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The_Godslayer · 08-22-2025, 10:45 AM,

Freeport 10

"With every saint, a past. To every sinner, a future."

Max was at the bar doing paperwork this time. Partially for the sake of being close to the alcohol, but also because the bar is where the guard patrols changed shifts. He was there to listen in to the reports. He was also there to be easy for others to find and approach, especially his unofficial aide, Ken, who works at the bar normally. Today, he was staring at a list of communications, and Ken was cleaning a mug. Ever the cheeky bastard, Ken chose to use Max's line on himself. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Max looked up from his data pad at the smug grin that had callously stolen his catchphrase. "Don't push it, brother."

"But yeah. Of course, some people forget that neutrality is an obligation, not a shield. Pennsylvania is flaring up again, and a bunch of mass communications to Zoners and Militants are going out." Max glared at a few in particular. The guard change for the refugee living quarters reported nothing out of the ordinary.

"Lotta spam, then. You don't normally look like someone pissed in your whiskey over spam mail, though." Ken sent a glass of whiskey and bitters on the rocks sliding across the bar, gracefully coming to a halt directly in front of Max. Max picked it up and took a sip while he figured out how to word his thoughts in ways that didn't overshare.

"Some old names. Bad blood. Nothin' more." Max resisted the urge to glance across the bar to gauge Ken's reaction. That, in and of itself, would give too much away. Instead, he set the glass down, and tipped it forward, watching Ken through the reflections and distortions in the ice, drink, and glass. Ken was wearing his therapist face. Seems this was going to be a long one.

"Well, you spent a long time running, didn't you? Now you're here, sitting in one place, stuff that you were running from is gonna catch up. Lotta demons wear the faces of men, I'm sure you know. Evil spirits don't get tired, right?" An appeal to Max's spirituality. Whether he's a nice guy or just looking to get some extra job security was anyone's guess. Max didn't answer immediately. He wasn't planning to answer at all, but a familiar ping reached his ears, and he caught one of his jade coins. He looked over to Ken. Max didn't trust people, but he made deals plenty. In the place of trust, he lends these coins, to call on favors from one another.

"In my youth, I dealt with revolutionaries." Max didn't need to ask what Ken wanted. He took a moment to get his memories in a line before he continued. "I was a right-hand-man to some twins. Romulus and Remus, we called 'em. We had a gang on the surface of Pittsburgh. Something to be safe from DSE goons and Police goons. And, well..." His scowl deepened as he looked back to the data pad. "Xenos."

"Turf competition?", Ken offered, his unspoken question not yet answered.

"Competition ain't the same down there. If you weren't Xenos, you were a Liberty Loyalist in their eyes, and that meant you weren't just an enemy, you were evil. Someone who's just trying to eat fights differently from someone who thinks your existence could stain their souls. Desperation will slit your throat, regret it, and come back to bury you if it can. Hate? Hate will kill you as painfully as possible, twist the knife as much as it can, and pray you have a family so it can kill them too."

Ken nodded. Max didn't know much about where Ken came from. Whatever brought him here, though, had driven him out of the Omegas, because he'd never hesitate to mention how much he hates the Walker Nebula. "And now here they are, offering help to Zoners and Militants, and you're on that list because you've got the badge, huh? The old Pittsburgh street gangster is watching the people who wanted his group dead offer help to the Zoner and his group. Feels wrong, right?"

Max heaved a sigh, and drew his Gaian Titan-Bear fur poncho tighter around himself. His skin felt cold, despite the temperature in the bar always being warm. "They ain't offering help to me, and while we're all Zoners, Erie ain't mine. They want to be the new Insurgency, more power to them. Xenos turned on the last Insurgency, too."

Ken nodded more enthusiastically than before, seeming to finally hear what he was looking for. Max turned the jade coin over in his hand to stare at the image of the two-headed snake. "You think the Xenos are using Pennsylvania for their own ends, and they're going to turn on Erie once they get what they want?"

Max didn't respond, he simply made eye-contact with Ken. That was more than enough. Ken's question, though it had never really been asked, had been answered in full. Max flipped the coin back to Ken, a silent request to change the subject. Ken pocketed the coin. "Any follow-up from that "Tau Initiative"?"

Max checked his datapad. "Nothin'."

Ken slid a new drink to Max, a creamy green with a whipped cream topping. The smell of licorice and herbs met his nose. "Then, I think you should take a break from all this other-people-stuff. Freeport 10 is your home right now, and you got people to see to. Look, upper-deck guard's changing out already, you should go check in on little miss Milly. She hasn't seen her big, fuzzy hero all day, has she?"

Max looked over to Ken's smug grin. He wondered if Ken had ever gotten tired of teasing people. "Keep dreaming, brother. Guys like me don't get happy endings like that."

Ken's laughter chased Max and his drink out of the bar, along with the upper-deck's replacement guard. "Careful who hears that, Max. You know how stubborn she can be, imagine if she decided to prove you wrong."

Life on Freeport 10 wasn't that bad. Maybe that's what made it feel like, someway, somehow, he didn't really belong.

A problem for another day.

I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"

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