THE AXE WOMAN

  Roy Inman tapped his fingers against the steering wheel of the disposable car, his movements synced to the smooth rhythms of New Jazz flowing through the car speakers. The car itself was nothing remarkable, an unremarkable old sedan rented with the express purpose of being discarded after the job’s done. He was parked near an artificial park off Morocco Street, one of the places where you could find a tree in the city. It was late, and the city felt quieter than usual, though “quiet” on Mars, especially in a city like concrete, steel, and glass jungle like Alba City, was a relative term.

  The instructions had been simple. Pick up the Merc and follow her lead. Roy wasn’t the type to ask questions, especially not about Syndicate business. So he sat back, waiting, the music providing a steady backdrop to his thoughts.

  A slender figure appeared in the distance, striding toward him with purpose. The woman moved with a confidence that drew the eye, her blonde-white hair catching the park’s artificial lights. She wore a muted pencil dress with a low neckline that framed her cleavage, paired with a cropped jacket that gave her a curious look. Slung over her shoulder was a carry bag, its contents unknown but undoubtedly tied to whatever business they had do ahead. Her shoulder-length hair framed a pale face with red eyes that carried a frosty detachment. It was one of those Implant Eyes.

  Roy rolled down the window as she approached. “You Ms. Irya?” he asked, his tone casual.

  “Yeah,” she replied curtly.

  He unlocked the passenger door. “Get in.”

  Without a word, Irya slid into the seat and closed the door softly behind her. She looked out the window for a moment, then pulled out a small mobile device, scrolling through information with practiced ease. Roy didn’t press her for details. Instead, he returned his attention to the road.

  “Got any place to stop first?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, her tone as clipped as before. "Setup's done. All you need to do is follow."

  That was fine by him. Roy started the car and eased into the flow of Alba’s labyrinthine streets. The city was a sprawling network of glass, concrete, and steel, its design both chaotic and deliberate, like someone had tried to recreate Earth’s urban mess and accidentally added an extra layer of complexity that it didn't need.

  The neon signs and towering skyscrapers eventually gave way to wealthier neighborhoods, where the streets were cleaner, and the buildings shone brighter.

  When they reached their destination, Irya finally spoke. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  Roy nodded. “Okay.”

  She stepped out, her hips swaying slightly as she walked toward the building. He watched her disappear through the front entrance, then lit a cigarette. The sharp bite of the smoke helped steady him, though he didn’t feel particularly anxious. This wasn’t his first odd job, and it wouldn’t be his last.

  The hour passed slowly, the cigarette now only a filter. Just as he was considering lighting another, his mobile buzzed. Irya’s voice came through the line, cold and flat.

  “It’s done. Bring the stuff to the back of the building. The service elevator should be open.”

  “Got it,” Roy replied.

  He popped the trunk and grabbed the black duffel bag containing whatever supplies the Syndicate had deemed necessary for this job. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made his way to the service elevator. The building was oddly quiet. No guards, no nosy neighbors — just the hum of machinery and the distant echo of city life. Suspicious, but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune or the preparation done for this job.

  The elevator ride to the third floor was uneventful. When he reached the designated door, 301, he knocked once.

  Irya’s voice came from the other side, cold and professional. “House service?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stepped inside and immediately took in the scene. Irya was standing in the middle of the room, removing a raincoat splattered with blood. In her hand was a fire axe, its wooden handle worn and the head stained red. On the floor lay a headless body, the carpet beneath it soaking up the evidence.

  Roy sighed, closing the door behind him.

  “What did he do?” he asked as he set the bag down and began pulling on an overalls and gloves.

  “He did something,” Irya replied flatly. Her frosty tone suggested she had no interest in elaborating. “Doesn’t matter. You look prepared. I thought you were an amateur.”

  “I am one, that's why they gave me this bag for this so I'd know what to bring next,” Roy said with a shrug. He knelt by the body and worked quickly, rolling it in the carpet and securing it tightly in the body bag. His movements were practiced, efficient.

  Irya watched him with a raised eyebrow. “I see. How many did you carry?”

  “Enough for the night,” he replied without looking up. “Will we deliver this and move on to the next one?”

  “That’s the plan,” she said, heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll wash my axe first, go ahead.”

  Roy heard the faucet running as he finished sealing the body bag. There wasn’t a drop of blood left on the floor — whoever this guy had been, he wouldn’t leave much of a mess behind. Roy stood and double-checked the bag, ensuring it wouldn’t leak during transport.

  “This sucks,” he muttered under his breath.

  Irya emerged from the bathroom, her axe cleaned and neatly stored in its carry bag. Roy spotted another weapon inside. Probably a rifle, he guessed.

  She gave the room a quick once-over, then nodded in approval. “Cleaners will be here soon. Service elevator is still clear, so let’s hurry.”

  Roy hefted the body bag with one hand, surprising Irya with his casual strength. She didn’t comment, simply leading the way out. They moved quickly but calmly, their demeanor ensuring they didn’t draw attention. Back at the service elevator, Roy loaded the body into the car’s trunk while Irya kept watch.

  Once they were both back in the car, Roy started the engine and pulled away, leaving the building behind. The drive was silent, save for the faint hum of the tires against the road and the soulful vocals of New Jazz on the car speakers. Roy didn’t mind the quiet. Thankfully, his acquaintance didn't mind his taste for music nor talked. It gave him time to process the fact that he was now, unequivocally, an accomplice to murder.

  As they navigated the streets of Alba, Roy cast a sidelong glance at Irya. She stared out the window, her expression unreadable, her hands resting lightly on the carry bag in her lap. Whatever her story was, he knew better than to ask. In this line of work, curiosity was a dangerous luxury.

  The city stretched out before them, its lights casting long shadows over their path. Roy focused on the road, his thoughts a jumble of resignation and mild amusement. This wasn’t the life he’d imagined he’d have, but it was the one he had now. And for better or worse, it seemed he was getting used to it. Unsurprisingly, working for a Syndicate, eventually would find him in this kind of dirty work.

  What did he expect in the first place?

  “Next stop?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  Irya didn’t look at him, her voice as cold as ever. “Keep driving. I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  Roy nodded, his hands steady on the wheel.

  The night was far from over.

  The butcher’s shop was tucked away behind a medical clinic, its mundane look concealing the operations it supported. Roy followed Irya through the cold air of the storefront, his senses assaulted by the faint metallic tang of blood. The butcher, a burly man wielding a cleaver, looked up from his work as they entered. Irya gave him a brief nod, and with a grunt, he pointed the cleaver toward a back door.

  Roy shifted the weight of the body bag on his shoulder, breaking the silence. “They aren’t selling human meat, right?”

  “No,” Irya replied without looking back.

  “You sure?”

  She paused, her cold tone sharp as her glance. “They don’t.”

  Her confidence didn’t entirely settle Roy’s nerves, but he followed her through the door anyway. The narrow passage they entered smelled faintly of stale air and artificial cooling, the hum of air-conditioning units filling the space. At the end of the corridor, they stepped into a facility bustling with activity. Guards stationed at the entrance were augmented with cybernetics, the kind that tried to blend in with artificial skin but failed to hide the cold gleam of chrome beneath.

  One of the guards, a broad-shouldered man with a cybernetic eye, similar to Irya's, blocked their path.

  “Who’s the new guy, Axy?” he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

  Irya didn’t miss a beat. “Callisto Freelancer. He’s… new.”

  The guard turned his intense gaze on Roy. “You new?”

  Roy met the glare without flinching. “Yeah.”

  The guard smirked, apparently satisfied by Roy’s calm demeanor.

  “Good. Go ahead. Don’t do anything stupid.” Then, after a pause. “Do you even carry a gun?”

  Roy adjusted the body bag on his shoulder. “I’m just here to deliver things. Might get one after this.”

  “You and do that.”

  The guard stepped aside, and Irya led the way into the facility. Her hips swayed as she walked, drawing the attention of nearly everyone they passed. Unlike the mercenaries milling about in combat gear. Irya’s outfit was deceptively simple. Then again, Roy guessed she have combat implants. The kind that made her confident enough to not wear any combat gear.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  They entered a room that smelled of antiseptic and blood. A man in a white coat stood by a cluttered desk, his augmented eyes whirring as he glanced up from a holographic screen. Irya pulled the head from the bag, the plastic wrap glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  “Let me check,” the doctor muttered as he placed the head on the table. He unwrapped the head, revealing a pale, lifeless face, then ran a facial and retinal scan. After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. The body?”

  Irya turned to Roy. “The body.”

  Roy stepped forward and placed the body bag on the floor. The doctor studied him briefly, his curiosity clear. “You got bioware?”

  “All natural,” Roy replied. “I think.”

  “Hmm. Serum, maybe? Doesn’t matter. We’ve all got our freaks here.”

  Ignoring the remark, Roy watched as the doctor unpacked the body and slid it onto an operating table. The doctor scanned it thoroughly, muttering to himself as he noted the condition of the corpse.

  “Fifty thousand,” he finally said. “See that? Busted cybernetics don’t sell much. This guy didn’t take care of himself. Genitals are outdated tech — worthless. Organs? Full of toxins and chems. Yikes.”

  Irya leaned over the holographic scans. “Well, at least I get the bounty.”

  The doctor smirked. “Nice cut, by the way. Clean work. The co-processing chip in his head might fetch ten thousand. Get me the last one and consider this one’s done. Oh, and Mica’s been preying on the next idiot. So expect her there.”

  Irya nodded and gestured for Roy to follow her. As they left the clinic and returned to the car, she checked her wristwatch. “We still have time.”

  Roy started the engine, navigating the winding streets of Alba to their next destination — a dingy apartment complex. They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, the air heavy with the scent of mildew and neglect. At the door, Roy knocked, positioning himself directly in the line of sight while Irya waited in the blind spot with one finger hushing him.

  “Hello?” Roy called. “Anyone out there?”

  The door creaked open, revealing a heavily augmented man pointing a pistol directly at his forehead. Before the man could say a word, Irya’s fire axe swung in a brutal arc, burying itself in his neck. Blood sprayed, and Roy ducked instinctively, catching the pistol as it fell from the man’s limp fingers. He examined it briefly, then looked up at Irya.

  “Can I keep this?” he asked.

  Irya yanked the axe free with a wet crunch and slammed its blunt side against the man’s neck, fully severing the head.

  “Sure,” she said. “Take it as a gift.”

  Roy tucked the pistol into his jacket. “Messy.”

  “Cleaners will take care of it.”

  “What did these guys do? To deserve an Axe instead of a bullet?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t care. Job’s a job.”

  Roy hummed in agreement as Irya slipped on a pair of gloves and dragged the body into the apartment. Roy followed her inside, his gaze landing on a half-dressed woman lounging on a battered couch. She wore only her bra and panties, her eyes half-opened and her expression amused at the sight of them and almost mocking at the corpse.

  “Fucker's dead?” the woman asked, her voice slurred.

  “Yeah,” Irya replied coolly, dropping the corpse in the middle of the room. "You done here too?

  “Asshole deserved it.” The woman spat on the body. “Yeah, I got what I wanted.”

  “That so?” Irya asked.

  The woman smirked.

  “You the new one?” she asked, turning her attention to Roy.

  “I think so.”

  “Name’s Mica. Not bad. Are you all-natural?”

  Roy nodded. “Yeah.”

  She raised an eyebrow and glanced at his crotch. “Same down there?”

  Roy’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah.”

  “Nice. Need help, Irya? I got some time to kill.”

  “Get the mop,” Irya said, her tone brooking no argument.

  “Sure thing.” Mica grabbed a mop and began cleaning the blood pooling on the floor. Meanwhile, Roy donned gloves and overalls, efficiently sealing the body in a new bag. This time, Irya didn’t bother taking the head and just let him stuffed it in the body bag.

  Mica hummed a tune as she worked, occasionally glancing at Roy. “You know,” she began, “this idiot was such a retarded simp. Spent all his money on me and didn’t even get anything other than a handy.”

  Roy didn’t respond, but his thoughts churned. The casual cruelty of these people was staggering, but what unsettled him more was how calm he felt amidst it all. This wasn’t normal, and yet, here he was, unfazed and efficient, cleaning up someone else’s mess.

  Irya leaned against the wall, silent as Mica chattered on. When the cleanup was finished, she nodded at Roy. “Let’s go.”

  Roy hauled the bag over his shoulder, sparing one last glance at Mica. She waved lazily, her expression smug as she went the other way.

  As they descended the stairs, Roy finally broke the silence. “You people are messed up.”

  Irya glanced at him, her face unreadable. “You’re still here. You’re the same.”

  “Yeah,” Roy admitted. “I guess I am.”

  The body hit the table with a muted thud, its plastic wrapping wrinkling under the fluorescent lights of the clinic. Roy stepped back, brushing imaginary dust from his gloves as Irya leaned casually on the operating table. She spoke briefly with the doctor, who nodded and transferred the agreed-upon credits to her account. She checked her balance on her wristband and motioned for Roy to follow.

  Back in the car, Roy drove in silence. The disposable vehicle hummed softly as it cruised through Alba’s labyrinthine streets. Their destination was a junkyard, its gates yawning open like the maw of some great machine. At the center of the yard, a hydraulic compactor waited, its metallic frame silhouetted against the flickering glow of a neon sign advertising scrap for sale.

  With practiced ease, Roy maneuvered the car into the compactor’s jaws. Stepping out, he watched as the machine came to life, its massive steel plates crushing the car into a compact slab of metal. The satisfying crunch of destruction sounded through the yard.

  Irya tossed her axe into the backseat of a nearby car. “I’ve got a ride. Let me introduce you to a good bar.”

  Roy scratched his chin, unsure why she didn’t just drive off and leave him behind.

  “Sure. Not that I have anything to do after this.”

  Irya led him to her car, an old but immaculately maintained Lancia Stratos. Its sleek, vintage design stood in stark contrast to the Martian vehicles of Alba’s streets. Roy let out a low whistle. How the hell did she even got this in Mars of all places? It must have been expensive, transporting a car to this planet... or was it just a replica made here in Mars?

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Get in,” she replied, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  Roy settled in beside her as she fired up the engine. The car roared to life. They drove out onto Alba’s streets, Irya weaving through traffic with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.

  “Wanna work together?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the road.

  "Huh? Where did that come from?" Roy raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “You’re new,” she said. “Meaning you’re not fully affiliated yet. I need quiet, efficient people.”

  “Do your jobs usually involve killing people?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she replied with a shrug. “This one was a favor.”

  “Still weird,” Roy muttered. “Asking me suddenly like this.”

  “No man’s an army,” Irya said. “It wouldn’t be bad for you either.”

  Roy considered her words for a moment before nodding. “I guess so.”

  The car came to a stop on Thorian Street, in a quiet alley where foot traffic was sparse. Down the narrow road stood a two-story building, unassuming and out of the way. A simple sign above the entrance read Haven. The first floor was a bar, while the second was clearly an apartment. Irya parked the car and stepped out, her boots clicking against the pavement.

  Inside, the bar exuded a cozy atmosphere. Low lights bathed the room in a warm glow, illuminating the few tables and stools scattered around. A counter dominated one wall, its surface polished to a soft sheen. Roy’s eyes immediately went to the corner where a pair of arcade machines hummed quietly. Without a word, he walked over and began playing a fighting game, the familiar mechanics offering a brief escape from his bloody day.

  The bartender, a woman with long, braided hair and a red tie, raised an eyebrow.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, nodding toward Roy.

  “Roy,” Irya replied, leaning on the counter. “Newbie.”

  “Name’s Kasi!” The bartender called out, then turned to Irya. “Need something strong?”

  “Whiskey,” Irya said simply.

  Kasi nodded, expertly pouring the drink. She glanced at Irya as she slid the glass across the counter.

  “Nothing bothering you?”

  “Nothing major,” Irya said. “You know how it is. What about this place? No one making trouble?”

  Kasi shrugged. “Boss’s keeping things quiet. Not a lot of customers, as usual.”

  “She does business here, right?” Irya asked.

  “Sometimes. This bar’s more of a hobby for her,” Kasi said with a shrug. “Still, no one bothers to mess with this place. Lucky for me, really.”

  Roy finished his game and slid onto a barstool beside Irya, eyeing the menu. One item caught his attention.

  “Cola-gin?” he asked.

  “You want that?” Kasi asked.

  “Sure,” Roy replied, scanning his mobile over the payment terminal. Five credits deducted, Kasi began preparing the drink with practiced precision. She handed it to him with a flourish.

  “So,” Kasi said, leaning on the counter, “you’re an Earthling?”

  Roy hesitated. “Kinda.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I dunno,” Roy said, swirling the drink in his glass. “Hard to think about it.”

  Irya smirked. “You’re not a Cryoist, are you?”

  “A what?”

  “Idiots who froze their brains so they can see the ‘future,’” Irya explained.

  Roy shook his head. “No. I am not. This is a nice place. Quiet too. Soundproofed?”

  “Betcha,” Kasi said, her pride evident. “Boss didn’t want any noise. This is her comfy place after all.”

  "I see," Roy took a sip of his drink and nodded in approval. “Strong. Not bad.”

  Kasi grinned. “Glad you like it. So, you two just finished with a job? Seeing that you are drinking this late.”

  “Something like that,” Irya said. “It was… the messy kind.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Kasi said, holding up a hand.

  “I wouldn’t,” Irya replied. “Not your business anyway.”

  “Just the way I like it,” Kasi said, her gaze shifting to Roy. “So, you’re new to this kind of rabble?”

  “Yeah,” Roy admitted. “I owe the people I’m working with.”

  “You didn’t get indentured, did you?” Kasi asked.

  “No. Not really.”

  “How?”

  Roy shrugged. “Got lucky.”

  Kasi’s smile widened as she leaned closer. The soft lights caught the sheen of her red tie, making her look both relaxed and professional.

  “Welcome to the red planet. Not that it’s as red anymore. Any place you wanna visit now you're here?”

  “Neo Mediterranean,” Roy said. “I heard it’s nice.”

  Kasi let out a soft laugh. “It’s nice, all right. But it’s a money trap if you don’t have work there.”

  “Really?”

  “Believe me,” Kasi said. “First-hand experience.”

  “Must be something bad if you're vocal about it.”

  Kasi only smiled, leaving Roy to wonder what she experienced there to say that.

  Irya drained the last of her drink and turned to Roy. “About my offer.”

  Roy tilted his head. “I’ll accept it. Not like I have much else to do. If you keep taking me to good places like this, it might not be so bad. Just... no jobs like these.”

  "I don't like like either. Like I said, it' a favor," Irya said, a sudden faint smile ghosting across her lips. “Still, you accepted, so I’ll hold you to that.”

  She ordered another round of drinks, and the three of them settled into quiet chatter. For Roy, the night had a surreal quality. One moment, he was disposing of bodies, and the next, he was sipping drinks in a bar that felt like a Haven compared to the rest of the city.