Snippet - Last Run

"There's only about a dozen left out here."

"So that's it then?"

"...Yeah, pretty much."

Ket swirled her whiskey idly. "What, you gonna tell me to stay?"

Brand snorted. "Fuck that."

The mercenary laughed at that, before tossing back the last of her tumbler. "Still got the last twelve though."

"Yeah. Suppose you do."

She stretched back into the false leather chair, her armor creaking almost as much as the supports. Brand refilled his own tumbler, pushing a heavy wooden crate over to her chair with his boot. "Last shipment then."

She cracked open an eye, focusing on the pallet wood with a grin. "Gotta love Christmas."

"I got ya somethin' special for your last run."

"Oh?" Interest piqued she sat up and dragged the crate in front of her, unsnapping one catch with a toe while she released the other with her free hand. Her eyes widened in surprise as she lifted the top and stared down at the deadly contents. "Is this...?"

"Yup. The only in the system."

She ran an ungloved hand over the smooth blend of polymer and steel as he took a sip of his whiskey and leaned against the counter.

"Second case is the ammo. Hyper-velocity high explosive flechettes. Each dart is pushing twelve thousand feet per second, and carry enough direct kinetic energy to give a freight train pause. If they aren't wearing armor, it will kill them, and punch a hole through the building behind them. If they are wearing armor, it will kill them, and anyone who gets hit by the shrapnel they used to be wearing." Another swig of whiskey. "You'll be lucky to collect anything recognizable enough for the bounty board."

He stepped away from the counter. "Of course, from what I hear, you aren't after these guys for the money."

She shrugged, but he cut her off before she could answer. "I told you when we started this that I don't give a damn what your story is. I'm standing by that, Ket. Take your shit and go, woman. Your money's already cleared."

The dust driven by her leaving had long settled as Brand slumped into an office chair, his eyes staring beyond the ceiling as the ice melted into his bourbon. As the ice shifted and clinked within the glass, the old Fixer smiled. He raised the glass, studying it a moment.

"Here's to you, Ket. Give 'em hell."