‘One more strike, and you’re on a transport to Deathreach,’ Xion told the struggling man.
Letan’s eyes dilated, and brows waggled with wild abandon. A trip to the prison moon of Bolla J22, which circled Alloria, and a stay at its Deathreach Maximum Lock Up was no walk in the park.
Xion jerked his chin at the man. ‘Are we agreed? There’s work in the shafts or building gigs at the Ring complex. Pick one and stop being a lazy bastard.’
He reached into his pocket and pinged Letan’s outmoded wrist, comm with Sable credits. ‘Get yourself cleaned up, nab a meal at the Community house, maybe even a beer on me. But first, you’ll need to sober up in lockup for a few hours.’
As the low-life howled his protest under his mask, a Sable security flyer ghosted into the scene.
A lean, handsome man with shoulder-length hair and a solemn face leapt out and headed towards the pair.
He had visceral energy and intense glowing indigo meta eyes and wore a dark jacket and close-fitted army pants.
‘Hey, I’m digging your love hearts and bunny rabbits attire,’ Xion teased, jerking a chin at the camouflage pattern of the newcomer’s gear.
‘Fokk off, they’re comfortable. He giving you trouble, brother?’
Xion exchanged a side hug with his fellow Rider, Kisan.
‘Tis old Letan, still trying to drum up his glory days. He needs to dry out in the tank, and then let him go. I’ve swiped some credits to him for a meal at the Comm House.’
‘Sante kaka,’ Kisan growled. ‘Go, enjoy your well-deserved night.’
‘Livin’ the dream.’
With that, Xion jerked his chin and lit off.
Xion also happened to loathe four other lesser evils on his hit list.
They included outlandish entitlement, outrageous indulgence, bare-faced greed and relentless desperation.
All fourfold played across the features of the two damsels headed his way at The Osirian.
The Sable-owned establishment was a sumptuous dining restaurant and bar, one of the best in Eden II.
Here, the warmth of heated bodies and the scent of cigars swirled with the heady notes of expensive liquor and beer’s rich, malty aroma.
Sipping on his glass, Xion sliced his eyes away from the women bearing down on him. Their heels clicked on the luxury parquet and tessellated tiles, past padded velvet booths and banquettes.
Hips swinging, they sashayed by the sprawling bar with its rare onyx mineral bench top and mirrored splash-back, where a dozen bartenders hovered over the growing number of patrons.
He sighed as their predatory smiles widened and their eyes cast over him with lust.
Fokk, he was in no mood to duck and weave.
All he wanted was to down his whisky and head upstairs to his bed after the day he’d had.
Still, the salacious missiles kept coming. He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned away from their approach, clenching his jaw and racing a leg on the chair before him to create a defensive barrier.
‘Sweet Eden handsome, how are you even anatomically possible?’ one of them crowed as they approached. ‘That hair, those eyes, your skin -’
‘That mouth. Kill me now,’ her companion cooed.
He smirked, but inside, he churned.
The attention his looks got him was draining.
As a dusky-skinned, tall, fit, lean, muscled man with meta tatts, locks and his chiselled, brooding features and a Rider at that, it was a daily battle to fend off the hordes of women who made excuses to talk, touch and drool over him.