The reckoning began on a Tuesday. It was a series of coordinated hits on a scale that the Red Dragon, or any other crime organization for that matter, had not seen in decades. The last big war anyone could remember was during the early days of Tharsis City, when rivals flooded the streets of the solar system’s new mega metropolis. Blood wasn’t just shed, it had to be. The older guys would tell you it was part of the process, a mafia war everyone could agree on. A way to divide a new frontier into different parcels of territory, street corners, and turf. The Red Dragon ultimately won the war, but gave pieces of their territory on other planets and moons to the other families as a way to keep the bloodshed to a minimum for years to come. That’s just how things were done back then. It was old school.
What the Europa Crew did was not. It was a new form of warfare. They didn’t want turf. Or territory. Or even someone to stroke their ego. This was about revenge. And maybe that’s why they were able to pull off the attacks with relative ease—no one ever saw them coming.
The first hit took place outside of Ana’s at four o’clock in the morning. Four Red Dragon foot soldiers stumbled out onto the sidewalk in front of the bar in search of a greasy breakfast to sand down the edges that the tequila had sharpened that night. What they found was an old Cadillac Deville slowly rolling by with the muzzle of an automatic rifle pointed through a custom cut hole in the rear passenger door like the cannon of an old pirate ship. The Europa Crew blew them away right there on the sidewalk, spraying blood across the facade of Ana’s like a Pollock. The worst part was, they never even had to roll a window down.
But it wasn’t just drive-bys. A car bomb took out a hitman named Cash outside of his luxury high-rise. The blast was so powerful that even the valet who handed off the keys was cut down by a screaming piece of molten shrapnel. The same fate befell another hitman named Zevo. Unfortunately the car bomb also claimed the life of his girlfriend who had walked him to the car for a goodbye kiss, as was her predilection.
Blackeye, the sniper who had unloaded on Fearless and Vicious from the building across from the penthouse the day prior, was, ironically, shot dead through his famed shooting eye. The Europa Crew had gunned down his doorman in the lobby with ease. They took the elevator up to his apartment and knocked on the door. When Blackeye looked through the peep hole, he only saw darkness. He figured it was one of the Red Dragon guys covering the peephole with their finger. It turned out to be the nose of a desert eagle pistol.
A dozen more hits followed throughout the day. Some were more memorable than others. Like the janitor who was thrown from the roof of a high-rise only to land in the middle of a children’s birthday party taking place on the courtyard below.
But it wasn’t just the Red Dragon rank-and-file who were targeted. The Europa Crew also managed to take out a couple big fish as well. Like Kang, a rising capo who was whispered to be promoted to underboss any day. He was eating sushi at the bar of Lotus, Tharsis City’s most exclusive fish joint when a tattooed man in a pristine white chef’s coat slit his throat with a butcher’s knife. The other patrons didn’t even flinch. Not because they were in shock, but because they had waited months for their reservations and weren’t about to let a little blood ruin their evening.
In the end, the Europa Crew hunted down and killed twenty-two members of the Red Dragon that day. The targets were not only chosen by their ranking within the organization, but by their skill level so that any future retaliation would be handicapped from the start. At the site of each murder, a three-by-five index card was found nearby. On the front was an intricate drawing of Europa, the mother of King Minos of Crete, riding a bull. On the back was a simple handwritten message.
“Bring us Vicious.”
* * *
Goldie woke up that morning the way she had every day since the reckoning began—with her finger on the trigger of a sawed-off shotgun. She didn’t keep it under the bed, or under the pillow even, she slept with it in her hand, ready to blow away any member of the Europa Crew that made the mistake of coming through her bedroom door. Her Red Dragon comrades had joked about her weapon of choice, but she preferred the way the scattershot would blanket the doorway, the shells erupting with their own particular brand of chaotic mayhem. The sawed-off’s inaccuracy would be a blessing in disguise in the dark, she thought. She’d either blow the intruder back the way they came or at the very least clip them and give herself time to figure out her next move. That’s what she told herself, at least.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.
The apartment’s dated intercom system crackled to life.
“Package for you down ’ere,” a raspy voice announced. Goldie gritted her teeth and shook her head. She walked to the front door where the intercom hung on the wall, her finger still wrapped around the trigger of the sawed-off. Another finger pressed the talk button.
“I didn’t order anything. Throw it away,” Goldie chomped back.
“It’s from your motha. You really want me to throw it in the garbage?”
Goldie took a deep breath and muttered a quiet goddammit, Mom. She pressed the button again. “Fine. Leave it on the desk. I’ll come down and get it.”
Goldie squatted to the floor and pried open a floor vent. She reached her arm inside and felt around for something. Her brow furrowed, not finding what she was looking for, until her eyes lit up. She had found it. Goldie removed her arm. In her palm was a MK2 hand grenade. It was the ultimate insurance policy. If somehow an assailant managed to disarm her, she’d have one trick left up her sleeve. One very violent trick. Goldie turned and took a trench coat off the hook next to the door. She placed the grenade in the coat pocket, then slipped her left arm inside. As for the right arm, she draped the coat over her shoulder—covertly disguising the sawed-off at her side and her finger on the trigger.
The old elevator doors shuddered open. The lobby of Goldie’s building was sparse. A potted fiddle leaf tree slowly wasted away in the corner next to a yellow velvet couch with questionable stains that the super found on the side of the road. There was a desk for the doorman, but it was never occupied. Mostly because they didn’t have a doorman. Goldie’s eyes ticked to the brown square box that sat on the surface of the desk. Perhaps her super wasn’t on the take from the Europa Crew after all.
Ker-clunk. Ker-clunk. Ker-clunk.
The elevator doors started to shudder to a close—clank! Goldie stuck the sawed-off between the doors. She slowly stepped into the lobby, performing a quick sweep of the room. It was empty. She carefully approached the box on the desk. Then poked it with the nose of the sawed-off. Goldie winced, hoping it wouldn’t explode. After a moment, the box still hadn’t exploded. She shrugged. Perhaps her mom had sent her something after all.
Goldie took the box off the desk and tucked it under her arm. She slowly made her way back to the elevator, while softly singing a ditty by Frank Sinatra to herself. “Luck be a lady, tonight…”
She pressed the elevator button. The yellow light flickered. The shaft groaned as the car made its way back to the lobby. “Luck let a gentleman see…”
The elevator doors slowly shuddered open once again. Goldie equally slowly stepped forward, drumming the side of her fingertips on the side of the box as she continued to sing. “Just how nice a dame you can be…”
A gloved hand wrapped around her mouth!
Goldie desperately tried to raise the sawed-off, but the mystery assailant had pinned her arm and the gun to her side. Which left her with the only option of pulling the trigger and blowing her own foot off. She considered it, momentarily, wondering if she’d bleed out enough to avoid whatever hell awaited her. As for her other arm, it was twisted behind her back, which prevented her from pulling the pin from the grenade and blowing them both to pieces.
And then, they placed a hood over her head.
Everything went black.
* * *
Whoosh. The hood was ripped off of Goldie’s head. Her eyes rapidly darted around the small, claustrophobic enclosed space that she now found herself in. Suddenly, her gazed turned from one of frantic terror to one of absolute fury.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Goldie seethed.
Sitting across from her were none other than Fearless and Vicious. The three of them were seated inside the back of the catering van. They gave a soft wave—and cringed. Hard.
“Look, we realize that you’re probably upset,” Vicious replied.
“Upset?! Upset?!” Goldie snapped back. “You kidnapped me from my own apartment!”
“We had no choice. With what’s been going on with the Europa Crew we knew that if we showed up on your fire escape again in the middle of the night you’d shoot us dead,” Vicious explained.
Goldie scoffed in disbelief. “That’s right, I probably would have. But you know what you two jerk-offs could have done instead? Knocked on my fucking door. This was completely irresponsible of you two!”
“You know what’s irresponsible?” Fearless chimed in, the grenade in his hand. “Carrying a fucking grenade in your pocket!”
Goldie gritted her teeth. “Give me that.”
“What? Absolutely not! For all we know you’ll pull the pin right now and kill all three of us, you absolute psychopath!” Fearless retorted.
“That’s right.” Goldie grinned. “I am a fucking psychopath. And so help me god, when I get the opportunity, I am going to shove the grenade so far up your ass that—”
“Enough!” Vicious’s voice rattled the van’s metallic frame. Fearless and Goldie bowed their heads like a couple of children who had just been scolded. Vicious waited a moment, as silence filled the van. “Thank you. Now, listen. Goldie. I’m sorry.”
Fearless shrugged. “Again, she had a grenade, so I don’t know what we’re apologizing for—”
Thwap! Vicious punched him in the shoulder. Fearless rubbed his arm and glared at him as if to say, what the hell, man?
Vicious continued. “The truth is, we need your help. We would’ve asked, but we couldn’t afford for you to say no.”
Goldie’s eyes narrowed. “Help with what?”
“I need to capture Darien Cortez. Alive.”
* * *
The three friends shared a cigarette as they stood underneath the entrance of the Ellis Montgomery Memorial Bridge. The catering van was parked nearby. It was the middle of the night. The water of the Tharsis River slowly rapped at their feet. It was the only sound that could be heard at this time, besides the occasional car passing above.
“It’s impossible,” Goldie said as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “Cortez travels in an armored truck. The kind that banks use to move cash. Not to mention, he always travels with at least three armed heavies. So even if you somehow manage to pry him from the armored truck, which you won’t, you’d have to kill the heavies, again, which you won’t, and then somehow apprehend Cortez alive—did I mention that you won’t?”
Vicious stared off into the black water at his feet. “Nothing’s impossible.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” Goldie drove the point home. “This isn’t happening. And even if we could manage to apprehend Cortez, do you really expect the Red Dragon to suddenly welcome you back with open arms? I mean, I heard what you did to Dodd. Granted, he deserved to be tossed off the top floor of a building and splattered on a sidewalk, but Jesus, man.”
Fearless and Vicious traded a secretive glance. Goldie immediately picked up on it.
“OK—what are you not telling me?”
Vicious took a deep breath. His eyes fell the floor. He locked eyes with Fearless for a moment, then turned back to Goldie.
“My father is a Red Dragon elder.”
The cigarette fell from Goldie’s mouth and detonated orange ash at their feet. “OK now that’s impossible.”
Vicious shook his head. Then reluctantly continued. “Unfortunately, it’s true. I never knew what my father did for a living. He was always very secretive about his business dealings. I knew he had connections within the underworld, but I had assumed he was just playing the game. Paying the players in order to push his deals through. That kind of thing. I joined the Red Dragon in order prove to him that I could make something of myself. To prove to him that I was more than just a rich kid. To prove that I could go into business with him. And then, Dodd tried to have me killed. For what he said was because of who I am. I didn’t know what it meant. Until a series of events led me to an old photograph pinned up on the wall of a fighting pit in East Tharsis. It was of my father. And he was wearing a bloodstone.”
Goldie lit another cigarette. The information had her totally shook. “But if Dodd discovered who your father was, who you are, then why would he try to have you killed?”
Vicious shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that part out. All I know is that he tried to stage it as a business deal gone bad. He wanted me dead, yes, but he wanted to make sure it looked like an accident.”
Goldie took this in. Her eyes lit up as she put the pieces together. “So, you want to bring Cortez to your father to prove to him that you above all, after everything you’ve been through, your loyalty remains with the Red Dragon—and him.”
Vicious slowly nodded. “I need you to reach out to Cortez. I’m the one he wants. Tell him he can have me. But we get to set the meeting point. Outside the stacks. Where the desert meets the road.”
Goldie shook her head. “He’ll never do it.”
“Sure he will,” Vicious countered. “He knows that I’m on the outs with the Red Dragon. He won’t be expecting an ambush.”
Goldie chuckled to herself. “Guys, this isn’t going to work.”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Goldie and Vicious turned to the sound. Fearless was leaning against the van, softly tossing the grenade in his palm. The explosive’s metal husk slapped against his skin.
Thwap.
“Sure it will. You just need a little faith.” Fearless grinned. “A big ass bang.”
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Windshield wipers wicked rain off the glass of an armored truck as it rumbled down a dark stretch of desert highway. The driver, a heavy set member of Cortez’s inner circle with a tattoo of a lightning bolt on his neck, grumbled at the sight. “Unbelievable. Rain’s only scheduled once a week on Mars and we’re stuck in the fuckin’ middle of it.”
In the back of the armored truck, Darien sat quietly. His eyes straight ahead. His hands clasped in his lap. He was laser-focused and utterly unflappable. Seated next to him was his right hand, Chucky. He wore a bulletproof vest and an assault rifle draped across his lap. Unlike the others, he only had one tattoo. A single heart under his right eye. He turned to Darien.
“What if it’s an ambush?”
Darien chuckled. “Of course it’s an ambush. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have called us to the middle of the desert. Unfortunately for Vicious, he’s outnumbered. He’s outgunned. And he’s out of his fucking mind. The Red Dragon is no longer behind him. At most, he has the pretty boy sidekick with him and the girl who made the call. We, on the other hand, have an army inside of that truck.”
Darien motioned to the windshield. The rain had let up slightly, revealing another armored truck rumbling ahead of them. He grinned at the sight. This wasn’t going to be David versus Goliath. This was going to be David versus one hundred Goliaths.
Then, Darien called out to the driver. “How much longer?”
The heavy set driver with the lightning bolt tattoo turned around, “Shouldn’t be much longer, sir—”
KA-BOOM!
Suddenly, a fiery explosion erupted from the sewers below the highway and sent a manhole cover directly into chassis of the lead armored truck! The hulking vehicle tumbled end-over-end until it came to a rest in a ball of fire, upside down on the side of the highway.
Darien’s armored car came to an abrupt stop. Those inside stared at the other truck for a moment, but there was no escape. The members of his organization that had made the trek to the desert were either dead or would soon burn to death.
The heavy set driver popped open the door. Chucky followed suit and turned to Darien, “Stay inside the truck. It’s impenetrable. You’re safe in here, sir.”
The driver and Chucky quickly exited the vehicle with their weapons drawn and quickly closed the doors behind them. Suddenly, the scheduled rain picked up again. Darien craned his neck to see beyond the windshield, but the rainfall was too heavy. All he could do was listen to his men trade fire with Vicious and his ragtag army.
Bullets popped. Muzzles flashed. There were concussive bangs. And screams. Outside the armored truck, it was absolute bedlam. Until it wasn’t.
Suddenly, it was quiet. Bar the sound of the windshield wipers.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
It had stopped raining.
The water on the windshield had been replaced with blood.
Darien carefully stepped out of the car, a chrome-plated Desert Eagle clutched in his hand. He slowly took in his desert highway surroundings. A thick smoke billowed from the open manhole. The fire from the upside down armored car continued to rage. And if you listened closely, you could still hear a muffled scream. Darien pointed his Desert Eagle in every direction. And for the first time, he looked desperate.
“Where the fuck are you? You fucking coward! Show yourself!”
Darien looked over at the smoke from the manhole. Something caught his eye. A figure taking shape. The shape of a man on fire. A man who had just pulled off the impossible. And as he took a step forward, the figure revealed himself to be—
Vicious.
Darien raised his Desert Eagle. His hand trembling. “You killed my brother! You motherfucker! Why did you kill him?! Tell me why?!”
Vicious raised a confident, quiet hand. “Your brother was a mistake. I am man enough to admit that. But the war is now over. And you have lost, Darien. You could strike me down now, and avenge your brother’s death. Or…”
Darien’s eyes narrowed. The gun still trained on Vicious. “Or—what?”
Vicious slowly approached him. “Or, you and I can join forces and take the Red Dragon down once and for all.”
Darien slowly lowered his weapon. He considered the offer. “And what’s in it for me?”
A grin crept across Vicious’s face. “Quite a headache, unfortunately.”
Darien’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”
CRACK!
Darien dropped to the pavement, knocked out cold. Behind him stood Fearless, his Red Dragon issued nine millimeter in hand. He wiped Darien’s blood off the barrel of the gun as he took in his body heaped in the middle of the highway. And shook his head.
“I hate pistol whipping. It feels so… cliché,” Fearless muttered as he turned to Vicious.
“Get him in the truck,” Vicious said as he motioned to Darien’s body. “We’re going to see my father.”
Fearless watched as Vicious turned and disappeared into the smoke billowing from the manhole cover. He scoffed at the order. But part of Fearless knew that Vicious was something different now.
And it was only just beginning.
* * *
It had been rumored for years that the Elder Temple of the Red Dragon was hidden on a dark, rocky outpost of the satellite known as Ceres. Getting there was easy. Any person with access to a ship and novice flying skills could land on the desolate asteroid. The problem was getting inside. The temple was buried underneath the rocky surface and only accessible through a single fortified elevator. Inside, the Elders were protected by the most elite faction of the Red Dragon known as the Koban Guard. They served one purpose—to kill anyone, or anything, who tried to even approach the three highest ranking members of the Red Dragon.
Wearing oxygen masks, Fearless and Vicious entered a cave with a single, heavy metal door. Behind it was the elevator shaft. Between them was Darien, still unconscious, his face shoved into an oxygen mask to keep him from suffocating from the asteroid’s complete lack of atmosphere. In the distance was Vicious’s father’s private ship. Ironically, they could finally use it knowing that there wouldn’t be someone waiting for them on the other side of the astral gates. The only thing waiting for them was a date with destiny—and he went by the name of Caliban.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Fearless asked.
Vicious didn’t answer. There was no elevator button to press. Or intercom to speak into. There was just a single camera looking down upon them. Vicious grabbed Darien by the back of the hair and held him up to the lens. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a small cramped elevator. Fearless and Vicious dragged Darien inside and the elevator began to move.
They both stood in silence as the elevator fell to what felt like hundreds of feet below the surface. Neither of them felt much like talking. This was the end of the road. The end of their absurd, death-defying journey that had felt like it had lasted a year and change. The worst part was, they couldn’t really call it death-defying—because it felt like they hadn’t defied death just quite yet.
Suddenly, the elevator stopped. And the door slowly opened. Fearless and Vicious stepped inside, with their bounty, Darien, between them. The interior of the temple felt impossibly expansive. A blood-red reflecting pool surrounded them on each side, illuminating the room in its crimson hue. The walls were adorned with centuries-old tapestries and lit by paper-thin lanterns. A towering staircase made of polished stone anchored the room. Fearless and Vicious stood at the foot, unsure of where to proceed.
Fearless and Vicious glanced around the room—and realized they were surrounded by a dozen shirtless, masked men brandishing katanas. These were the Elders’ Koban Guard, and both men knew their purpose.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Vicious glanced to the top of the stairs. There stood his father. Caliban. It had been years since they had seen each other. Unsurprisingly, he looked older than Vicious remembered. His skin less vibrant than it once was. His hair thinned. But even at his age, he was still an intimidating force, with deep blue eyes that almost looked black. Even his clapping felt menacing.
“Look at you,” Caliban’s voice boomed as he slowly descended the stairs. “You’ve come all this way to bring me this man who has been quite a thorn in the side of this organization.”
Caliban reached the bottom. He stood eye-to-eye with Vicious. They felt more like acquaintances than they did father and son.
“What do you want for him?” Caliban asked pointedly.
“Answers. That’s what I want,” Vicious seethed.
Caliban raised an eyebrow. Then chuckled. “You seem angry, boy.”
“And why wouldn’t I be? You were going to let Dodd kill me without ever once intervening on my behalf. And he almost succeeded.” Vicious gritted his teeth. He wanted to strike Caliban down right there. “What kind of fucking father does that make you?”
Caliban began to pace in front of them. “I never wanted to be a father. And I told your mother as much. But she wanted a child. So I granted her that wish. Unfortunately, we had you. For years, you were a disappointment to us all. A whining, sniveling spoiled brat. That’s why I sent you to the Pits. For years, we’ve used the Pits as a recruitment center for the Red Dragon. I knew what kind of men come from there. So, I sent you there in hopes that you would learn how to fend for yourself in a world that’s colder than you could ever imagine. And then, you surprised us all. Somehow, you beat that unbelievable fighter—the one they called Fearless.”
Caliban glanced at Fearless. They locked eyes for a moment. Then Caliban continued to pace.
“And imagine my surprise, years later, when you told me you were joining the Red Dragon. That you had actually been recruited by Dodd without my knowledge. Now, I could’ve intervened and told him who you really were but that would have defeated the purpose. If you wanted to be a part of my outfit then you needed to prove yourself like everyone else. So I chose to remain silent and let fate take its course.”
Vicious clenched his teeth. There was a significant piece of the puzzle that was missing. That his father had yet to addresses. “Why did Dodd try to have me killed?”
“I believe they call that the elephant in the room.” Caliban chuckled as he continued to pace. “Many years ago Dodd had a son. His name was Albert. And when he reached the age of twenty, Dodd asked me to allow him to join the organization. I told him that it was a bad idea. That this business is an unforgiving one and that one day Albert may have to sacrifice himself for the greater good of the Red Dragon. And when that time came, he wouldn’t be able to protect him. Dodd told me that he wouldn’t play favorites and that he would treat his son like any other soldier. Well, a few years later, that day came. One of our assassins took out the wrong target. It just so happened that the man he killed was the son of the head of the Neptune Cartel. And in order to avoid the war, the cartel wanted a head. An important one. So we gave them Albert.”
Vicious cocked his head slightly in disbelief. “You gave them Dodd’s son?”
“What would you have me do? Dodd knew the risks! This is how the game is played! The Red Dragon was built on loyalty to the Red Dragon and the Red Dragon only!” Caliban shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the room.
Vicious clinched his hands tight. His knuckles turning white. His voice began to shake as he spoke. “You knew all along. You knew what would happen. That one day, Dodd would realize who I was and he would have his revenge. That he would kill me because of what you did to his son. And still. You did nothing.”
“That’s right, boy. I didn’t,” Caliban explained with conviction. “I wanted to see if for once in your life, you would rise to the occasion. And if you died, so be it. Because if you did, we would have our answer, now wouldn’t we?”
Suddenly, Vicious drew his 9mm from his waist and pointed it at his father’s head. The Koban Guard quickly swarmed, ready to strike him down. Caliban held up a hand, holding them at bay.
“You’re a monster,” Vicious whispered.
“No, son,” Caliban said as he slowly approached him. “I’m simply separating the winners from the losers.”
Caliban motioned to one of the Koban Guards for his katana. The guard followed orders and placed it in his hand. With his free hand, Caliban lowered the barrel of Vicious’s gun down to his side.
“Finish the job,” Caliban whispered as he offered Vicious the katana. Vicious tucked the 9mm back in his waist and took the katana in his hand. He admired it for a moment. How the weight of the handle felt in his hand. How the silver blade was shimmering crimson in blood red light.
And then, in one swift move—Vicious decapitated Darien. His head landed on the ground with a cruel thud. Then, Caliban smiled. For the second time. He headed back up the staircase, motioned for Vicious to follow.
“Let’s talk, boy. We have a future to discuss.”
Vicious and Caliban ascended the staircase together, as father and son. Fearless stood at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes locked on Darien’s head. It felt especially violent. Even for Vicious. And for the first time, Fearless worried about the potential for what Vicious could become.
“Fearless,” Vicious called to him from the top of the stairs. “My father would like you to join us.”
Fearless stood there for a moment. And for a moment, he thought about running—back into the elevator and out into the surface of the asteroid, where there was no air to breathe. He would remove his mask, and collapse onto the cold rock.
And just before he died, he’d roll over and take in the stars one last time.
He’d marvel at how clear they looked.
How he’d never seen them like this. Fearless exhaled.
Then spoke softly.
“I’ll be right there.”