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“Ugh, come on,” Megumi curses, hitting the sides of his television. The screen flickers and flashes with static noise as the occasional voice cuts through—then it dies altogether.
He sighs.
Of course it picks now to go fucking kaput, right at the end of his trip through the Astral Gate. Being in hyperspace is boring enough as it is, but with his communication system being down and the TV not working, he might as well go back to bed and stare at the ceiling.
The prospect of sitting alone in silence is terrifying in its own right, though. There are surely ghosts waiting to haunt him, but what choice does Megumi have?
One glance at navigation tells him that there’s still another two hours left on this course, and he can’t repair his comms until he gets to Mars. How wonderful. He’s out of a job, out of entertainment, and almost out of damn money.
Standing up from the couch, he fishes a cigarette and lighter from his pocket and takes a long, slow drag. The comforting smell of smoke and the way it curls and snakes through the air smooths his frustration like waves over sand. A fuzzy feeling overtakes him, the buzz of the nicotine in his system, and he strolls leisurely from the common room toward the kitchen.
As he passes the table, he notices that the television has come back to life with a useless screen of static once more. He scowls and hits the power button on his way through, not bothering to check if it actually shuts off.
“Piece of junk,” he mutters, the cigarette bobbing in his mouth.
There’s nothing to do in the kitchen, of course. Megumi stands before a barren fridge with only a few scarce ingredients, and he realizes that he doesn’t have anything to make a proper meal out of, so he’s stuck waiting until this journey is over.
Figures. The last bounty he turned in was barely worth anything, only about a hundred thousand woolongs, so his dinners have been far from extravagant. He’s been cooking more because of that, and now he’s reached the bottom of the barrel.
A measly one hundred thousand for some serial pet thief.
He’s surprised he got anything out of that at all. It never would have occurred to him that pet thievery was a thing, but it at least put some food on the table, he supposes. Still, the rest of the money has to go to his fucked up communication system, and now it has to go towards another television, too, unless the one he has decides to get its shit together.
Buying the Chimera second-hand had its perks, but now all these things are catching up to him in terms of maintenance. He should have invested in better comms when he bought it.
Sauntering back to the living room, Megumi lays out across the couch with his head propped up by its armrest. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and snubs it—having reached the filter—and debates on whether or not he should light another.
He chuckles to himself.
Tsumiki would tell him not to.
Then his smile fades.
He lights another.
For the rest of the trip, the boredom nearly kills him. After about an hour of sitting around, he starts training in the back of the ship, shadowboxing and stretching, wanting to do something rather than just wait for the time to pass. Sweat beads on his forehead, falling down his cheek and onto his bare chest as he steadies his breathing, ready to strike the air once more.
Somewhere along the way, his mind starts to drift.
From the broken television to the comms, to the money it’ll take to repair them, to the pet-thief guy he caught and turned in. He thinks about the bounty itself and the previous bounties he’s taken in the past, wondering where the hell all of his damn money went. Megumi might like to live a less-than-high-profile life, but it also sucks to be barely scraping by.
He hasn’t reached that point yet, thankfully, but if he doesn’t find work soon, then it’ll be knocking on his door in no time.
Then he thinks about the money he could have had. It’s not like him to reminisce. Megumi hardly spends his time dwelling on things in the past, as that door has been forever closed, with no intention of being open again. Yet he finds himself thinking back to a bounty he never completed.
Itadori Yuuji.
Technically, there’s still money on his head. It’s been ages since it was put out, but as far as Megumi’s aware, the ISSP is still very much interested in paying thirty million woolongs just for a chance at gaining insider information on any of the syndicates.
What they don’t realize is that Itadori was just a plant for the White Tiger. All title, no power. Turning him in meant nothing more than a death sentence, and Megumi wasn’t going to have that kind of blood on his hands—no matter how much he got paid.
But it would have been really nice to see that thirty million.
He clicks his tongue against his teeth.
As comfortable as he would be with the money off that bounty, Megumi knows that he would have made the same choice. Even now. It’s hard for him to say that he wishes it had gone differently—he doesn’t, in fact—but he would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it from time to time.
There was never really another way for it to go, though. Itadori being left on Ganymede was the only thing that made sense. At least, this way, he has a shot at living a normal, decent life. Megumi doesn’t really know why he feels that way, but what’s done is done, and he refuses to regret it.
Maybe it’s because he sees a bit of himself in Itadori—someone who was trapped in the syndicate, desperate to get out, and lost so much in his efforts to escape.
Maybe it’s because he saw Tsumiki more—someone who was kind, passionate, and optimistic. More so than Megumi could ever be. She saw the world in a way that he could never understand, and he gets the feeling that Itadori is just like that, too.
And the solar system could just use more people like that.
Even when saying goodbye, it was just different. The surprise and disbelief on Itadori’s face when the handcuffs dropped from his wrists are still vivid in Megumi’s mind. The tears that welled in his eyes, the way his bottom lip quivered—he almost followed him back to the Chimera like a damn lost dog because he just couldn’t believe it.
“That’s it?” Itadori trailed just barely behind, occasionally stopping to look out at the crystalline waters. Like they distracted him.
Good, Megumi had thought. Stay there.
“You’re leaving me here? Really?”
“What’s the matter? Isn’t that what you wanted?” Megumi asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Well, yeah, but…” He fidgeted in place. “What made you change your mind?”
It was hard to find the right words to answer his question then.
Honestly, it’s hard finding them now.
Why did Megumi change his mind?
Because he didn’t want to draw the attention of the syndicates? Because he felt like Itadori didn’t deserve to be turned in? Because he saw a goodness in Itadori that he’s only ever seen in his sister?
That woman in the bar had told him, “If anyone deserves to disappear to a quiet life, it would be him.”
So, he just... What? Listened to her?
Why, though?
The answer stays locked in a heavily guarded box, buried in the depths of his mind.
Megumi doesn’t want to go any deeper to try and open it. He can’t take back the decision he made, and he has no desire to. He also doesn’t need the closure of knowing whether or not Itadori really did make a life for himself on Ganymede, but he can admit to no one but the creaking metal of the Chimera walls that he hopes, truly, he did.
He sighs.
A bounty has never gotten to him before. Megumi doesn’t spend his time thinking about all of the things that could have been. It’s too exhausting to try and do that. Too painful. Somehow, some way, Itadori has shaken him up, and the more he stands in silence, trying to distract himself under the guise of “training,” the more he thinks about it.
He needs to get out of hyperspace quick.
Right on cue, the Chimera groans, and there’s a slight shake to the ship as it starts to approach the edge of the Astral Gate. If his comms were still up, Megumi would be hearing the same overlapping and overwhelming announcement on the Chimera’s speakers, telling him that he’s made it to his destination, to line up behind other arriving ships, and to pass through the gate in order to pay the gate toll.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he throws on an old shirt and walks through the ship back to its main console. He looks out the window as the gate scans the side of the Chimera, finding the identification code in order to charge him the seventy-five hundred fee.
He frowns.
Just more money draining out of him.
But at least he’s at Mars now. He can get everything back up and running, and, hopefully, find some job information on a recent bounty. At this point, he’s dying to do something other than sit on this ship.
It takes another thirty minutes to finally make it to Alba, but once he’s there, it feels like he’s breathing a sigh of relief. It’s been a while since he was last here—maybe a year or so. He never feels like keeping up with time anymore, so it’s hard to say. There are no seasons in space, and the only thing the calendar does is remind him how long it’s been since he last had purpose in life.
He’s the cliché, lone cowboy.
He doesn’t deserve to have a purpose in life. Not after everything he’s done. Everything he’s lost. Megumi will continue to drift, aimless, catching bounty after bounty until it either kills him or the Red Dragon catches up.
And as sad as it is, he’s perfectly okay with that.
The Chimera groans as he slowly lowers himself into Mars’ atmosphere. Megumi is careful in his descent, touching down on an empty street and driving it through the city. People stare as they pass by, but no one otherwise bats an eye. They’re all too caught up in their own lives to care or worry about something as trivial as an ex-fishing trawler driving through the city.
Plus, it’s Alba. They’ve seen weirder.
He finds the old repair shop he likes to frequent with ease, knowing the route like the back of his hand. It’s an old, dingy type of place, with dirt-covered windows and a door that creaks every time it opens. The tiles on the floor are cracked, and there’s a strange dark spot in the corner of the room that seems to grow more with every visit.
Everything inside looks outdated and broken, but Megumi doesn’t know a better shop on Mars. He likes to come here because they’re quick, efficient, and require cash only. Most people might find a business like that shady, but he finds it charming. Besides, the less of a paper trail he has on this planet, the better.
The woman sitting at the counter is the same, ragged old lady he’s always remembered to be there. Her shoulders and back are hunched, and her face is lined with wrinkles, jowls drooping from her cheeks. Sometimes, he thinks she’s part of the shop itself, just a decoration or a hologram, but then she says something snarky in that dry, raspy tone or coughs in a weird and alarming way, and it reminds you that she’s a living person.
“Well, well, it’s the kid with the fishin’ ship,” she remarks, raising her head. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t ask him how he’s doing, and doesn’t question what he needs. “Miles is in the back. You can talk to him.”
“Thanks, Muriel,” he replies. “You always know how to keep these talks short.”
“I got more things to worry about than some cowboy comin’ through here with his beat-up hunk of metal,” Muriel says. “What’s wrong with it so I can charge ya?”
“Will I get a discount if I bring you a flower next time?”
“Nobody’s bought me flowers in fifty years, boy.”
“Are you going to make it fifty-one?”
“Just tell me what’s wrong with the ship,” she snaps.
Megumi huffs a little through his nose, fighting back a smirk, and raises his arms in lazy surrender. “The communications system is out. I need it replaced. Upgraded, if it’s not too much. And the engines could use a fix, too.”
“Oh, you’re tryin’ to work us to death, aren’t you? An old ship like that.” Muriel narrows her eyes at him amusingly, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “Like I said, Miles is in the back, so make sure to relay all the details to him. That’ll be two hundred thousand woolongs, though.”
“Two hundred thousand?” He almost has to take a step back. He knew that the repairs would be a lot, but two hundred thousand woolongs is way more than he expected. Does he even have that kind of money?
Running the calculations in his head, it’s easy to figure out that he does.
Barely.
“It’s actually supposed to be two hundred and fifty,” she replies, holding up two fingers for good measure. “But you can bring me roses for my birthday in May.”
Megumi clicks his tongue and adds roses to his ever-growing list of things he needs to buy.
“Now, do you have the cash?”
“I have the cash,” he bites, trying to hold back on his tone. He fishes an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and starts sifting through the money.
Muriel hums. “Down payment is half.”
“Yeah, yeah…” he mutters.
Megumi pulls out a stack of bills and places it in the woman’s waiting hands, ignoring her widening smile as she stares at the cash. Thumbing it over, she nods and jerks her head towards the back door.
He shakes his head as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets and saunters towards the back. This is the only place in the entire solar system that requires a down payment for their repairs, only adding to their shady business practices. But with a fix like this, he knows that he’ll get the Chimera back before the end of the day, and going anywhere else likely means double the price.
Still, two hundred thousand woolongs.
He almost wants to laugh. What an absurd fucking price. It’s true that he has a fairly nice fishing trawler, but it’s also second-hand and has seen better days. Though, there aren’t many places that even know how to begin working with a ship as old as his. He’s pretty sure it classifies as “vintage” now.
In the back of the shop, a couple of guys are laid out in front of a small box fan. The heat practically radiates off of them, making the air distorted and thick. The main manager, Miles, is standing off to the side, fixing up an old car battery. Hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, and the white shirt he wears is covered in various oils and dirt. There’s a perpetual scowl resting on his face, his arms are reddened and tanned from being outside all day, and calloused hands work diligently with the tools he’s holding.
When Megumi clears his throat, they all turn to him.
“Oh, it’s you,” Miles says, setting a wrench down. “You got the old trawler, don’t ya?”
“Yeah, and it needs its comms replaced.” Megumi holds up a cigarette with a questioning look and lights it when Miles shrugs. “They went dead on me while in hyperspace.”
“What do you want exactly?” The man hums and turns around, crossing his arms as he leans back against the desk.
“I want them to be upgraded, so they can last me a while. Maybe then I won’t have to come back so often,” Megumi explains. “Plus, those larger engines you gave her are great, but they need a little fixing up. There’s a rattling in there that I can’t get to without taking it apart. I’d rather let you all do that.”
Miles raises his eyebrow. “So we can eat the money if we break it?”
“Exactly.”
The man laughs out a tired huff and nods, waving his arm at the guys in front of the fan. They sigh and start to stand, their slow and sluggish movements only amplified by the sun’s unforgiving rays.
“Bring her on around,” Miles orders. “We’ll have her back to you in about six hours. Maybe eight, if the rattling in the engines is serious.”
“What if I come here in six hours, and it is serious?”
“Then kill time for another two hours. I don’t care.”
Then that’s that.
Megumi brings the Chimera to the back of the shop, tosses the keys Miles’ way, and leaves with a wave. He passes Muriel on his way through, nodding at her, which earns a grunt in reply.
Back on the main streets of Alba, he doesn’t have much to do. He wanders around without direction, letting his feet carry him over the hot concrete and asphalt. His cigarette burns slowly down its stick, smoke filling his lungs and disappearing when he exhales. He thinks he’s near the university here, only a few blocks, which means that he’s near the richer parts of the city—a place he definitely doesn’t need to be in.
Megumi never had any care for things like status and money. Although he could have had a lot more than what he does now, that wasn’t something he held a real desire for. He gets his kick by living life freely and doing whatever he wants—even if it’s catching criminals and bounties and getting into gunfights at least thrice a year.
Turning around, he lets the sprawling, tall, glittering buildings fade into the distance behind him. He doesn’t need to look at them to know how pretentious they are. He doesn’t need to see people’s faces to know how much they might look down on him. The skyscrapers of Alba are chalk full of phonies and wannabes—two types of people that Megumi will never be able to stand.
Instead, he makes his way back through the rougher parts of town. He’s not really looking to pick a fight, but he finds that the places with the cheap bars and the people who don’t ask questions are more his scene. The sounds of the city fade away as he continues his walk, not even bothering to keep track of the time. Thirty minutes or three hours could have passed, but to Megumi, it doesn’t matter.
He drifts like the tumbleweeds that bound through TJ, moving around the wind and the people that pass him by. It’s hot in the sun, but the warmth on his skin is a reminder that he’s alive, so he raises his collar to hide his neck and lower face and keeps walking.
It’s almost nice.
Right when he’s starting to think that it is, the sound of gunshots pull his attention.
There are screams and people running. From the sound of it, Megumi guesses that there was a shooting just a block over. Curiosity wins against his better judgement, and before he can think, he’s running against the crowd. Right into danger.
There’s a large van that’s parked in front of a bar, all white and pristine and techy. There’s a satellite on the top of it that spins, and the back doors are flung open, revealing a makeshift server room, complete with screens, wires, and panels of buttons and computer stuff that Megumi doesn’t even know how to make out.
All in all, it looks entirely out of place here.
The bar that it sits in front of is made of dry wood that looks like it’s about to start falling apart after the next storm comes through. There are two swinging doors with broken slats, and dirt and grime cake the walls leading into a dark alley on either side.
Megumi instinctively reaches for the pistol he keeps on his hip, making sure to cover it up. The last thing he needs is to be caught standing outside of a bar after a gunfight with a gun on his person. Whatever’s going on in there isn’t official ISSP business, and he decides it’s best to let them shoot it out and have the police handle it.
Right when he’s about to turn around, however, he feels the barrel of a gun being pressed into his back. Instinctively, his mind starts calculating, trying to delay the anxiety that’s started to settle into his bones. It feels like a small gun, maybe another pistol or a very expensive rifle, but in this part of town, he doubts it.
Good, he thinks. He can deal with that.
“Long time, no see, cowboy,” a voice behind him says.
Instantly, he freezes. He knows that voice.
“Must be my lucky day if a guy like you has just happened to show up at a time like this.”
The words are dark and threatening, but he can’t mistake the lighter tone of a woman’s voice, dripping with desperation. He quickly racks his brain, trying to figure out where he might know her from, as turning around would surely mean a death sentence.
There’s an edge to her voice, a slight shiver of panic, and he latches onto that.
“Now, now,” Megumi taunts, letting his arms come to rest at his sides. “I haven’t been advertising my services here, so… how do you know that?”
He thinks on it.
“Not many people in Alba know who I am or what I do,” he continues. He can feel the gun press into his back even more. “But I have a pretty good guess as to who you are.”
“You don’t even know me, cowboy.”
“What do you mean by that? We shared a drink together.”
In a flash, Megumi spins, grabbing the woman’s arm with one hand and knocking the gun from her grasp with the other. He catches it, twirling it over his finger and grabs the handle. Now pointed her way, he’s able to get a good look at the bartender he ran into over one year ago.
The woman who told him not to chase after Itadori Yuuji.
“What are you doing here?” It’s more of a demand than a question, but Megumi keeps his voice low so as not to alert anyone else around them. He was smart enough to lurk in the shadows of another building when he came over here, so the last thing he needs is to blow his cover by letting his anger out of control.
“That’s none of your business,” the woman snaps, but then he raises the gun he took from her, and she takes a step back, holding her hands up in surrender. With a frustrated, resigned sigh, she jerks her head back further into the alley. “Okay, fine. Not here.”
Funny how easy it is for people to talk when you add a gun into the equation.
They both inch away from the bar right as sirens start wailing in the distance. The police will be here soon, so the bartender wants to move. Fine. Once they’re a considerable distance from the bar, however, Megumi stops walking.
They’re maybe a street or two over, standing beneath clothing lines that have been strung up by the people in the buildings around them. Laundry billows in the wind, bobbing from the weight, and a stray cat sleeps on a pile of discarded towels.
“What are you doing here?” Megumi asks again. He now has both guns out and pointed at the bartender, who’s leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
She wears a sharp scowl, her head turned away from him like it’s offensive to look his way, and answers, “I told you it wasn’t your business.”
“Pushing the barrel of a gun into my back makes it my business,” he says. “Now, I’m going to ask you again, and if I don’t like the answer, then I’ll turn you over to the ISSP. Bounty or not. Got it?”
At that, her eyes widen, and she takes a step forward, holding her arms out placatingly. “No, no. Listen. You can’t turn me in.”
She’s too desperate, Megumi thinks. Interest piqued, he asks, “So you are wanted?”
She shoots him a look. “Not by the police, you dumbass.”
Clicking his tongue, he decides to let the insult slide. “Okay, then what for?”
“The White Tiger,” she answers. “I stole something from them, which they stole from someone else, and now there’s a chain of people coming after me. If I go to the police, I’m dead.”
Now, why does this sound so familiar to him?
The last thing he wants is to get caught up in more syndicate business, but if this woman is so desperate as to threaten him with a gun, then he’s going to get some damn answers.
Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “What did you steal?”
“Does it matter what I stole?” she bites. “I need to get away from this city. Maybe this planet. And when I saw you, I remembered what you did for Itadori. I want you to do that for me.”
The audacity of this woman. Megumi almost wants to laugh at her.
“No way,” he says. “You put a gun to my back.”
She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t going to use it on you.”
“Oh, no?” He scoffs. “Well, that just makes me feel so much better. You just wanted to encourage me to do what you want. Just like I’m encouraging you to give me more details, lady. And if I find out you’re lying, then I’ll use it on you.”
The woman huffs, backing up against the wall again so she can lean against it.
Now that they’re standing here, Megumi is able to get a good look at her. Her hair is longer than the last time they crossed paths, and she looks more tired than when she did while working in that shithole of a bar. There are bags under her eyes, and despite her careless demeanor, she wavers a little on her feet.
All in all, she doesn’t look great.
After a few moments of waiting in silence, their stubborn, unwavering personalities clearly clashing, she finally relents.
“Listen, don’t you have a ship we can talk on?” the woman asks. “What if we go there, leave Alba, and I tell you all about it?”
He shakes his head. “Not an option.”
At that, she scoffs. “Why not? I’m not even armed anymore!”
“Doesn’t matter,” Megumi says with a shrug. “We can’t go to my ship. It’s being repaired at the moment.”
That piece of information, for whatever reason, makes her face fall.
Unrelenting stubbornness transforms into a despondent anguish, filled with desperation, and she takes another step forward. “How long?”
Confused by the outburst, he answers, “Not until later today. Probably in the afternoon. Why?”
“I have to get out of here,” she begs. “Please, you have to help me. They’re going to kill me or hurt me or—I don’t know! But I can’t stay here.”
“What did you steal?” Megumi asks, emphasizing each word.
He, truthfully, wasn’t interested in entertaining her for much longer, but now he can’t help but wonder what it is that she took that’s so important. Was it information? A weapon?
“I stole a dog,” the bartender says.
A dog.
A dog.
Megumi blinks, processing. He’s almost convinced that his ears have stopped working, and the small moment of confusion gives the woman just enough time to charge him.
She swings at his head first, and he only barely dodges it. Ducking down, his balance is off from the clumsy movement, and she takes advantage of that by tackling him. They both tumble to the ground, guns sliding across the dirt and trash-covered concrete, and the woman climbs over him in an effort to obtain a weapon.
Megumi grabs her sides and throws her off of him with all of his strength. She yelps, rolling across the floor and hits a trashcan with a thud. He then turns back to the guns, crawling over to his pistol and grabs it.
The woman has recovered now, making her way to the gun she used to threaten him. Immediately, he raises his weapon at her and orders her to stop.
“Don’t move. If you go for that gun, I will shoot you.”
She stops, slowly standing back up with her arms raised over her head. Megumi is still on the ground, propped up by an elbow, but he keeps his pistol trained on her as he stands, not willing to risk another surprise attack.
“That was stupid of you,” he tells her, jerking his head back to the wall.
She huffs and walks in that direction, leaning against it once more. Picking up her pistol with his other hand, he slides his own gun back into its holster.
“I’m desperate, okay?”
“Desperation makes a person stupid.”
“Whatever. You’re still a dumbass,” she mutters. “I thought cowboys were supposed to be the good guys.”
“I’m not a hero,” Megumi bites. “I’m a bounty hunter.”
“Well, I’m not a criminal.”
“You’re acting like one.”
She scowls at him.
“Now, after all that, I think I would like your name after all,” he says. “You got a wallet or something?”
“What, are you gonna rob me?” she counters, crossing her arms.
“No, but I certainly don’t trust you to tell me what it is.” Gesturing with his gun, he orders her to put her hands on the back of her hands. She follows suit and scoffs when he starts patting at one of the pockets on the jacket tied around her waist.
“I could scream, you know,” the woman threatens. “Think about how this looks.”
“Don’t care,” Megumi replies, continuing to the other pocket. What he finds instead is a pouch hanging from her belt, hidden just out of sight by the jacket. Snapping the string it’s tied to, he pulls it off of her.
“Hey! You just broke that!”
“Shame.”
The pouch is heavier than it looks. Curious, he gestures for her to turn around, and she groans as she does so. Opening up the pouch, he finds a small pile of nails, another pocket, and a small wad of cash. Reaching into the pocket, he finds her ID.
Kugisaki Nobara.
“Well, Kugisaki,” Megumi says. Her shoulders tense at the sound of her name. “Might I ask why you have a pouch full of nails?”
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions, cowboy,” she answers.
“I think I’m entitled to some answers after what you tried to pull,” he replies.
“You’re the one with the gun.” With a sigh, she turns back around, causing Megumi to raise the pistol up again. Rolling her eyes, Kugisaki drops her arms and glares at him. “Fine. You want answers? Come back to my apartment with me.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “How am I supposed to trust you?”
She smirks at him. “I guess you’ll just have to take a leap of faith.”
The walk back to Kugisaki’s apartment is more overwhelming than Megumi would have liked it to be. The area is crawling with ISSP members after that shootout at the bar, and she has to take him through winding, convoluted paths just to avoid running into any possible danger with the White Tiger.
Neither of them speak to each other.
Megumi walks at her side with his focus trained on each and every one of her moves, still not willing to trust her, but her gaze remains locked ahead as she keeps an eye out for any sign that they might need to run. Despite being nearly a head shorter than him, Kugisaki carries herself with a certain set of confidence and determination. She was desperate and begging him for help, but that’s all been tucked away now, replaced by the cold, strong woman that he had met back in that bar over a year ago.
He never would have thought that they’d run into each other again—much less under these circumstances—yet here they are.
They’re back in the nicer part of Alba now—not the nice part, but they’re closer than they were before. Different buildings and shops line the streets, and people in cars drive past without a care. It’s not luxurious, but it’s probably better than what Megumi can afford right now.
When they finally make it to an unassuming apartment complex with a keypad system by the door, Kugisaki punches in a code and waits for the buzzer before opening it and stepping inside. Pushing her way through, she leads Megumi past the unmanned reception desk and starts towards the stairs.
“The elevator’s broken,” is all she says.
He hums and continues after her, albeit a bit slower.
The building isn’t awful, by any means. Just a bit run down. The stairs creak with every step, and the wallpaper is faded and starting to peel at the edges, but it’s otherwise pretty nice for the location within the city. Taking his time, he scans his surroundings and assesses the kind of place he just walked into. Habit tells him to mark all possible entries and exits and be ready to run, but logic tells him that he’s likely safe here, so long as he remains alert.
They climb up five flights of stairs before Kugisaki turns down a hall and leads him to a door on the right. Pulling out a key from her pouch, she unlocks it and pushes it open.
“There,” she says.
“You go through first,” Megumi orders. “I’m not dumb.”
At that, she groans and rolls her eyes, walking inside so that she can hold the door open for him from there.
Megumi walks into what looks like a typical university student’s apartment. Plants line the window on the far wall, and the décor in here is sparse but nice. There are a few university memorabilia located on shelves and a diploma hanging up next to it, and he gets the feeling she’s no longer a student trying to make ends meet for tuition.
“Congratulations on graduating,” he says, gesturing to the diploma.
“Thanks,” Kugisaki replies. “It was a useless degree.”
He hums. “Is that why you’re tangled up with the White Tiger now?”
“I’m not tangled up with them,” she snaps. “I worked at that bar, yes, but I never did anything for them.”
“So, then how did you end up with a stolen dog and the syndicate and some guys in a white van on your ass?”
“You can blame the low-level idiots who left said dog at the bar after talking about how they were planning to use it.”
Megumi raises an eyebrow.
Oh, he’s really curious now. This isn’t something he’s ever heard of before—the syndicates stealing a dog—and he wonders what about it could be so special that they’re willing to kill for it. And where does the white van fit in with all of this?
“Listen, have you ever heard of a data dog?” Kugisaki asks, walking further into her apartment. She stops in front of the door of what Megumi can only presume is her bedroom.
“No, I don’t know what that is.”
“Okay, I don’t really know either, to be honest,” she says. “But that’s not what’s important. What is important is that some lab genetically engineered a dog to be one, and—for whatever reason—the White Tiger felt the need to get their hands on it.”
One hand on the handle, Kugisaki opens the door and out bounds a large, black and white dog.
Megumi stares at it as it trots up to him, tail wagging. It looks to be some sort of Husky or maybe even a German Shepard. Truthfully, it’s likely a mixed breed, but it’s big. It comes up to his waist, and he’s not a short man. If he had to guess, it probably stands around 110cm.
“This is a data dog,” Kugisaki says, gesturing towards it with her hand. She shuts the door and steps forward.
“It just looks like a regular dog,” Megumi remarks. He kneels down in order to get a better look at it, scratching its fur.
“I think that’s the point.” She joins him at his side and gives the dog a couple of pats on the head. “He doesn’t have a name, by the way. I took him less than twenty-four hours ago, but I never heard any of the guys from the syndicate call him anything other than Kon.”
He looks to her. “‘Kon’?”
At that, the dog yips and pants, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“I guess because of his fur.” Kugisaki shrugs and points at its patches of color. “Like ‘mix’ or ‘blend,’ you know? The black and white. But the thing is that they weren’t calling him that. They were just using it to describe him. Still, I think that’s the only thing he responds to now.”
Humming, he supposes that makes sense. “Kon wouldn’t be so bad of a name.”
“I need to get him away from here,” Kugisaki says, turning to him with a pleading stare. “I don’t know the details, but apparently, the syndicate wants to use him for information. I don’t know if it’s to gain or share it, but either way, it’s not good. They want to send him into dangerous jobs that they won’t even send people on.”
Megumi presses his lips together and looks back at the dog.
Wide, yellow eyes stare back at him, and it almost looks like he’s smiling. Kon’s tail thumps lightly against the apartment floor as he waits for something. What that might be, Megumi has no idea.
“So, the White Tiger wants to use Kon as a data dog in order to relay information without drawing attention to the syndicate?” he asks. “And they’re even willing to risk his life over it?”
“Yes,” Kugisaki answers. “Don’t you see why I had to steal him?”
“How the hell did you even manage that?”
“I’m a very generous pourer when I want to be.”
He huffs out a small laugh and continues to pet Kon absentmindedly. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind giving her a ride out of this place, but he’s got his hands tied for another four hours at least.
“I know that we didn’t talk much when you came through here the last time,” Kugisaki starts, shifting so that she’s sitting cross-legged on the ground. “But I also know that you have a good heart—good enough to forfeit a bounty worth thirty million woolongs.”
Megumi’s jaw tightens.
You don’t know me.
“I just need to get away from Alba. That’s all. I’ll even find a way to pay you,” she says. “As soon as your ship is ready, please, will you take us?”
With a sigh, he starts to stand. “I’ll take y—”
Gunfire rings throughout the building, and Megumi drops back down to the ground in an instant.
Bullet holes litter the cheap wooden door of Kugisaki’s apartment, and they don’t let up until the magazine runs out. In the brief lull, he pulls his pistol out and shoves Kon, who surprisingly hasn’t started barking, towards Kugisaki.
“Get in your bedroom, lock the door, and stay away from the far wall,” he orders. “If there’s another way into the hall, leave through there once I draw these guys in.”
“There’s a fire escape we can crawl on,” she replies quickly. “We can leave the building from there.”
“Do not go outside until I say it’s safe to,” Megumi says, looking her in the eye. “There will be guys waiting to shoot anyone who tries to escape with a dog like Kon. He’ll be easy to spot. Now, do as I say, and go!”
Kugisaki huffs and takes Kon into the bedroom, hunched low as she runs across the floor.
Right as it clicks shut, the shooting starts up again, to the point where Megumi can now see the light of the bullet being fired through the holes in the door. They’re going to unleash this round, reload their guns, and then break their way in.
Megumi has maybe thirty seconds until he’s left confronting at least three men with guns. His pistol doesn’t stand a single chance against that, so he’s going to have to be smart. Crawling behind the kitchen island, he first plants himself at the center, waiting for the gunfire to stop. As soon as it does, he slowly makes his way to the further side, freezing in place when the door swings open. He counts up to three sets of boots stomping their way in and only barely rolls out of sight by the time they all file into the living room.
There are four guys.
He’s fucked.
Risking a peek, Megumi slowly peers around and finds them all with their backs turned to him. He has no idea how he plans to win this fight, but he has the island for cover and the element of surprise. At some point, he’s just going to have to say “fuck it” and go for it.
He situates himself back in his hiding place and runs through the different scenarios in his head. As he does so, his gaze drifts upward to the counter in front of him, landing on a set of kitchen knives. Interested, he starts moving, as quietly as he can, towards them.
He steals another peek at the men, but they’re too busy working out a plan.
“Two of you check the bedroom, one of you go to the bathroom, and I’ll stay out here,” one of them says.
Shit.
He needs to move faster.
Grabbing two knives is all he can manage before the men start to shuffle. Megumi hunches back behind the island, his heart pounding in his ears, and starts to adjust his position so that he’s crouching. Springing up, he throws a knife at the man walking towards the bathroom and launches the other at the man who said he would stand guard.
The blade sinks into the first man’s neck, right on target, and he stops in his tracks, dropping to his knees as his hands come up to his bleeding wound. Stupidly, he yanks the knife from his throat, and blood gushes out. It won’t take long for him to choke and die.
The other knife cuts through the second man’s cheek, leaving a deep gash that exposes the molars on his jaw. He screams in agony, gun falling to the floor, and effectively draws the attention of the other two men away from the bedroom door.
Still, he’s alive, and that was a miscalculation on Megumi’s part. He should have thrown with more precision.
Now exposed, he whips out his pistol and opens fire on the rest of the men. The man he threw the knife at catches a bullet in the forehead and drops dead, but the other two manage to duck behind Kugisaki’s couch.
Great. He hates a shootout.
Dropping back to the floor, he uses the island for cover as they start firing at him. It sounds like they have SMGs, or maybe they have really good pistols. Either way, he’s definitely out-numbered, and if they decide to flank him, he’s dead.
Waiting for them to run out of ammo is the worst test of patience in the world. Distantly, he can hear sirens slowly approaching, but by the time the ISSP gets here, they’ll all be dead if he doesn’t end this soon.
So much for laying low while on Mars. He supposes this is the kind of luck he gets when he comes to fucking Alba.
When he finally hears the click of a gun, he’s back on his feet, shooting at the couch. He ducks for a moment, just to see if the empty magazine was a fake out, but when there’s no returning gunfire, he grabs another knife from the counter and runs around the island.
Both men are huddled behind the couch, but one of them has their gun loaded and ready to shoot. Prioritizing him first, Megumi kicks hard in the face, slamming his head against the back of the couch, and steps on his arm, pressing down with his boot. The man screams in agony, but the second one behind him stands up and tries to tackle Megumi down.
In the scuffle, they both slip, but Megumi reaches around him with the knife and sinks it deep into his back. He twists the blade for good measure, hating how it feels to cut through flesh. This is why he prefers guns to all of the up close and personal stuff.
The first man has managed to somewhat recover from the assault, and he’s back on his feet now, gun in hand. It’s a small SMG, pointed Megumi’s way, and just before he’s able to fire, Megumi leaps to the side. His shoulder slams into the doorframe of Kugisaki’s bedroom, and he tries not to cry out in pain.
Bullets fire behind him, the sound of metal shells hitting the floor echoing in the chaos, and as he turns, he has to buckle his legs and drop to the ground, looking up at a spray that passes over his head. Wood splinters and cracks, raining down on him, but he pushes himself off the wall and fires two shots from his gun towards the man.
The second man with the knife still in his back, tries to sweep Megumi’s legs out from beneath him, and his foot catches at the back of his ankle. He hits the ground hard, and it knocks the wind out of him. Megumi coughs as black dots fade in and out of his vision, but he doesn’t give up yet.
Rolling over, he twists his body and pulls the man down, making him land on his back. The man screams, and his hands fly over his stomach, where the red, bloodied tip of the knife pokes out from his shirt. The other man, however, is still up. Megumi managed to hit him in the arm and side with those two shots from his pistol, but it wasn’t enough to take him out.
Right as he starts to stand, ready to face him, the door to the bedroom swings open, and Kon charges out, growling.
The man, clearly surprised, falters and takes a step back, repeating, “No, no, no. Bad dog, bad dog, bad dog!”
Panic increases with every word, and it’s just enough time for the dog to leap in the air and knock him down. Growling and snapping, he claws at the man’s flesh, biting him, going for his face and neck. Megumi watches as he tries to defend himself, bringing his arms up in order to block the attack, but Kon doesn’t let up. It’s a bloody, gory mess by the time the screaming stops, and Kon’s pristine, white fur is now coated in blood, staining his teeth and mouth, too.
The sickening smell of iron fills the room, and Megumi trudges his way to the bedroom door. Kugisaki stands, horrified, under the frame, her eyes darting around from body to body laid throughout her apartment. Meanwhile, Kon is back to his normal, happy, yippy self, trotting up to Megumi with his tail wagging.
He barks once, licks his lips, and sniffs his boots.
“Good dog,” Megumi says.
Back on the ship, Megumi yawns and stretches out over his couch. There’s a lit cigarette between his fingers, and the humming of the Chimera is considerably quieter than it used to be.
He really should have paid Muriel the full two-fifty. That repair shop knows their stuff—no matter how shady they are.
He’s back to floating and drifting aimlessly through space, waiting for the next BIG SHOT! bounty announcement on his new television. It cost him a pretty penny for it, but it was worth it, and he has the funds to spare. Now, he’ll be ready to receive any and all new information, and he gets better range than he did on his old comms.
A gentle song plays over the ship’s speaker system, an old western thing with quiet tang and soft strings. There’s a harmonica that dominates the sound, and its heavy, wanting blues rings throughout the metal walls of the living room, echoing down the darkened hallway that leads to navigation.
Soon, he’ll have to get up and decide what to do for dinner, and then he needs to invest in proper groceries once that’s done, but for the time being, he’s happy laying here with his eyes closed and nothing more than the smell of cigarette smoke filling his nose.
He’s running low on his smokes, too, he suddenly remembers.
Making a mental note to himself to buy more when his pack gets lower, Megumi sinks further into the couch and lets out a soft sigh in relief. Not moving for a while sounds nice. He’s still sore from his fight in Alba, and the back of his head aches from when he hit the ground a bit too hard.
At least it was worth it, he thinks.
Megumi got a good five hundred thousand woolongs from the ISSP for his unintentional assistance in capturing some people involved in the illegal engineering of a data dog. He then got to learn what a data dog is, which is a dog that’s been genetically modified to have enhanced intelligence. Kon can’t speak or do anything limited by his body, but he’s incredibly smart and understands what people are saying when they talk to him. Apparently, the laboratory in which he was bred was operating outside of the law, and that’s how the White Tiger caught wind of it and decided they needed a data dog for themselves.
While Kugisaki was being chased by the syndicate, the syndicate was being chased by people from the lab, and they were being chased by the Inter-Solar System Police. After that shootout and the fight at Kugisaki’s, the police arrived just as a pair of scientists did, too.
All Megumi had to do was introduce himself as a cowboy and take credit for the detaining and capture of said scientists—as well as the killing in self-defense of several White Tigers. Some boring bits of paperwork later, and he got a check for a hefty sum of money—at least enough to get him by until the next job comes around.
“Yo, Fushiguro.” Kugisaki whistles from the small elevated platform leading to the dormitory.
Groaning, he cranes his neck to look at her from where he lays on the couch. “What?”
“You barely have anything to eat here!”
“So? We’ll stop and get something.”
“And what about Kon?”
Right on cue, Kon waltzes in from behind her and makes his way down the stairs. Without warning, he launches himself onto Megumi’s stomach, earning a guttural oof! out of him, and pants happily as he lies down.
“Kon, what the fuck?” Megumi asks, scowling.
All he gets is a bark in reply.
“I swear, when you act like this, it’s hard to remember that you have human-level intelligence,” he mutters, scratching the dog behind his ears. Turning back to Kugisaki, he points his cigarette at her. “I’ve set a navigation course for TJ. Just going to stop and fuel up there, and we can grab a bite to eat and find some dog food for Kon.”
“TJ?”
Seriously, how has she never heard of TJ before? As rural as it is, it’s still the most inhabited place in the asteroid belt.
“Tijuana?”
Kugisaki shrugs. “Fine with me. I’m just starving.”
Rolling his eyes, Megumi sinks back into the couch. “You’ll live.”
They don’t say much more after that. Kugisaki heads back into the dormitory in a huff, and Kon moves to lay on the floor, earning another grunt from Megumi when he pushes off of his chest with his paws.
He definitely did that on purpose; the damn dog must be hungry, too.
“You’ll live, Kon,” Megumi says, relaxing back onto the couch. He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Promise.