He hit the ground with a resounding thud, his back impacting hard with the cold metal beneath him. Garren slowly lifted a hand to his face, brushing it up ever so gently against his nose before pulling it back, letting out a hiss of pain, his fingers now marked with blood. Combined with the throbbing in his skull, it seemed the punch had gone and broken his nose; maybe this time he would actually learn to stop picking fights with Praxans. Ugly bastards, Praxans are short and angry; they could almost pass as human if you could ignore the shriveled grey skin, lack of hair, and pig-like noses. They also packed a mean punch, as it happens; living under the heavy gravity of a world like Prax gave them a natural strength, much to Garren's detriment in this case.

  Turning onto his side, Garren slowly made his way back to his feet, muscles aching, wiping away the dripping blood from his nose. The alleyway to the side of the bar had cleared, the few people that had occupied it fleeing into the flowing traffic of the main streets. Gangs and other criminal activity were common on Morras. The Imperial Garrison and local police kept their limited patrols to the main streets and the spaceport. Just like the citizens of the planet, they’d learned to leave scuffles like this well enough alone.

  “Come on, Okk, what was that for? I thought we were just having a bit of fun playing cards.” Garren had to fight the urge to cover his ear as Okk spoke. No matter how long you listened to it, hearing a Praxan speak Galactic Standard with that guttural, shrieking voice of theirs was hard on the ears.

  “You're a bloody cheat, Fell, and a damn bad one at that. If I see your face around here again, Murcin isn't going to be the only one calling for your head.”

  Grabbing hold of his nose, Garren tilted his head back, trying to stop the bleeding. "Don't be like that, Okk; you're not playing Pokk right if you're not trying to cheat.”

  Okk took a step towards him and pointed a fist right at him, shaking it rather furiously. “Another word, Fell, and I'll do us all a favor and put you out of your misery.”

  "Alright, alright, message understood. You're not in the mood tonight. I'm leaving.” Turning away from Okk, Garen wiped his nose one last time before shoving his hand into his jacket pockets and walking out onto the main streets of the city. It had been stupid to cause a scene. Okk, the alien prick had been one of the few barkeeps still willing to put up with him. He’d let the appearance of one of Murchin's henchmen during the game throw him off; the guy spent the entire game giving him side glances. Truly, he’d hit rock bottom if some no-name gangster were putting him on edge.

  Even in the dead of night, the streets of Morras City, the capital of the planet, which was also conveniently named Morras, were crowded with life, with a various assortment of stands and shops lining the streets ranging from random knick-knacks to exotic foods illuminated by the artificial lights of the many buildings, loosely held together spires of metal, that made up the majority of the city. With his stomach grumbling, he was forced to ignore the food, lacking the marks to afford any of the overpriced stands of the main streets, instead having to content himself with the smell alone as he rubbed shoulder to shoulder with the people of various races that flooded Morras City, each bump reminding him about how much his body ached; he just couldn’t keep up with these brawls like he could back in his younger years.

  Despite its seeming activity, Morras was seen as a relative backwater in the galactic scale of things, located at the edge of Imperial space and relatively ignored by the central bureaucracy that governed the many star systems that made up Imperial space. Garren himself had only found himself calling the planet home a few months ago, and yet, in such a short time, he had already gotten himself banned from half the bars in Morras City.

  Continuing to wade his way through the crowd, Garren suddenly felt a rough pull on his arm as he was dragged into another alleyway as two figures blocked the entrance; his night just kept getting better. On instinct, he felt his hand shoot down to his hip only to be grasping at empty air; he had neglected to bring his blaster with him, a mistake he was now dearly regretting.

  With that option removed, Garren tried to get a better look at his would-be kidnappers; they were two young-looking gangsters, maybe in their twenties. One of them was standing with arms crossed; the other was holding a small blaster pistol pointed directly at him. Garren couldn’t recognize them, though the fact they looked completely human, beside two thumb-sized horns sticking out of their foreheads, had him place them as Brattans.

  Before he could decide on his next move, the Brattan, with his arms crossed, began to speak. Though judging from the subtle shaking in his voice, he was nervous, which only helped confirm the fact that they were young, and the young ones were always more of a threat given their propensity for stupidity. “Did you really think you could avoid paying Murcin what he’s due?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Murcin was the boss of one of the largest gangs in the city, and Garren owed the man an almost insurmountable amount of Marks. “Now now, don't be like that; I already told Murcin I'll pay up, I just need a little more time.”

  The Brattan with the Blaster proceeded to extend his arm even further towards him as if the extra inch provided by stretching his arm out so far were going to make any meaningful difference. “Murcin is done giving you more time. Either you pay up, or we collect in a different way.”

  Keeping his head locked on the two gangsters, Garrens darted his eyes around the confined alley, hoping to identify anything he could use as cover or as a weapon, only to instead catch the approach of a hooded figure. The figure stalked up silently behind the two Brattans, who seemed completely unaware of her presence even as she stood just behind them, only being alerted to her presence by the sound of two electro-batons activating.

  With two newly activated batons in hand, the figure struck one down into the knee of the Brattan with the blaster as he fell forward, yelling in pain as he tried to turn, letting off a shot with his blaster that went off into the air nowhere near his target, and for his effort, received a strike to the face from the other baton, the yellowish electricity that arced off the baton's head burning his skin.

  The other Brattan, having recovered from the shock, tried to help his friend by attacking the figure, throwing a wild right hand, only for the figure to duck underneath, jabbing one of the batons into the Brattan's stomach and the other impacting the back of his head as he lurched forward in pain.

  With the two gangsters thoroughly incapacitated, Garren was left alone with the figure who, after casually stepping over the groaning bodies of their victims, deactivated the two electro batons and lowered their hood, revealing themselves to be a girl that seemed a similar age to the two men she had just beaten.

  She was dark-skinned and with ashen hair that was roughly cut into a choppy bob that ended just above her shoulders. Under her left eye was a barcode-like tattoo. Having a better look at her outfit, besides the obvious hood, she was also wearing what seemed to be a form-fitting flight suit adorned with various belts, straps, and pouches along with armor pieces covering her shins, chest, and forearms. The girl continued walking forward, stopping just ahead of Garren before speaking.

  “Garren Fell?”

  To say Garren was confused would be an understatement; he supposed it was too much to ask for her to have just been a good samaritan. Though, given that she had yet to attack him was a good sign. He didn't recognize her, so that ruled out him having pissed her off somehow unless, of course, she was acting as a middleman. “Who's asking?”

  She seemed to smirk at that. “The name's Kailyn Marrow, and as it so happens, I need a pilot, and from what I hear, you're just the one I'm looking for.”

  Garren shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching. His piloting days had been a lifetime ago.

  “Look, uh, Kailyn, much as I'd like to help you out. I'm afraid you've got the wrong guy, sorry. I'm sure there are plenty of good pilots on Morras who’d be more than willing to help you out.”

  Sliding the batons back onto her belt, Kailyn placed a hand on her hip. “If all I needed was good, sure, but where am I trying to go? I need better than good; I need the best. So unless you know any other former Federation aces hanging around on Morras, I think I found just the man I need.”

  Garren could feel his blood run cold. That was a time in his life he'd left behind a long time ago. Trying to avoid it was the only reason he’d come to a shithole like Morras. “Who told you that?”

  Kailyn rolled her eyes, smirking. “For a man trying to hide, you’ve certainly made it a habit to piss off every bar owner on Morras. With the right motivation, one of them was willing to point me in the right direction. I mean, seriously, you came all the way out to this dump and couldn't bother to change your name?”

  Morras hadn’t been Garren’s first stop after the war, and at first, he did use some alternative identities. By the time he arrived here, though, he realized the Galaxy had moved on; people this far out didn't remember. “Kid, I don't know what people have been feeding you, but that was a long time ago; I don't fly anymore. You're going to have to find someone else.”

  "I'm afraid that's not an option. Retired or not in your heyday, you were one of the best the galaxy has ever seen, and that's exactly what I'm going to need where I'm headed.”

  The way she spoke, Garren couldn’t tell if it was admiration or something else entirely. He hadn’t thought about his time in Comet Flight in a long time, and for good reason: fighting in a galaxy-spanning war provided little in the way of happy memories, especially when you were fighting for the side that lost. "Well, I refuse. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

  With that, Garren made to walk past the girl, only for her to turn and grab his arm, stopping him from leaving. “Wait, I can help you deal with your problem with Murcin; all I ask is that you hear me out. Given this little incident with these two, you really think he’s going to just let this slide?”

  Looking down at the still incapacitated men, Garren hated to say that she was right: there was no way Murcin was going to let something like this slide, especially when he was already on his bad side. Letting out a deep sigh, Garren returned his look to Kailyn.

  “Fine, have it your way, but we're having this conversation after I get some sleep. I need to be sober for this. You can meet me at my apartment tomorrow; it's the one on–”

  He didn't get the chance to finish before Kailyn cut him off. “The Sleeping Den, Apartment 38, right?” Kailyn let go of his arm, stepping towards him, their faces setting only centimeters apart. Kailyn had to tilt her head back to look up into Garren's face, standing on the tips of her toes with her hands on her hips. “This is going to be fun.”

  Tapping a knuckle against Garren's chest, Kailyn backed off, putting her hands behind her head as she began to walk away. “See ya around Fell.” Skipping over the fallen men, Kailyn exited the alleyway, fading into the crowds on Main Street.

  Standing alone once more, a single thought passed through his mind.

  What had he just gotten himself into?