17. Bruticus

CHAPTER 17

brUTICUS

T he hood of my jacket scratches against my bone spurs as I slip through the crowded marketplace. Security drones buzz overhead, their scan beams sweeping the crowd. Old school works best sometimes.

The neon sign of the Rusty Bolt flickers as I duck inside. The familiar stench of stale beer and desperation fills my nostrils.

Vorpa sits at our usual booth, her scales gleaming dully in the dim light. Two bottles of beer wait on the sticky table.

"You look ridiculous in that hood," she says.

"Better than a cell." I slide into the booth. "Look, about Daniels-"

"Did you find something new?" She asks eagerly.

"I'm done. I'm getting off this station."

Her golden eyes narrow to slits. The bottle in her clawed hand creaks under pressure. "What?"

"Things changed. I can't kill him."

"Because of the girl?" Vorpa's tail lashes against the booth. "You're throwing away justice for some human female?"

"It's complicated."

"It's simple." She claps her scaled hands togther as she speaks. "He murdered your mother. Dozens of others. The evidence is there."

"He's Maryse's father."

"So? Since when do Reapers care about collateral damage?"

"I care about her."

Vorpa slams her bottle down. Beer foams across the table. "You weak, love-struck fool. I didn't risk my career helping you just so you could chicken out at the finish line."

"Find another way to take him down. I'm out."

"There is no other way." She heaves a long sigh. "He's too well connected. The system's rigged. You know that."

"Then it stays rigged. I won't hurt Maryse."

"Your mother's spirit will never rest."

The table crashes against the wall. Beer and broken glass spray across the floor. My hands shake as I loom over Vorpa, close enough to count each scale on her snout.

"Do not speak of my mother. Ever."

Her golden eyes stay fixed on mine, unflinching. The end of her nose twitches - the only sign my outburst affected her at all.

"I'm not your enemy, Bruticus." Her voice stays level, maddeningly calm. "Right now, I'm the only friend you've got on this station."

"I don't need-"

"You do." She cuts me off with a wave of her clawed hand. "Security's already processing that DNA from your glove. Soon they'll have a match. When that happens, every exit will lock down tight."

The truth of her words settles like ice in my gut. She's right. I'm trapped.

"My Alliance Interceptor can get you past customs. No questions asked." She leans forward, scales gleaming in the dim light. "But first, we finish what we started. Daniels goes down, or you rot in a cell. Your choice."

I grip the edge of a nearby table, bone spurs scraping against the metal. The wood splinters under my fingers as memories of my mother war with thoughts of Maryse's smile.

"Think about it." Vorpa slides from the booth. "You know where to find me when you're ready to finish this."

My anger drains away as her footsteps fade. The overturned table mocks my loss of control. I right it, brushing away broken glass and spilled beer.

A handful of cred chips scatter across the sticky surface - more than enough to cover the damage. The barkeep's relief radiates across the room.

The streets offer no sanctuary. Every shadow holds a security drone, every passing face a potential informant. The weight of my mother's unavenged death presses down, mixing with the ache of losing Maryse.

My fingers brush the ceremonial dagger at my hip. The bone-white blade holds the answer - the only path left to maintain my honor without destroying the woman I love.

The ancient rites demand blood. But perhaps my own will suffice.

A Reaper's final duty is to die well. To spill his lifeblood with dignity rather than live in shame.

The metal walls of the station press closer. My ancestors' voices whisper of duty and vengeance. But Maryse's smile haunts me more than their demands ever could.

The dagger slides an inch from its sheath. Clean. Quick. Honorable. The way out of this impossible choice.

Yet my hand trembles on the hilt. The thought of Maryse learning of my death stops the blade's motion. Even this solution will hurt her.

There is no path forward that doesn't end in pain. For her. For me. For the memory of my mother.

The maintenance ladder creaks under my weight as I climb. Wind whips my jacket, threatening to tear me from my perch. Three hundred feet of empty space yawns beneath my boots.

The station spreads out below, a maze of metal and lights. From up here, the people look like insects scurrying through their meaningless lives.

My mother died for this? For these tiny beings and their petty schemes?

Even Vorpa, who I thought understood justice, only wants to use me as her weapon. Like everyone else in my cursed existence.

The wind howls through the tower's struts, a keening cry that matches the emptiness in my soul. Far below, security drones patrol their predetermined paths, oblivious to my presence above them.

My bone spurs scrape against the tower's metal skin as I settle onto a maintenance platform.

I exist to suffer, and to cause suffering." The words taste like ash on my tongue. "If there is an end to this existence, I wish for nothing else."

The ancient words of supplication fall from my lips. "Great Ishani, closest to the Precursors, guide my path."

Only the wind answers, whistling through my bone spurs.

"Show me the way." My fingers trace the ritual patterns in the air. "Mother, if your spirit hears me..."

The safety lights pulse their steady red rhythm, marking the tower's height for passing ships. No divine revelation. No ghostly whispers of wisdom.

But a melody stirs in my memory. Mother's favorite song, the one she hummed while working the docks. The Song of the Wanderer.

The first notes catch in my throat, rough with disuse. But as the familiar rhythm takes hold, my voice strengthens.

"Through darkness deep and endless night,

I wander far from home.

Yet in my heart burns still the light,

Of love that bids me roam."

The safety lights flare brighter with each verse, their glow shifting from red to brilliant gold. My voice soars over the wind, carrying the ancient words of hope and redemption.

"For though the path be stained with tears,

And every step brings pain,

The joy that waits beyond our fears,

Makes whole our hearts again."

The song fills me, resonating through my bone spurs until they hum in harmony. Below, people stop their hurried paths. Faces turn upward, touched by the golden light.

I feel their heartaches, their struggles, their own battles between duty and desire. We're all trapped in webs of our own making, seeking a way through the darkness.

Mother's voice joins mine in memory for the final verse:

"So sing, my child, when hope seems lost,

And light has turned to shade.

For love's worth any pain it costs,

And joy will never fade."

The last notes fade into the wind, but the warmth in my chest remains. Mother's song speaks truth - love is worth any cost. My bone spurs vibrate with lingering resonance as clarity washes over me.

I've been a fool, letting ancient traditions and outdated vengeance cloud what matters. Maryse. Her smile. Her touch. The way she sees past my Reaper nature to who I really am.

The dagger slides back into its sheath. Death is the coward's way out. My mother taught me to face challenges head-on, not run from them.

A plan begins to form. Not one of blood and revenge, but of justice and truth. Daniels must answer for his crimes, yes - but through proper channels. With evidence. With witnesses.

Vorpa can help. She has connections, resources. Together we can expose Daniels's corruption without violence. Without making Maryse suffer.

The wind whips my jacket as I stand. Far below, the station hums with life and possibility. My path forward crystallizes with each breath.

First, I need to win back Maryse's trust. Show her that my love for her outweighs everything else. Then together we can face whatever comes.

"I'm coming back to you, Maryse," The words carry on the wind. "Wait for me, my love."