"The drinks and women can wait first of all we need to get some Ink Into youre skins to make you look like proper mercs"
I barked causing my battle brothers to exchange glances.
"Sure why the f*ck not?"
Paul shrugged his shoulders.
"Im In"
Airid added with others also agreeing.
"That's the spirit"
I smirked, and with that we navigated through the maze of the Citadel's corridors, the neon lights casting a surreal glow over everything.
The tattoo shop we were heading to, "Eternity's Mark," was a well-known spot among mercs a place where stories were etched into flesh, where scars were turned into art, and where every line carried meaning.
The entrance was adorned with holographic displays showcasing the shop's most intricate designs, a mix of human and alien aesthetics that spoke to the diversity of its clientele.
As we stepped inside, the smell of antiseptic and the faint buzz of tattoo guns greeted us, mingling with the rhythmic thud of bass-heavy music playing in the background.
A tattoo artist with cybernetic arms and a shaved head greeted us, his eyes gleaming with the faint blue glow of ocular implants.
He was a seasoned professional, his body a canvas of interwoven designs that told stories of battles, losses, and victories.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Iron Fenrirs,"
He said, a grin spreading across his face.
"You guys are so far the baddest and most craziest motherf*ckers I have ever seen"
The artist said while pointing at our berets Insignias letting us know he recognised us from this.
"Well we're a bunch of old timers as the xenos would calls a bunch of barbarians from almost 2 centuries back"
I said while shrugging my shoulders, pulling off my space uniform to the sides and taking off my skintight short sleeved black T-shirt top to reveal the old, faded tattoos on my right chest, entire arm, right trap, backs right shoulder plate, left forearm, and left thigh.
"Anyways can you freshen these up with that fancy neon Ink?"
"Sure can do and by the way these are some nice designs"
The artist said, his cybernetic arms whirring softly as he prepared his tools.
"What about the rest of you?"
Darius, Paul, Robert, Airid and Julian glanced at each other before Darius stepped forward.
"We're getting matching Iron Fenrir tattoos, just like Drac's. And throw in the Death Angel with our motto 'In Death I Live.' same as his and maybe a couple more designs of our own choice."
The artist nodded, already mapping out the placements on his holo-display.
"Solid choices. Let's get started."
I settled into the chair first, feeling the needle prick my skin yet no pain as it traced the old lines on my skin, renewing the intricate patterns, the neon ink technology ensured the tattoos would shift and shimmer subtly with my movements, a living testament to the legacy of my battles.
It wasn't just about aesthetics, it was about identity, a visual representation of who I was and what I stood for.
As the needle buzzed, I let my mind drift, the pain non-existent as I watched as my battle brothers took their seats, each one getting a pack of Iron Fenrirs with open mouths ready to tear their enemies apart etched onto their skin, the Death Angel, a winged figure draped in armor In a cemetery background, followed suit on the same forearm, the motto 'In Death I Live' woven into the design like a dark promise.
As the tattoos took shape with the help of additional artists, the shop filled with the soft hum of needles, and to the artist's surprise no grunts of pain or discomfort.
"What the f*ck don't you guys feel any pain?
The artist asked only for us to snicker evilly.
"We got our pain receptors disabled thats why"
I answered while tapping my temple with my Index finger.
"Damm you f*cks are really a bunch of crazies"
The artist muttered as he continued to do his work.
"These are gonna look killer,"
Julian said, flexing his forearm to admire the freshly inked pack of Iron Fenrirs on his forearms outside part that looked like they were alive.
"Ladies won't know what hit 'em."
Paul chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the artist's work.
"Not, bad not bad"
"Say do you mind If I use youre designs for advertisements"
The artist asked, glancing up from his work.
"They look really bad ass"
"Sure why not but dont tattoo It on anyone else whos not part of our PMC,"
I said, the buzz of the needle finally stopping as the artist finished the last touches on my renewed tattoos.
I looked at the intricate designs on my skin, feeling a surge of content It was more than just ink, for me It was personal because my every tattoo meant something to me.
"Alright, lads"
I said, standing and stretching.
"Let's get these wrapped up and head out. We've got credits to spend and maybe a little time to kill before the next mission."
The artist finished the final touches on my battle brothers, each of them admiring their new marks as the shop's lights glinted off the fresh ink.
We paid and stepped out of Eternity's Mark and started navigating the citadels corridors again.
"So, drinks?"
Paul suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Why the hell not?"
I said, slapping him on the back.
"We've earned it."
We made our way toward the nearest bar, as we walked, I glanced at my battle brothers, we weren't just a team, we were a pack, bound by blood, ink, and an Iron bond that would break before bending.
We found a spot at a bar called "The Void's Embrace," a dimly lit joint known for its wide array of exotic drinks and its equally exotic attendants.
The place was packed, filled with the low hum of mercenaries, traders, and adventurers, all seeking a brief escape from the reality of their lives.
We settled into a booth near the back, its cushioned seats offering a welcome reprieve from the relentless hardness of military-grade gear.
A demi-human with long rabbit ears approached us.
She wore a tight, glittering maid dress that caught the ambient light and a practiced smile that spoke of countless patrons and tips.
Her ears perked as she greeted us, her voice smooth and sultry.
"Welcome to The Void's Embrace,"
She said, her gaze lingering on us.
"What can I get for a group of big men like yourselves?"
"Thirty beers,"
I said, leaning back in the booth.
"Something strong enough to knock us out, but not strong enough to stop us from getting back up."
She smirked, revealing a set of sharp canines.
"Got just the thing."
She turned on her heel, the sway of her rabbit tail catching the corner of my eye as she moved toward the bar.
Paul let out a low whistle.
"Man, I already love this place."
Darius chuckled.
"That's some good service, that's for sure."
Airid after ogling the demihuman rabbit's backside with his eyes, leaned back and stretching his newly tattooed arm, broke the light-hearted moment with a question.
"So, Drac, what's the plan? We've got some credits in our account now, but not enough to keep us sitting on our asses forever. What's next?"
I ran a hand through my hair the reality of our financial situation was always lurking at the back of my mind a constant reminder that as mercs, we were always on the clock.
Credits flowed in just as quickly as they flowed out, and resting on our laurels was never an option.
"We've done good,"
I started, nodding as the attendant returned, setting our beers on the table.
We raised our glasses in a quick, unspoken toast and took a sip.
The beer was cold and strong, just as requested.