New Colombus, capital of the Democratic Union of Arimast.
Bordered at the south by Carast, and at the north by the West and East Actis Empires, and the recently seceded States of Laradost.
The capital lay on the east coast of the continent. At its west stretched a wide desert, progressively turning to rock and wasteland as it reached the other coast. The south edge contained some jungle and swampland along a mountainous ridge, while the far north enjoyed a bit of lush forest taken from Actis during a conflict too ancient to tell. The States of Laradost took half the remaining forest with them after they drew the borderline.
The city itself was a densely packed array of immense skyscrapers, elevated highways, anti-aircraft batteries and fortifications. Walls circled around the downtown area like rings on a tree, each wall slowly deteriorating as the city grows, until it's no longer needed, and then destroyed. The farthest and newest fortification was placed ten miles out of the city and garrisoned with a steady relief of soldiers. Heavy guns of various types had been laid out in expectation of full frontal assaults, combining missiles, bullets, rotary lasers, energy bolts and punchers. The turrets were ten-gunned monsters capable of laying waste to the infantry it was made to expect. A man in each of those structures could expect to rack up at least a dozen kills in less than a month.
Further out: craters, waste and bunkers. There, the army fought against the Reli creatures. Legions and hordes weren't clichéd words to describe them; they seemed endless in numbers, always coming, always adapting to the man-made weapons and defenses. To make matters worse, black market trader groups like the Chips, the Horde and the New Drags almost always pillaged abandoned bunkers, forcing the army to start their logistics over from scratch whenever they planned an offense. A once famous officer had told: "This war is like a gamer's strategy game. Everytime you begin a new mission, you have to rebuild your base out of nothing but the resources right next to your command center."
The Unionized Mercenaries had been having field days over all the trouble for decades. The army always offered rewards to those who helped out at the front, and irresistible bounties were offered to any member who could provide incriminating evidence leading to the arrest of a black market trader. And because no tense situation was complete without a helping of paranoia, bodyguard and escort requests came by the dozens everyday.
For a modern Unionized Mercenary, being out of work was impossible.
Reez had taken up military training as per UM regulations, then got his weapon training and permit, and was approved as a Junior for the required year-long probation period at age nineteen. Gradually, he worked his reputation as an alert young man with a good sixth sense for combat and a good head on his shoulders. On his first day as a full-fledged mercenary, he simply walked up to the board and literally tore a request paper at random. Things would only get better from there.
"Attention, gentlemen!"
Kod Naïnsev was dressed in full uniform, neatly buttoned and freshly cleaned. He slowly walked along the line formed by the twenty-six Juniors to join the Unionized Mercenaries, occasionally glancing at them as he spoke.
"At ease. I will tell you right away, even if you know it already: the Union isn't a playground! It's not an army without the orders and superiors. You are part of a brotherhood of men and women who have chosen to devote their lives to protecting the citizens of the world. As such, you will be expected to follow orders when told and to report for duty when called upon. You, what's your name?"
"Drekan Riverst, sir."
"You look pretty old. What did you use to do?"
"I was a firefighter, sir."
"Oh, a hunk! Welcome aboard, the ladies will love ya. And you? Your name?"
"Nolla Lephon, sir!"
Kod whistled. "What a number! Hey Fred! Isn't she a nice piece of woman?"
"Uh-huh!"
Kod turned to face the young woman again. "Can you endure being called a slut? Can you tolerate people groping your ass and calling you names and staring at your chest?"
"Uh... yes?"
"Speak honestly for fuck's sake!"
"No, sir!"
Kod raised an eyebrow. "No, what? No, you won't answer honestly, or no, you won't tolerate the men who love you for your body?"
"I won't tolerate the men who love me for my body!"
"THERE WE GO! You hear that, Juniors? You lack respect to a fellow member, and you'll be having your own balls for breakfast! Women, don't think you're off the hook either; I have no problems with reaching inside you and putting your ovaries on a dinner plate! I hope I made myself clear. You, your name."
The young man gulped. "Reez Lokk, sir."
"Uh-huh. Show me your ID."
"Say what?"
"ID! I'll never believe they let a kid sign up with us, so are you of age or not?!"
"Yes sir!"
"Then prove it!"
Reez handed him his ID card. He had signed up at age nineteen, one year older than the minimum requirement. Kod gave him back his card after a short look and resumed his walk.
"I like that. I'm doing the equivalent of a drill sergeant speech and you guys are obeying, though I think you've dulled yourselves a bit between your boot camp and your application. I like what I see and I'll like it better if I see an improvement. That's why you're Juniors for a year. You will be performing jobs under supervision and will be expected to conduct yourselves in a courteous, efficient and professional manner both on and off the job. As a Unionized Mercenary, you have no schedule set in stone. You are on and off duty at the same time. You can hunt your bounty at any time of the day or night. You wear your badge now, you will wear it all the time, on your boxers if it's necessary. Fred, got anything to add?"
Fredaris Baker stepped away from the column he was leaning on. "Not much, you told 'em just about everything. Juniors, Sergeant Naïnsev is hard, but he's that way because he loves the Mercenaries under his charge. Everything he does, he does it for your well-being and for the betterment of the Unionized Mercenaries of Arimast. Trust him, and he'll trust you.
He glanced at Kod, cueing him to close the meeting.
"Dismissed. Enjoy your evening, guys."
The city was a curious mix of old and new, rich and poor... Cultures mingled with each other with remarkable ease. The rough and tough Iist populace that defined the militaristic Arimast and its surrounding countries gradually left more place to the progressive Sius and the leisurely Apanian cultures. This used to be unheard of, particularly under the rule of the last Governors, who had closed the borders in an effort to put more manpower into the offensive against the Reli. Governor Taylor turned the strategy around completely. In the recent years, the city saw a growth spurt of new businesses as foreigners were drawn to a metropolis so already full and yet so packed with opportunities. Where citizens drove Arimast-made DT Design and Sing-Caster vehicles twenty years ago, they now saw automakers like Lancila, Firo and the recently popularized Kasieri release their products on the market with great success. As the Reli invasion strengthened its numbers and attacks, more corporations proposed defense contracts to the government. The funds of the nation went up and down like a rollercoaster, taxes from booming companies almost immediately re-injected into weapons research and buy programs just to keep up. The current Governor had made his reputations as someone who worked overtime to make Arimast make ends meet. The economy was rolling at a breakneck speed.
Because there was never enough place on the ground, buildings simply popped on top of each other. There were always some new construction sites here and there. Workers took the roofs off skyscrapers and built new floors on top of them. If one were to have a look inside the walls, he'd see numerous remains of renovations, walls taken away here and new pillars over there. Everything was drab at the bottom and gaining in gleam and glitter as the altitude increased. The downtown area would eventually take the shape of a pyramid as it expanded upwards and outwards. The government seat, which used to be the tallest building several decades ago at ninety-eight floors, was now dwarfed by skyscrapers hitting the legal limit of a hundred and fifty, with elevated highways soon to follow the immense structures, threading and weaving between them , creating a chaotic spaghetti of onramps and offramps, columns and multi-access parking garages. Street racers quickly started populating their new paradise.
Sidewalks were only present on the busiest of streets. Their only purpose was to allow the lucky few ground-level shops to display their magnificent clothes, and for prostitutes to have a place to stand on.
"Let's go eat here."
Nolla was directing Reez to a worn-down two-floor building stuck in a corner between two alleys. The two were just off downtown, next to Northern Park. The girl wanted to celebrate the end of her first day as a Unionized Mercenary.
They had already drunk two bottles of Raw-10 each as an appetizer, so by the time they stumbled into the alleyways, nothing could have possibly ruined their newfound happiness.
Neon signs of all colors displayed restaurants and bars of all kinds, from worn-down watering holes to diamonds in the rough. The police always kept a few agents there, as the fanciest men walked right next to the most unscrupulous thieves.
The building Nolla had pointed was the largest restaurant as seen from the outside. Squeezed in its little hole, flanked on all sides by skyscrapers, it stood out, a rebel that refused to leave.
If it had stuck around that long, the food had to be good.
Above the door was a sign: "The House of God".
The doorman waved them through. A barely clad waiter welcomed them with a smile and led them to a half-moon table. Reez took a look around: the restaurant had no square tables to speak of. Instead were six alleys with half-moon and round tables on each side, with a small dance floor in the middle. The employees all looked like top models, and he caught himself looking more than once at a delicious, swaying piece of ass.
Nolla also had her sights elsewhere. The House of God didn't discriminate; the men who worked there had bodies to die for.
At the other tables was a wild variety of people: rich boys trying out something new, college friends looking for a good time, a married man saying goodbye to his bachelor life, old perverts and other shady characters. There was even a surprising amount of mutants. Most had nothing but odd eye or skin colors, but a particular waitress struck Reez's interest: protruding from her shoulder blades was a large pair of hook-shaped appendages, like featherless wings.
A waiter came to their table, a pair of menus in hand. He was the most dressed one of all.
"Good evening sir, ma'am. My name is Jasen, is this your first time at the House of God?"
Both nodded.
"Good, good! Well, then the staff would like to offer you each a drink of your choice as a token of welcome to our establishment. What will it be?"
"Raw-10!" both exclaimed.
"Good choice." Jasen took out a pad and wrote down the order. "Is there anything else you would like? Maybe one of our special services?"
Nolla shook her head. "No, thank you. We'll stick to just eating and drinking for tonight."
Jasen smiled. "All right! Then I'll be your waiter for tonight. Here are your menus, and please remember: 'never conduct business in the House of God'."
Nolla pondered the rule while Reez glanced at the menu's contents. Aside from meats and vegetables and other fancy dishes, the restaurant also offered some special meals that weren't necessarily destined to end up on a dinner plate. Among them was Alia the Tentacle Angel, whom Reez had seen a moment ago during his glance around the room.
"Hey Reez. Don't look now, but look to your right."
Reez stared at the spot immediately. "Where? What?"
"Not there! The other table, over there, with the three androids!"
"Okay, what about it?"
"Look at the guy with the red jacket."
Nolla was pointing at a bearded and round-bellied man, who was happily conversing with five other people at his table.
Reez hesitated.
"...Doesn't ring a bell."
"You idiot, that guy's Wisco 'Danger' Robastan, the suspected head of the Chips. Reez, we're eating inside a black market meeting place!"