Chapter 39: Double Dipping?

I didn’t even make it halfway across the courtyard before the buzz started.

Low at first, like a dying wasp caught between glass panes. Then louder. Meaner. Synthetic. The air above the estate warped under the arrival of the Deadend peacekeeping force, a term that only applied when the right palms were greased. Otherwise, they were just another gang with better funding and fewer ethics.

The first wave was drones: sleek, black, and shaped like hornets with their wings replaced by silent turbines. They circled high, sensors sweeping, their red lights blinking like watchful eyes. No sirens. No announcement. Just presence.

I stood still. Raising a hand would be enough to get perforated.

Blackout materialized beside me like a shadow that had second thoughts. She looked half-calm, half-bored, which for her meant something was deeply wrong.

Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Hydraulic. Rhythmic.

It was… Enforcer.

He emerged through the gates like a statue given marching orders. Nine feet tall. Matte black armor, reinforced plating, cyclopean red eye staring out from the center of a metal skull. His hands were too large, built like a child's drawing of a human… oversized fingers, joints meant for crushing. A turbine glowed in his chest. His voice box clicked to life.

“Where was the last time you saw Royal?”

I opened my mouth, but Blackout beat me to it.

“He was in a meeting,” she said smoothly, arms at her sides. “A few VIPs. I wasn’t introduced. That’s the last I saw of him.”

His tone was clean. Mechanical, even. I almost smiled.

I nodded and added, “Same. I wasn’t part of the meeting. Just waiting around for our cut.”

It was a lie. I’ve been there. The only one who knew that were Royal, Lion King, and… Mrs. Mind’s group. I didn’t think Mrs. Mind wouldn’t connect me so soon to Royal’s murder. Moreover, we practically live on opposite continents.

The Enforcer’s red eye swiveled between us, whirring slightly. I couldn’t tell if he was scanning or just enjoying the suspense. Eventually, he said, “This is merely a formality. No need to be nervous. Royal was a valued customer of Deadend.”

He paused. I didn’t interrupt.

“Royal had acquired special rights,” he continued, “for certain warehouses and neutral grounds under local protection.”

I arched a brow. “This estate wasn’t one of them, was it?”

“No,” said the Enforcer, flatly. “It wasn’t under those protections.”

By special rights, he meant the permission slips granted by the local overlord. Usually came with air cover, no-go zones, and paid-for immunity. But not here. Not this place. Royal had been living dirty. I reckoned he didn’t want anyone seeing or touching his slaves.

I let out a slow breath. “Well. That’s… unfortunate.”

“What’s more unfortunate is him dying before payment cleared,” I added, flicking my thumb toward the villa’s roof. “Not to be crass, but I didn’t sign on to work for free.”

Blackout nodded once. “I feel the same. We weren’t paid yet.”

“That’s not my problem,” the Enforcer said without a hint of sympathy. “However… Pride is likely to compensate you. Given the mission’s parameters were fulfilled.”

“I see,” I muttered. “You seem well-informed.”

“I am,” said the Enforcer.

And then, without further commentary, he turned away. He didn’t walk. He lifted, turbines in his back flaring with blue light as he rose into the air and vanished beyond the estate wall in under three seconds.

Just like that, the conversation was over.

I stood in the silence that followed, listening to the last drone buzz past, then vanish. No one else around us moved. Not the staff, not the hired blades, not the peacocks that sometimes wandered into Royal’s lawn like they owned the place.

Blackout broke the silence. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”

I shrugged. “He didn’t shoot us. So yeah. Silver linings.”

There was a hum in my skull. Low and persistent. The kind that usually came before a headache or a betrayal. I didn’t trust the ease of that encounter. Deadend didn’t send Enforcers unless the situation required an example to be made. If they were holding back, it meant someone had told them to.

And that someone wasn’t Royal anymore.

“You think Pride’s still going to pay us?” Blackout asked suddenly, her voice lower now.

“Maybe,” I replied. “If only to keep up appearances. No one wants their mercs running off mid-job because payroll got assassinated.”

“You think we’re still on the job?”

“Technically,” I said, “we’re still on the job.”

She didn’t laugh. I didn’t expect her to.

The Triplets had returned to the Malufan to inform the others. No doubt spreading panic like wildfire among the others. No one wanted to get stiffed. Especially not by a corpse.

And word would spread. Fast.

Royal was dead. Lion King was gone. Two powerful names, erased in the same day. Everyone would start asking the same question.

Who did it?

That was the part that needed shaping. Directing. The story had to go a certain way. Had to point to someone believable, someone volatile.

I elbowed Blackout and gestured to the person walking our way. “Do you know him?”

“Can’t say for sure, but looks like Pride soldier… he wasn’t part of the crew,

The soldier who approached us had the look of someone who’d been trained to carry himself like nobility and threatened like a street enforcer. Probably mid-twenties, muscles too neat to be natural, badge clean enough to sparkle under the war-torn sky. Pride didn’t hire dumb muscle. Even their grunts understood the value of presentation. He stopped three paces away, arms behind his back like he was expecting a promotion or a bullet.

“Royal’s second will handle payment once you return to Markend,” he said with crisp, military clarity. “The Malufan’s ready and waiting. Departure window’s in fifteen.”

I gave a single nod. Blackout didn’t bother acknowledging him, just pivoted toward the waiting vehicle like this was any other day.

The soldier stood there a second longer, then followed us without another word.

The transport was an armored crawler. Not stylish. Not subtle. But it could take a missile to the side and still make it home for dinner. We climbed inside without ceremony, doors sealing with a pneumatic hiss behind us. The moment I settled into my seat, my phone buzzed once.

Then again. Then a third time.

Blackout’s eyes flicked toward me. I didn’t like how curious they looked.

“You going to answer that?” she asked, voice light, but lined with thorns.

I didn’t respond. Just reached into my jacket, pulled out the burner, and popped the battery. If she had something crawling through the airwaves, she’d get nothing from me now. Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t need it to.

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

When the Malufan came into view, I almost didn’t recognize her. Hull scraped. One of the forward ramps dented like someone had thrown a tank at it. Scorch marks lined the sides, and a few broken panels sparked weakly against the dark. A crewman walked past dragging a corpse wrapped in tarp. Another followed behind, muttering curses and holding a broken helmet.

“What the hell happened here?” I asked aloud.

A shadow dropped from above, landing with a crunch beside us. I turned. Marauder, still looking the same except the blood spattered across his chest.

“Sharpy,” he said, like the name alone explained everything. “Bitch went nuts. Killed the Pride capes. Said they were traitors.”

He jerked a thumb toward the ship, where a pair of medics were dragging another cape’s body toward the morgue unit. I think that was… Gladiatress.

“Turned into a damn slaughterhouse,” he went on. “Fucking traitors had plants in the crew. Hidden capes. Tried to kill the rest of us mid-flight. Sharpy caught wind, snapped, and went full executioner. Tore through them like tissue paper.”

I stared at the smoldering wreck of the once-pristine Malufan. Pride capes weren’t supposed to go rogue. They were loyal, structured. The kind of people who lived by rules even when killing.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Marauder added, shaking his head slowly, “but I owe Sharpy a big one.”

This was really good news to me, but I couldn’t show it on my face.

“Where is she now?” I asked again, more pointed this time.

Marauder shook his head, a short, grim laugh escaping his mouth.

“Left for another ship,” he said. “Took one of the skimmers and just… dipped. Says she’s done with Pride. Said if they’re that easy to infiltrate, they’re not worth bleeding for. Figured she’d try her luck somewhere else.”

I frowned. “Did she say where?”

“She didn’t,” he replied. “Just that she’s heading ‘off-grid.’ You know Sharpy. She only says what she wants remembered.”

Huh? Was it just me or this dude getting overly friendly?

“She’s not wrong,” Blackout said from behind me. Her voice was soft, but laced with something cold. “If they had capes hidden on our own crew, this whole thing’s a rot-fest. Pride’s losing control of their capes.”

The irony to this was they deal in slavery…

After several minutes of catching up with the others, I finally got myself some privacy.

I phased through the wall like a ghost, letting my body bleed into the ship’s frame until I hit a section no one else would think to check… a cramp of pipes and emergency shielding between two coolant tanks. Once the last vibration of footfalls passed, I let myself solidify, shoulders pressing into metal. Still, still. My heart hadn’t caught up to my nerves yet.

From my coat, I took the burner. Battery out. No signal trace. No open mics. Blackout was too good with tech for me to risk a slip, even inside a scrapheap like the Malufan. Satisfied I was alone, I slipped the battery back in. The screen flared to life with a silent blink. One missed call.

I tapped redial.

Three rings. Then… “Hello?”

The voice was soft, lilting, and female, but buried under layers. A subtle distortion. Too balanced to be natural. It was her. Silver. Or, more accurately, both of them.

“How are you doing, Master?” the voice finished.

I relaxed a little. “Fine. How is it on your end?”

There was a faint rustle, then her reply came, poised but edged with caution. “I had your money laundered through the local group. They’ve scrubbed the origin point. Royal’s payment won’t be traceable anymore. It’s been fully washed. But… is this wise, Master?”

A pause, then she added what she really meant. “You’re planning to double dip.”

That was the plan, yes. The reason I had her move early. Royal had paid in full before he got ventilated, and I intended to collect again from Pride like nothing ever happened. His death was messy, sudden. The right kind of camouflage.

“It’s fine,” I said. “No one alive knows the payment was already made. Except me. You. And… her.”

Silver didn’t deny it. Her voice softened into something even smaller. “I’ll be staying here in Deadend a bit longer. To keep a lookout.”

I frowned. That wasn’t the plan. The plan was for her to launder my money, bribe a few people for cover up, a few ‘groceries’ and other errands I gave her to ensure Royal’s death won’t be pinned on us.

“You should dip out,” I said, tone sharper than intended. “Now. Meet me in Markend. If they catch wind of your presence, they’ll start picking the threads. And if that happens, my setup with Lion King falls apart.”

“They won’t,” she said quietly. “Onyx can hide us long enough. The people here… they don’t know she exists.”

That much was true. When Silver switched, the difference was more than cosmetic. Her hair darkened, her voice hardened, and everything from posture to vocabulary changed. Onyx was a second skin. If anyone could survive unnoticed in the rotting meat of Deadend, it was her.

“I have no plans of crossing you,” she added, the meekness creeping back in. “You’ll get your money back.”

I sighed and let my head rest against the cold metal behind me. That was the problem. I couldn’t control her. Not really. She had the cash. She had an escape route. If she ran, there was nothing to stop her. Nothing except…

I drew the line, made the threat clear.

“If you run off with my money,” I said slowly, “if you even think of betraying me… I will make you take the fall for Royal’s death. Do you understand?”

She didn’t answer right away. I gave her the silence to fill.

“I won’t care if it gets me burned too,” I added. “But you should know… I will do it.”

“Y-yes,” she whispered.

I exhaled. Not relief. Just the weight of necessity. I wasn’t finished.

“Only I can remove the biochip in your neck,” I said. “You know that. You are free to try your luck with someone else, but I am your best shot at freedom. So make quick work of whatever loose ends you think are important.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said. Her voice quivered. “It isn’t my intention to lie. I… I have things to clean up. They’re not related to Royal. I promise.”

I didn’t press. Whatever ghosts she was chasing, they were her business. As long as they didn’t get in the way of mine.

“Just don’t die with my money,” I said flatly. “Those funds are necessary for… my future.”

The line went quiet for a moment.

“I won’t,” she said.

The call ended. I stayed where I was for another full minute, the hum of the ship vibrating through my bones. This was far from over. But for now… the pieces were moving. And I had a war chest coming, one way or another.