charges of fraud, conspiracy and petty theft. One of treason, when he stole money from state. Asshole would have more on his head, but judges cannot decide if contributing to suicides of business owners is grounds for manslaughter charges." The bounty hunter concluded, as he erupted into a deep belly laugh. It wasn't really his place to decide what the law was, and as long as there were criminals, he'd have a job, and if Dirk's charges increased in number, he might even get a bonus.

"Last spotted at bar in Hania."

Marty bent his head down to the table to examine the picture. His tongue snaked out, the mutant smacking his lips as he listened to Thorsten.

"Yes..." he said, with a crooked grin. "I think I may have a friend who knows something or two about this man."

One of his crooked hands opened the portable computer on his desk. A small wire with a jack at the end ran from the side of it. Soon, the wire was in the mutant's hand and connecting to a port on the side of his veiled head.

Click.

"Mmm..." Marty gurgled with delight. "You're not the only one who wants this man dead. What can you pay me?"

"Usual fee. 800 DA up front and 5% of bounty payout. I am not so good with numbers, but how long would you say it would take you to burn through 50 000 DA?" Thosten said, his blocky features managing to crack into what seemed to be a grin.

"But this asshole has long enough live for full bounty. They want him to be breathing long enough to confess in court, something about posthumous conviction being waste of time."