The Downside of Exception

Xion Sable's soul burned with a vehement dislike for five things he found to be the epitome of rat-bag-fokkery: the pretence of arrogance, the act of thievery, the profanity of excessive boasting, the vice of falsehood, and the cruelty of harming the innocent.

This drive for justice often led him to the streets of Eden II on stag duty.

His fellow Edenites tagged him, nodding in respect, and the crowds parted as he strode by. Along with his imposing presence, the Rider's Sable Group credentials made him a kickass, badass, scary mofo feared by thugs, civvies, and Kings alike.

However, as the security honcho on one of Pegasi's bustling city planets, Xion was not just a figurehead.

He was a firm believer in leading by example and walking the talk to stay connected to the real needs on the rock.

The beat got him in the thick of it, and he lived for the adrenaline rush of boots on the ground where he kept a watchful eye and made a direct difference to those in need of it.

He'd had a freakin' mad day, though. It had started with chasing a band of lootin' bootleggers across the city, followed by hunting down a new synth-koko supplier in the underground tunnels. Just an hour earlier, he'd engaged in an all-out kapo rumble with a pair of drunk pair of drunk thugs. Compared to all that madness, his patrol felt like a walk in the park.

His tall, strapping figure strode through a boulevard teeming with travellers and locals drawn to Eden II's sights and closeness to the stars and nebulas.

Many years ago, when he'd been an Eden Guard recruit, he'd patrolled these same backroads and boulevards.

Back then, they'd been overrun by unruly Pikani gangsters, bootleggers, buccaneers, and ghost wraiths of Old Eden.

He'd also worked Eden II's subterranean tunnels. Back then, they'd been riddled with gambling dens, gaming arcades, whore houses and seedy hotels that catered to every vice and, therefore, most criminals on the rock.

After a string of successful busts, he'd been promoted to Sergeant.

He ascended through the ranks, taking on more challenging roles in the underground hoods until the Elder Council appointed him the Commanding Officer of the Eden Guard.

Now, he oversaw the entire organisation, from emergency services, spaceports, and air traffic patrol to counter-terrorism, criminal intelligence, organised crime, narcotics, public transportation, and communal housing units.

The sound of harmony from a pulsing disco-lit drone caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes to a group of juveniles hanging in one corner and made a quick assessment.

They weren't causing trouble, just sitting around on plex boxes, playing music, tossing down cans of sweet pop and shooting the shit.

When they spotted him, they waved and yelled out.

Recognising them from his free weekly kapo class, he sauntered over.

‘You kids behaving?' he murmured.

One of the young men, a wiry kinai with a shock of neon green hair, grinned at Xion. ‘Always, Commander,' he drawled, his tone laced with mischief.

The Rider cocked an eyebrow. ‘Cut the fokkin' crap, Jakim. I haven't seen you at the centre in recent weeks.'

Jakim served the Rider with a nonchalant shrug, but a glint in his eye told Xion something was up. ‘Got a new work gig. I'll be by in a few days.'

Xion didn't buy it for a second. These kids were always up to something, pushing the boundaries of what they could get away with.

Today, he decided to play along. ‘You do that. Meanwhile, keep this corner tidy. Don't want any call-outs with your kina on them, and don't need more paperwork on my desk.'

‘Just chilling, man. No trouble here.'

‘Lower your drone-box volume and help out any elders or needy you see, a'ight?'

He loped off with a wave and a chin jerk to the young men.

Being an Eden Guard wasn't just about enforcing the law for Xion.

An orphan himself, he had a soft spot for the children growing up alone in any chaotic environment. Whenever he encountered a group of abandoned kids, he took them under his wing and ensured they were cared for.

The Sable Riders community outreach centres were where he spent much of his free time training and shooting the shit with groups of misguided youth.

For many of these minors, he was a big brother figure, and Xion took great pride in knowing that he was able to provide some stability in their lives.

‘Hey, Commander,' a voice called out.

He turned to see Jakim running after him.

The kid skidded to a stop before the Rider.

‘Out with it,' Xion cocked a brow, crossing sinewy arms across his broad chest.

The younger man went beet red and shuffled his feet prior to responding. ‘The real reason I haven't been present is that I'm studying to get into the Guards intern and trainee program. I want to be like you.'

Xion reared back in pleasant surprise. Then, a smile broke out of his face. ‘Brother, that's righteous.'

‘Don't tell anyone; I dinna wanna fail and embarrass myself.'

Xion clapped a hand on the youth's shoulders. ‘Word is bond. Jakim, from all accounts and what I've seen, you're a bright kinai. We'd be lucky to have you in the force. If you get stuck on any topics, come by my office, and I'll run over a few things with you.'

The kid's eyes lit up. ‘For real?'

Xion's meta eyes gleamed. ‘I never say what I don't mean.'

‘Sante, Commander, I will.'

The youth beamed, gave the Rider a sharp salute and ran off.

The Rider's gaze tracked Jakim as he rejoined his mates, who crowded around him, curious about what he and the legendary Rider had shared.

With an upturned lip curl, Xion took off again, this time heading toward Old Eden, the historic sector of the rock.

Strolling through this ancient district, his eyes lit on its magnificent temples. They sported gargoyles and carved windows depicting long-gone deities and the pantheon of mythical Paladian gods.

Despite their distorted appearance, these creations possessed an inexplicable beauty, yet the identities of their makers have been lost to the passage of time.

The quarter was bustling with locals and vacationers browsing the sellers' stalls in front of the iconic landmarks for Paladian-themed trinkets and relics.

The tourists were easy to pick out.

They tilted their heads back to the cupola and roof lines of the moonscape buildings, which almost touched the silvery ceiling of the vast dome.

Xion kept a few of his security teams on the rock's visitors. This was imperative given the unscrupulous kinais who lurked in the ancient monasteries, expansive halls, and packed squares for an easy mark.

It was twilight, and a stream of workers poured into the maglev stations to be whisked home to their domiciles in the various districts, above and below ground.

Over it all was a black sky, dark and dotted with stars, even during the lunar day when the system's twin suns shone high in Eden II's sky.

Snaking midair was a daisy chain of flyer lanes. This evening, the metro city's traffic churned.

Bored and impatient passengers whipped past in luxurious machines with gold, chrome and diamond-plated exteriors.

A few smiling faces waved to each other when they passed.

The avenues he strolled along were treelined, a metropolitan-sweeping initiative by the Eden Council members to green the city.

Xion marvelled that not long ago, every street corner had its watering hole and gangs that controlled the distribution of alcohol, the coveted synth drug koko and the sale of illicit weapons.

On a whim, the Rider strode into a maglev station and took one of the bullet trains back to Sable HQ.

He swung into the first car and had just settled into his seat when he heard a cry.

‘Give me your purse,' a man's sharp, hoarse voice wheezed.

Xion turned his head towards the commotion.

A wasted, scraggly man pointed a cheap ray gun at an older woman further down the cabin.

He was covered in synth tatts and snarled out of a koko-stained mouth and broken black incisors.

‘Now,' he hissed to the cowering woman, a Falasian market trader judging by her unusual sloed eyes and bags of produce by her side.

Xion sucked his teeth at the fokkin' heat seeker.

Knifing to his feet, he slid out his laser, set it to stun, and strolled towards the fray. In seconds, he drew beside the unwitting maglev bandit.

That's when he noted the ink stain of a tattoo above the assailant's prosthetic arm.

He huffed.

He knew the man, yet another victim of Eden II's underworld activity, a holdover from its heyday as a crime-infested rock.

‘Letan, still haven't learnt, have you?'

The man, koko high and swaying as if in the wind, turned, growled and glared at the Rider, his weapon swivelling in his face. ‘Get the hell out of my way unless -'

‘Unless what, my friend, you lose your other hand?'

Awareness dawned on his drug and life-weathered face. ‘Fokk me, tis Xion Sable.'

‘The one and only, and you know what that means, brother.'

The thief's broken, mottled face lost all its colour. He twisted his mouth, and his eyes darted, tossing his options.

He pressed the trigger, but its barrel was sliced off before he could depress it.

It fell and tumbled on the maglev floor, the stunned passengers following its trajectory.

Xion sheathed his still-smoking laser as the train rolled into a station.

He glanced at the holo display above the sliding doors.

‘Twas his stop.

Xion reached a hand, captured the gibbering man by his collar and dragged him outside.

In moments, they were in an alley, where the Eden Guard commander set the writhing lowlife down.

Letan fought Xion with weak swipes. The Rider deflected them with ease as he cuffed the kinai's wrists to his ankles behind him with metanoid-infused plex restraints.

Shutting the man's cursing pie hole with a meta mask, Xion sent a quick neural message to his fellow Sable brother, Kisan, who was on street duty that evening.

He rose to his feet, his eyes flicking over the still struggling man on the ground. A stab of compassion hit the Rider.

The fallout from the Sable crew's clean-up of Pegasi meant that former crims who'd once floated with substantial sums of schills were now forced to beg and steal for a living.

Letan was one such example. He was a koko merchant who'd slipped way down the ladder since his high life as a dealer to the holo stars and celebrities of Pegasi.

His past income stream had dried up, so he often appeared in Eden II's overnight slammers for minor crimes these days.

‘One more strike, and you're on a transport to Deathreach,' Xion told the struggling man.

Letan's eyes dilated, and brows waggled with wild abandon. A trip to the prison moon of Bolla J22, which circled Alloria, and a stay at its Deathreach Maximum Lock Up was no walk in the park.

Xion jerked his chin at the man. ‘Are we agreed? There's work in the shafts or building gigs at the Ring complex. Pick one and stop being a lazy bastard.'

He reached into his pocket and pinged Letan's outmoded wrist, comm with Sable credits. ‘Get yourself cleaned up, nab a meal at the Community house, maybe even a beer on me. But first, you'll need to sober up in lockup for a few hours.'

As the low-life howled his protest under his mask, a Sable security flyer ghosted into the scene.

A lean, handsome man with shoulder-length hair and a solemn face leapt out and headed towards the pair.

He had visceral energy and intense glowing indigo meta eyes and wore a dark jacket and close-fitted army pants.

‘Hey, I'm digging your love hearts and bunny rabbits attire,' Xion teased, jerking a chin at the camouflage pattern of the newcomer's gear.

‘Fokk off, they're comfortable. He giving you trouble, brother?'

Xion exchanged a side hug with his fellow Rider, Kisan.

‘Tis old Letan, still trying to drum up his glory days. He needs to dry out in the tank, and then let him go. I've swiped some credits to him for a meal at the Comm House.'

‘Sante kaka,' Kisan growled. ‘Go, enjoy your well-deserved night.'

‘Livin' the dream.'

With that, Xion jerked his chin and lit off.

Xion also happened to loathe four other lesser evils on his hit list.

They included outlandish entitlement, outrageous indulgence, bare-faced greed and relentless desperation.

All fourfold played across the features of the two damsels headed his way at TheOsirian.

The Sable-owned establishment was a sumptuous dining restaurant and bar, one of the best in Eden II.

Here, the warmth of heated bodies and the scent of cigars swirled with the heady notes of expensive liquor and beer's rich, malty aroma.

Sipping on his glass, Xion sliced his eyes away from the women bearing down on him. Their heels clicked on the luxury parquet and tessellated tiles, past padded velvet booths and banquettes.

Hips swinging, they sashayed by the sprawling bar with its rare onyx mineral bench top and mirrored splash-back, where a dozen bartenders hovered over the growing number of patrons.

He sighed as their predatory smiles widened and their eyes cast over him with lust.

Fokk, he was in no mood to duck and weave.

All he wanted was to down his whisky and head upstairs to his bed after the day he'd had.

Still, the salacious missiles kept coming. He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned away from their approach, clenching his jaw and racing a leg on the chair before him to create a defensive barrier.

‘Sweet Eden handsome, how are you even anatomically possible?' one of them crowed as they approached. ‘That hair, those eyes, your skin -'

‘That mouth. Kill me now,' her companion cooed.

He smirked, but inside, he churned.

The attention his looks got him was draining.

As a dusky-skinned, tall, fit, lean, muscled man with meta tatts, locks and his chiselled, brooding features and a Rider at that, it was a daily battle to fend off the hordes of women who made excuses to talk, touch and drool over him.

He was fawned over wherever he went, with discreet offers, notes slipped onto his restaurant table, and gifts sent to his office in truckloads.

Even older ladies reached out and tugged his tresses without permission; others even dared to tap his ass as he walked by.

The reason for it all was always the same: his exceptional outward appearance.

Of which, the objectification was exceedingly real and freakin' exhausting.

When he yielded to any woman's unceasing flattery, it was fleeting. For sex and the quick fix it bestowed.

He never went deep with them.

He produced generalised statements in their direction. His dialogue was light and vague because few women stirred up a desire in him to dive into what made them tick because there was little of it.

He was uninterested in their shallow passions. Most had never read a book or travelled and waxed lyrical about themselves, their clothes, or their tedious fashion obsessions.

Most of the time, he remembered nothing about their inane chatter.

He also avoided PDA like the plague and had still to find the one woman he was proud to be seen with.

Still, Xion was the king of one-night stands, who'd cast himself as a serial playboy with no inkling of commitment.

When in the mood, he worked through the System's most beautiful women, able to pick and choose as he pleased, from royals to celebrities.

Deep down, however, he was becoming increasingly bitter about how difficult it was to live in a universe where a man was expected to look his best but was punished for looking better than anyone else.

He hated the dumbed-down manner in which people talked to him. Many were unable to see past his features to his keen and switched-on mind and his thirst for knowledge.

His only solace was his job, keeping his rock home safe.

Also in his family, the Sable Riders. None of his brothers judged him; instead, they embraced and understood him for who he was: a regular man yearning for a deeper connection with those he loved.

‘Cry me a river,' he muttered to himself, fully aware his pity party might soon attract a mini violinist at any moment.

What remained, however, was a longing so profound the ache never left him. He yearned for a woman, a soul mate who perceived his essence beyond his looks. One far removed from the pair ogling him at that moment.

His neural node pinged, and he knifed up, grateful for the distraction.

He acknowledged the caller. Mirage.

Where are you, Xion?

His brow furrowed. What d'you mean?

‘You're late. You promised to be my eyes and ears at this game.

Xion slapped his forehead. Fokk, I forgot. So much going on. Sorry, it slipped my mind, he told the intelligence. Which room are you in?

Sapphire Star in the card salon, the Sable consigliere sniped.

Sleep was out of the question now,Xion groused to himself.

I'll be there in ten.

Make it five.

Mirage was vexed, and letting them stay that way didn't bode well for anyone.

Fast as I can leg it.

Which for you will be a breeze.

He took a breath, sucked his teeth and turned to his adoring audience.

‘Ladies got to fly, I've somewhere to be.'

They sighed as he rose, looming over them.

He ignored them, knocked back the last of his drink, and strode out.

Across the expansive bar, seeking air and freedom beyond the extensive wooden door.

A hulk, twice as broad as he was tall, appeared, the menace on his jewel-dotted dark face melting away at the sight of Xion.

‘Boss,' he said. ‘Leaving the premises?'

Xion gave the humongous security guard a chin lift. ‘Heading out for a game, keep an eye on those two. Fact, get them off my back.'

The pair of women were now chasing, coming to a heeled jog after him.

‘I'll do the necessary,' Mojo smirked, used to running interference for the Rider.

Mojo was a Ccyth merc who'd subcontracted his services to The Sable Group for the previous two years. To extend his hustle, he moonlighted as The Osirian's chief bouncer.

He was the best of deterrents, and tonight was no different as he rounded up on the hunting ladies with violence in his eyes. Soon, he'd have them tucked under each arm as he escorted out the back door.

‘Sante. I owe you.'

Xion clapped a hand on the man's meaty shoulder the size of his thigh and stepped past him into the night.