C70 Sons Of Steel

"Alright, listen up, schmuks,"

I said, leaning against the hatch.

"Hit the sacks. We're taking it easy for a while. Don't even think about calling me unless it's an emergency."

Paul threw up a lazy salute.

"Yeah, no chance I'm getting out of bed for a week."

Darius nodded.

"I'm out. Wake me when that shiny new frigate's ready."

Airid chuckled.

"I might actually sleep for once instead of working out my hyperactive aggression. Let's see how that goes."

We staggered toward our respective rooms, already half asleep on our feet.

Invicta felt like a safe haven, the familiar hum of its systems comforting us as we collapsed onto our bunks.

...

Two weeks later…

The guild was buzzing as always, with mercs of all types lounging around or dealing with various jobs.

We were no different, sitting around one of the tables in the corner, feeling the buzz of alcohol and exhaustion as we gorged ourselves on snacks.

We'd been in this lazy haze for a solid week now.

Our once-clean faces were sporting scruffy beards, and our Hawaiian shorts, flip-flops, and boxers didn't exactly scream 'elite mercenary outfit.'

But did I give a single f*ck about It? Nope not even for a millisecond.

Our table was covered in cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and snack wrappers.

The stress of our augmented bodies was building again, the hyper-aggression barely held in check as we sat there, trying to dull it with drink and smoke.

With the constant leg tapping, hand twitching and never ending smoking.

I had just finished scrolling through a list of potential battle s*aves for the new frigate when a group of mercs entered the guild, swaggering in with their usual tough-guy attitudes.

Their eyes landed on us, sitting there like a bunch of vacationing tourists, and I could see the judgment instantly cross their faces.

One of them, a particularly rough-looking guy with scars all over his face and bald head, snorted loudly as he approached.

"Well, well, well. Look at these f*cking sissies,"

He sneered, gesturing to our Hawaiian shorts and flip-flops.

"You lot are making mercs look bad. Seriously, how are we supposed to have a reputation with you clowns walking around like that?"

His buddies chuckled, clearly backing him up, as they loomed over us.

Paul, lazily flicking the ash from his cigarette, didn't even bother looking up, just raised his eyebrow to take a brief look.

"Sissies, huh? You sure about that, baldy?"

The merc sneered, leaning in closer.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You guys look like you're ready for a f*cking beach party, not a firefight. You're giving us all a bad rep."

Hearing this I raised a lousy eyebrow giving a once over my already ready to crack some skulls open battlebrothers that couldn't hide their rapidly widining grins at all.

"Just don't kill them,"

I muttered to my battle brothers.

Darius cracked his knuckles, an excited glint in his eye.

"Sure, sure. We'll take it easy."

Paul grinned, standing up and towering over the mercs.

"Just a little fun."

Julian stretched, his muscles rippling under his shirt.

"Gotta stay in shape, after all."

Before the scarred merc could even blink, Darius moved.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the guy by the throat and slammed him into the floor, hard enough to crack his skull but just lightly enough not to kill him.

The rest of the mercs tried to react, but they didn't stand a chance.

Paul and Julian were on them in an instant.

Paul delivered a devastating uppercut to one merc that definetly cracked his jaw and shattered a bunch of teeth, sending him crashing into a table, while Julian grabbed another by the arm and effortlessly twisted it behind his back, dropping him to the floor and breaking It In the process.

Airid was already dealing with the last two, moving with brutal efficiency.

He grabbed one by the collar and kneed him in the gut, sending him sprawling, while he punched the other one square in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

The whole thing was over in less than a few seconds.

The other mercs who had been minding their business looked up only to loose their Interest quickly.

After a all this wasn't the first time since we kicked some tough guys asses already, truthfully we had picked so many fights already that by now the other mercs were numb to it.

By the time we fully recovered from the augmentations we already had the stats four times higher than a baseline peak stat human, but now coupled with pent up desire to kill well normal baseline unaugmented humans didn't stand a chance against us.

Darius let go of the scarred merc, who was tryin got stop the bleeding with his hands while wriggling on the floor like a worm.

"Guess you weren't so tough after all"

Darius said with a smirk, towering over the guy.

Paul dusted his hands off.

"F*cking third rate sissies."

They sat back down, the rush of adrenaline slowly fading as they returned to our beers and snacks.

The scarred merc and his buddies staggered out of the guild heading straight for the nearest hospital, clearly worse for wear but alive, which was more than they deserved.

I took a long drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke curl up toward the ceiling.

"Feeling better?"

I asked, a small grin creeping across my face.

Julian chuckled, raising his beer in a mock toast.

"Much better"

Darius flexed his hands, still cracking his knuckles.

"Next time, I say we just put them out of their misery."

"Too much trouble,"

I said, leaning back.

"Besides, they weren't worth the effort."

Only to sigh deeply, closing the holographic screen projected in front of me.

The list of available battle s*aves was nothing short of a disappointment.

All the options were either too expensive for their worth, or they were rotten apples, unruly, defiant, or simply not cost-effective for long-term use.

"Alright spill It drac? What's wrong?"

Airid asked noticing my frustration, hearing this I scratched my head Irritatedly.

"All of the available battle s*aves are either garbage or not worth the cost,"

I muttered, taking a long drag from my cigarette and exhaling the smoke in frustration.

"Not sure how we're supposed to build a crew with these options we might have to go with clones after all"

As the smoke curled up toward the ceiling, I noticed the wana be witch manager swaggering over, her usual confident smirk plastered on her face.

She leaned against the table, crossing her arms as she looked me over with a knowing gleam in her eye.

"You're thinking too small, my dear von death"

She said, her voice smooth but laced with amusement.

"If the battle s*aves aren't doing it for you, why not consider corporate s*aves?"

"Corporate s*aves?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical.

"We talking about debt-ridden citizens?"

"Exactly,"

She replied, her smirk widening.

"People who owe so much debt to the mega-corps that they might as well be s*aves, but technically, they're still considered 'free.' They've got, no future, no hope, and their children will continue paying off their debts, all you'd need to do is pay off their debts, and they'd practically owe you their lives."

Darius, still nursing his beer, glanced up with a bemused expression.

"So, we'd own them? But without all the hassle of legality?"

"More or less,"

The witch replied, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Slap a mini-bomb implant in their necks to make sure they don't get any ideas, and you've got yourself a loyal workforce. Train them right, and they could be real assets and you the demon drill sergeant from hell can certainly wipe them Into proper members of youre outfit."

She added, fixing me with a knowing look.

"And how do you know the nickname my soldiers gave me?"