The morning sunlight shone a light over the corpses of the night's rapacious events. Only flickering tongues remained where the fire once was.

  Colonel Becker csps his bag on his chest and slightly combs his wet hair as he prepares to leave the merchant-house of his former employer.

  After one final equipment check, he puts a toothpick in between the door and the frame, snapping off the end he's holding.

  As Becker descends down, he is greeted by a humanoid robot attending the bar. It can hardly be called a proper machine as it resembles more a shoddy jumble of tubes and scrap barely welded together with springs springing out of its form. It is the personality that separates these machines from automata or artificial intelligence. From what Becker had been made to understand, these "hakas" were once beings floating in some ethereal realm that no longer need "keneka" flesh and skin in order to interact in the mortal world, even if some cling to the habit.

  Whatever their origins, they now must endure interacting with those of this realm in resilient but ultimately destructible bodies.

  Jumbled haka: Good morning Colonel Becker!

  Becker: Same to you haka.

  Jumbled haka: i have a... We!... i have a na...NAME...

  Becker: Whenever you decide what it is you are I'll address you as such.

  It is a hopeless endeavor.

  As it speaks jumble of wires coming out of its center bend back and sideways. Clumps of welded steel hold the wires together at the end, with a few lights emanating here and there. As the wires go erect, the lights focus on Becker.

  Jumbled haka: Are you on your way out as well? The owner already left with the others

  Becker: Serve me a hot drink and I'll be on my way, will you?

  The haka already had water boiling on a hot orange sb grill. Extending two right protrusions composed of twisted bars and welded pques, it plucked the pot and poured it onto a ceramic pot-bellied cup before pcing it on the wooden bar.

  Becker shook a tea bag and pced in the cup, blowing into it to cool it off. Bringing the cup to his lips, he eyed at the corner of the bar and noticed a basket of "gumios" stacked on them. He still could not get the image of Japanese rice balls out of his mind, but their hardy shells are not edible. Their real worth are in their jellied-dust, jade colored filling.

  There they were, tender once used in this pce by merchants and investors as a security. Whatever deal hashed out, owners of merchant-houses expected a small cut of the action, and one whose owner had a secured supply of gumios could expect a comfortable life, so long as they insured the deals from going wrong.

  Becker could only watch them from his pce on the bar, drinking his tea with an itchy index finger and a slight pulse in his temple.

  Becker: Business not going so well these days?

  Jumbled haka: Of all the pces the brothers could have chosen to fight... At least the rest of you keneka know what...priorities are when the danger is...is...PLACE!

  Becker finishes his tea, pcing it upside down after removing the baggie.

  Becker: For shame. How long have things been spiraling out of control?

  Jumbled haka: About nine days... YES YES!

  Becker: And they haven't made their way towards us yet?

  Jumbled haka: butanydaynowtheywillshedblooddownthemiddlewhoeverwins...WAILING HUSKS BURN BURN BURN!

  Becker massaged his temple to alleviate the screeching of the haka.

  Jumbled haka: in...in...any day...NOW...

  Having heard enough Becker decided to cut it short.

  Becker: Alright, tell your boss I may be back te, and if I find another employer, it was nice doing business while it sted

  Jumbled haka: Can't guarantee we'll be here longer we intend to leave soon

  Outside, the multitude of people still waiting by the docks looked worse than how they did yesterday. Some had constructed crude sun shades, some began to eat what little they had. There were a few others lying about with a slight streak of crimson on their throats. Tears flowed from those with personal loss. Some eyed the walking man in bck and were terrified, a stark difference from yesterday when he was just any other sucker off the boat.There were a couple of the civilians walking about with white armbands armed with clubs or short knifes. A particurly shabby one, short and in makeshift armor, spied Becker walking on the street and signaled him. Becker took notice and tightened his hold on his sub-machine gun, trying to keep it out of sight as much as possible.

  The short man cleared his throat as he was about to speak.

  Short man: You, Outsider! You're off to see what's left of us? Look, you only arrived yesterday, but I may have something for you.

  Becker: A job proposition, is it?

  Short man: I know this might sound too much, but, if you could find us a way to take over what few ships are left?

  Becker look perplexed at the request.

  Short man: Look, we know that the remaining merchants have their own ships under guard. They're just waiting to leave until the st minute. They're not inclined to share with anyone else...Look, we don't all want to die, understand?!

  Becker: I take it the ship I was in didn't took many of your lot?

  The short man's face turned bitter.

  Short man: They only took those that could pay in anything valuable. Anything! Those that tried to push their way in were killed. Honestly...I don't know if any more ships are coming, but time is running out. You seem like someone that can make things happen on your own. You survived your previous job after all.

  Becker could feel his wounds open up and ice running in his veins.

  Becker: You know about that?

  Short man: It's the only thing people were talking about before the brothers invaded the isnd.

  Becker's breath left him, his mind fixated on the failure of it all. He forced himself back to the situation, as the short man expected an answer.

  Becker: If you know about that then you know I'm not your man.

  Short man: Look, staying here is not a guarantee that you'll stay alive. Even we can't stop all of the scum from getting at us at night. Now I know we can't pay you much, but I'm sure you can find it...

  He continued to walk away, not wanting to hear more.

  Short man: Really?! You and your kind can choke on your riches!

  There was a gathering in the rgest open-air market in the city.

  Thin-mustached merchant: In conjunction with...THE honorable warden master of the city prison, my associates and I are hiring all remaining men-at-arms and warrior bands for the defense of our city's continued freedom on the basis of seven"peshwa" per day! Upon completion of the contract, you may select an abandoned building as your own and be granted the franchise of citizenship!

  The blood-red legal tender of the realm, a payment of seven peshwa coins was in the middle of barely adequate but just enough to take into consideration.

  Surrounded by warehouses, adjunct buildings, and crossed by a main street and alleyways, this open-air market is where the remaining merchants and left-over authorities now auctioned off contract bids for mercenaries rather than their usual wares and goods. Behind them was a particur warehouse in the shape of a ziggurat where vendors of all types would set up shop for a fee, now filled with spectators looking on below.

  The merchants present had set up improvised stages out of crates and sbs of wood left over in the warehouses, fnked by their own guards, and each faction distinguished by symbols etched into their simple chest armor.

  The sell-swords present were as varied in equipment and appearance - baroque thick armor, tight leather garments, vilinous bdes, simple bows, steam-pumped projectile weapons. Some had their armor dented and chipped from all of their previous jobs, others were pristine and polished. Perhaps one or two women were in the mix, but most were men.

  Even more scarce were the "Outsiders" - those that hail from Earth. Despite their attempt to distinguished themselves from one another they nonetheless were uniformed as gentleman's club gunmen in Becker's view.

  Thin-mustached merchant: Any haka will be compensated in parts or fluids as you see fit.

  Indeed there were enough living machines in the crowd to form half a ptoon. Some of the hakas had lustrous, smooth exoskeletons with neither blemishes or battle signs. Others looked like crudely made artistic dummies or scrap scarecrows with the appearance that any forceful shove would shatter them into the ground. One haka appeared to be a formless swarm made of living golf ball sized spheres, changing colors around the rims of its eye sockets depending on what can be interpreted as its mood, and shifting from one figure to another every now and then. Those that were closer to it could notice that the balls were close to one another but did not touch.

  Somewhere in the middle was a seemingly normal looking woman, decked in knee-high boots, tight pants and leather jacket with a vest and a puffy shirt. Strands of printed circuit boards ran evenly from where her face ended and disappeared into the blond hair. The haka licked its lips at the mention of fluids as potential payment, and as it grinned, four arachnid-like limbs shot out from underneath the jacket, cwing at the air in excitement.

  Thin-mustached merchant: *gulp* Any axolo that joins will be allowed to keep their...prey...NO QUESTIONS ASKED!

  His hesitation to finish the sentence was not without cause. In the pza were a handful of axolo, standing prideful, arms crossed, chests pumped, and leathery wings were tucked neatly resembling a burp sack. Of either kenekas or hakas, these were the more dangerous. Unless one was resolute and dangerous as they are, trying to hire axolos was no better than being their victim. Even their feet were menacing - their two talons and hallux were sharp enough to slice through anyone unfortunate to fall in their clutches.

  Their armor was segmented with a couple of ptes covering their thighs or chests. Their pauldrons that extended to their chest area, shin guards, and armored sleeves were studded with bdes and thick needles as their owner desired, finely crafted as evidenced by the shine upon the bck metal. The rge pieces of their armor bare baroque decorations on the outlines of the armor with twisted faces here and there as a natural break from one line to another. Those in leather armor might not be out of pce in a motorcycle gang back on Earth. If one were to look closely one might notice dots that resembled open pores. Some of these leather pieces had arms and feet hanging out, and some had noticeable faces warped by heat with patches of hair still on them.

  Some had tall helmets akin to bsphemous papal tiaras studded with horns and bdes in even pattern with a ft face dotted with bright red eyes and a thin line where the mouth would be. Others kept it simple by wearing something that looks like a helmet cut at the top with the front having a humanoid mask with either a bird's beak or a sharp nose, bulging eyeballs under angry brows, and carnivorous teeth on their grim mouths or beaks.

  Their weapons were as varied as the other mercenaries present, but their fine craftsmanship was evident. Their melee weapons were polearms or knives with the bdes twisted and chipped in aggressive shapes to inflict unclean and messy damage upon their enemies. What few firearms they had looked like an alien version of a caulk gun in rifle size, an oval shaped mechanism above the trigger, and bdes underneath the barrel.

  All of their gear was stained in dried blood, especially their faces. Whether this damaged their metal was not evident.

  Tall grim merchant: I am bound for the eastern frontier and any who join me will be a member of the guild after an employment of four years.

  Thin-mustached merchant: Don't listen to that fool! The eastern frontier is as barren as the Desert! You will live like glorified SAVAGES in caves and tents!

  Old hunchbacked merchant: Join me and when we win I promise favorable positions in any new order that may arise. My companions have long sought to make necessary changes that most of you have expressed...

  Thin-mustached merchant: We all know your kind has been waiting to take over since forever! You couldn't buy your way to leadership before, you can't do it now!

  The mercenaries were debating among themselves as to the options presented before them. Some were suggesting to unite and just take over the city and sughter the soft-fleshed merchants, others countered that they would all die at the hands of the guards before they can enjoy their loot. Soon, the chatter grew louder, drowning out the merchants' bickering and the warden master trying to reign control of the situation.

  Becker had enough of this and made his way out by one of the alleyways leading onto another main street when the leader of three other well-groomed men spoke to him as they passed by, himself sporting a comb back scissor cut and clean faces.

  They wore kakhi cargo pants, white polo shirts, durable-looking sneakers, and well-kept body armor. Their rifles were freshly oiled and clean to the shine - two FN FNCs with grenade unchers, one FN Minimi 5.56 Mk3, and the leader's FN F2000 with a grenade uncher.

  Well-groomed leader: Work too 'ard for a pensioner?

  The fire team grinned and chuckled at what their leader said.

  Becker: How long have you been around here?

  Well-groomed leader: Two years and counting.

  Becker: Then you should know a bad deal from a good one in these parts.

  Well-groomed leader: Maybe it's a sucker's deal for gutless faggots. Maybe you should 'eave the action to 'ardened geezer 'ho don't need Viagra.

  They continued onward into the pza, ughing a bit more as they did, getting ready show off and offer their services. Becker himself couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he left the pza, shaking his head and sighing at what just happened.