Chapter 2: The Masked Drifter (Part 2)
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Iver stared at the strange trio before him, his sharp eyes narrowing. With a smirk, he pulled down his mask, revealing the lower half of his face, plagued with burns and scars from his ARS. Despite the grotesque sight, he laughed.
"You want me to fight?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you've been observing me so much, you'd know the only thing I'm good at is running. Why do you think they call me the Masked Drifter?"
Ken, the youngest of the trio, hesitated at the sight of Iver's scars, but Ryo remained stoic, his expression unreadable. Kei, visible only as a hologram, didn't flinch.
Ryo stepped forward, his tone calm but resolute. "If you want any say in your future, you know you'll have to make a move. So what's it going to be?"
He opened his hands, as if weighing Iver's choices.
"Would you rather continue your life under the Judgment Order and die in the slums? Or would you die trying to fight for the freedom of this universe—and join a world bigger than yourself?"
For a moment, Iver's gaze dropped to the floor. Then, with deliberate movements, he raised his mask back over his face, his eyes hardening.
"I'm not gonna let some alien douchebags decide my future."
Ryo nodded and glanced at Kei's hologram. Kei gave a brief nod of approval before vanishing from the device, which Ken promptly pocketed and discarded.
Ryo motioned to leave. "Alright then, Drifter. Let's go before the enforcers bring backup."
But something nagged at the back of Iver's mind—his reptilian employer, Gara, who had set him up. In the Red District, one thing was clear when dealing with the Masked Drifter: you never made a false deal. Iver had learned young never to let people walk all over him, and he wasn't about to let his reputation crumble.
"There's something I've got to take care of," Iver said, his voice sharp. "Meet me at the top of the Altamonte State Building."
Ken blinked in confusion. "Aren't we on a tight schedule?"
Ryo, unfazed, simply replied, "Leave him. We'll comply."
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The Reckoning at Altamonte
The trio disappeared into the night, leaving Iver to his task. His gauntlets and boots sparked as he activated his friction force, sending him gliding through the streets of the Red District. Vendors and passersby turned to whisper about the Masked Drifter as he streaked past neon billboards and holographic ads.
Soon, he arrived at the looming Altamonte State Building. With a twist of a knob on his mask, he concealed the lower half of his face entirely, hiding the scars and burns. His eyes, however, gleamed with cold determination.
Inside, a towering reptilian guard blocked his path, plasma gun in hand. The alien sneered, its rough voice echoing in the dim corridor. "What's a child like you doing here? Turn around and crawl back to whatever hole you came from."
Without a word, Iver's gauntlets sparked. He shoved the guard, sending himself flying backward and erasing the floor's friction in the process. The reptilian slipped, its massive body crashing to the ground. Iver delivered a swift kick to the alien's groin, eliciting a howl of pain.
"Outta the way," he growled. "I've got business with your boss."
The remaining guards, cowed by the Drifter's reputation, scattered as Iver strode to the elevator. He pressed the button for the penthouse floor and waited, his fists clenching and unclenching.
When the doors opened, he climbed the remaining distance, digging his gauntlets into the walls and scaling the shaft with ease. Reaching Gara's suite, he kicked down the door with a thunderous crash.
Inside, Gara froze, his slimy reptilian face contorting in shock. The room was in chaos, with scantily clad women of his race fleeing the commotion. Gara regained his composure and sneered.
"Holy shit," he hissed. "You were supposed to be apprehended by the J.O. enforcers. How the hell did you get past my guards?"
Iver stepped forward, his voice cold. "The enforcers are useless, and your guards were cowards. Now, where's my payment, you scumbag?"
Gara's expression flickered with fear, but he forced a laugh, reaching behind his couch for a hidden plasma gun. "Come on, Drifter. This is the Red District. A setup's just business as usual."
Iver's gaze darkened. "I don't care about the setup. I want my payment."
Suddenly, Gara leaped to his feet, plasma gun aimed. "You're not getting a damn thing. Now, why don't you turn around and crawl back to your miserable life, you ugly bastard?"
With a burst of sparks, Iver's boots erased the floor's friction, and he moved like liquid fire. Dodging Gara's frantic shots, he launched off the walls, landing a brutal right hook. The reptilian staggered, and Iver followed up with a flurry of strikes, each one amplified by his friction force.
Finally, with a powerful double-legged thrust to Gara's stomach, the kingpin crumpled to the floor. Iver stood over him, the clink of his metallic boots echoing ominously.
"Still don't want to pay me?"
Gara broke down instantly. "The plasma chip's in the drawer! I'll transfer your credits—please!"
With a swipe of Gara's device, Iver transferred the credits to his account, taking a little extra for the trouble. But his anger wasn't fully satisfied. With a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a can of spray paint.
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Escape to the Scrambler
Minutes later, Iver stood atop the Altamonte building as the Scrambler SJ25 hovered into view. Its battle-worn hull glowed faintly with plasma scars, and its Ignis Array Thrusters hummed with power.
"Whoa…" he muttered. "The Scrambler SJ25. Those scars, those thrusters…with a Helios Core-9 Reactor. This thing's a legend."
With a running leap, he landed on the ship's ramp as it sealed shut behind him. Ken grinned as Iver caught his breath.
"You're one crazy bastard, man. That was epic."
Inside, a voice crackled over the comms. "So, this is the Masked Drifter, huh?"
Ken rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Stitcher. This is him. Drifter, meet Stitcher, the ship's mechanic. Stitcher, the Drifter."
The voice shot back with mockery. "Your face is a cliché, Ken. Burn."
Crew members laughed over the comms as Ken muttered under his breath, "Real mature."
Ryo interrupted. "Enough. We've got a job to do."
As they reached the cockpit, the pilot turned to face them—a young woman with purple-tipped black hair and a sharp grin.
"Yo. Name's Aoi Buratine. Code name 'Stitcher.' You made quite the entrance, Drifter."
Iver sat back, eyeing her casually. "Just tying up loose ends. Nice jet you've got here."
Ken's voice interrupted over the comms. "Hey, guys, check this out. It's about our new friend."
The crew's attention turned to the news feed, showing a ransacked penthouse, a terrified Gara hanging upside down in his underwear, and the words Masked Drifter spray-painted across the walls.
The crew erupted in laughter, except Ryo, who remained calm. Aoi turned to Iver, grinning. "You did all that in a few minutes? Hell yeah! You're insane!"
The crew cheered, and Iver leaned back in his chair, flipping the plasma chip in his hand.
Ryo, watching the chaos unfold, allowed himself a faint smile. The universe, he knew, was about to shift—and the Masked Drifter was at the center of it all.