Kiss Off/Along Came a Bane Spider Commando

From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

You want to know why I hate rap? Because I hate rappers. I hate hip-hop artists, rap artists, and most of the porn industry. I hate them because they’ve completely ruined diamonds. Once upon a time, diamonds were a status symbol worth having. The really big ones were rare, they were classy, they were something that, if you had ‘em, man, you were something.

Nowadays, when every third-rate wanna-be gangsta thug who can rhyme “ho” with “blow” is sporting a fat diamond in his left nut sack, diamonds have lost their appeal. They’re getting tacky.

I tried to decide if that made the diamonds on my wrist any less gorgeous. And that’s when I decided I hated rappers. Here I was with about twenty carats worth of perfect diamonds around my wrist, and I had to wonder if they were tacky. With a sigh and a frown, I took the bracelet off and set it on the table.

I thought about fencing it. The jewelry store robbery had been stupid in terms of monetary gain, but I really wanted that bracelet and I couldn’t resist mentioning it to the kid. He had gotten it for me, but I guess there was something of a ruckus over it. He was a good kid.

I opened my mouth to tell him so when the bar room door opened. People melted out the back as fast as they could determine they weren’t the ones being sought by the cadre of Arachnos bullyboys who’d entered. It took me all of a millisecond to figure out they were looking for me. I didn’t get up. I didn’t even bother to hide the bracelet. There didn’t seem much of a point.

One of them stepped forward, energy mace in one hand. “I am Commander Parker, Bane Spider Commando, and that’s all you need to know. You have been observed and recorded using persuasive powers of an unknown origin to bend the free will of other citizens to your wishes. Do you wish to deny this charge?” He sounded bored.

“Nope,” I said. Observed and recorded. Ooo. Big whoop.

My answer didn’t seem to affect him one way or another. He continued his recitation, just spewing out the words as if the monotony of his life was beyond comprehension. “This ability qualifies you as a superpowered resident of the Rogue Isles. All superpowered residents of the Rogue Isles are required to register with the Arbiters upon their arrival where they will be issued a card displaying their threat level. Failure to do so will result in a fine. That’ll do.” He took my bracelet.

I frowned. Now that was just low. A couple of the other spiders tensed slightly, but relaxed when all I did was frown. But they hadn’t come all this way just to take my bracelet. I waited.

He sighed as he stuffed my bracelet in a belt pouch at his waist. “Right, then.” With a twist, he locked his mace across his back and pulled a small handheld computer out. “I have a few basic questions to ask you, and then you’ll be officially registered. What name would you like on your registration?”

“Hey, if I’m gonna be registered, I want my bracelet back!”

“Too long. Pick something shorter. What name would you like on your registration?”

“I’m serious, give me my bracelet back.”

I should’ve been more careful. I forgot about the kid. He was so sweet... Before I could stop him, he pulled out his gun. Poor kid never had a chance. He was splattered all over the back wall of the bar, and Commando Rambo in front of me never even put his toy away. His friends killed my kid.

“Aw for fuck's sake. Do you have any idea how long I’m gonna hafta look to find another one of those?” I snarled. I stayed seated, though. The kid had been nice, sure, but I didn’t want my brains mixed with his for all eternity. Besides, I was reasonably sure I could get another one. Maybe one with better aim.

Parker still looked bored. I hoped he was choking on it. “What name would you like on your registration?”

“Kiss off,” I snapped.

“Fine,” he said, tapping a few keys.

I tried not to let my jaw drop. He wasn’t seriously gonna stick me with that. Thank god I hadn’t said “fuck off”. He looked up, raising his eyes without lifting his chin more than a fraction of an inch. I couldn’t see them through the ruby faceplate, but I could feel them. Had we reached an understanding?

Casually, I leaned back in my chair. “Anything else?”

He went back to tapping. “Your abilities qualify you as a Mastermind. Your use of various toxins has been noticed. We have samples on record. We’ll know you did it when someone comes up dead. People like to think we don’t notice that crap. Makes ‘em feel superior, keeps ‘em happy.”

A card spat out of one end of his computer. He snapped his fingers and was handed a slender black folder by one of the others. The folder and the card, he gave to me. “Welcome to Mercy Island,” he said, his tone not welcoming. “Obey the rules, you’ll be fine. If someone else doesn’t kill you. Your registration entitles you to one free visit to the Facemaker. You look like you need it. With any luck, I won’t see you again.” He tugged his mace free and turned to go.

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “That’s it? You kill the kid, hand me a card, and I’m supposed to know what comes next?”

Parker paused, then turned to face me again. “Look, Recluse, he doesn’t much care what you do. But you start making too many waves with too many people when you don’t have the cred to back it up, he starts hearing about it. If he hears about it, he’ll end you. And then he’ll end everyone between him and you who didn’t keep him from having to hear about your sorry ass.”

He leaned forward and opened the folder on the table, pointing his finger toward a spot on the map inside. “Up here’s where you’ll find Kalinda. You want something to keep you busy, help you build up that cred? Talk to her.”

“Fuck that, I’m not working for the spider.”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Then you want this guy.” His finger landed on a spot nearby. “Matthew Burke. Mercenary, sub-contracts out a lot of his work to meat like you. Also likes to think we don’t know what he’s up to. People think we run this insane asylum by luck or some damned thing, I guess. Talk to Burke. He’ll get you jobs.”

“Like I can do anything now. You shot my gun.”

He stepped away from the table. “Not my problem. Get another one.”

Get another one. There had to be one, right? Somewhere? I had found the kid right off the bat. There had to be more. I looked up as Parker and his cadre reached the door. “Hey, Parker!”

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

“How ‘bout a goodbye kiss?” I purred, leaning forward.

Parker turned sharply, smacking his mace into one hand and locking it into place with parade-ground precision. One hand snapped up in front of his face and, with great deliberation, he flipped me off. Pivoting neatly on one heel, he turned and led his troops out the door.

I kinda liked him.