NCC - 75001
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Leather and Blood

Posted on Tue Aug 15th, 2017 @ 12:11am by Lieutenant Ingrid Hollister
Edited on on Tue Aug 15th, 2017 @ 9:54pm

Mission: Episode 1 - Welcome to the Fearless
Location: Empok Nor - Holosuite
Timeline: April 7 2394, 1500 hrs
Tags: SD 71266.1500



The sound of the motorcycle arched and echoed across the open road as it bounded through the desert landscape. The all black Ducati Diavel sang beautifully and had often been the envy of any biker that looked on; it was not desired more than the rider itself. Ingrid smiled, reacting with confidence to the power that hummed between her leather-clad thighs. Her short silver hair billowed in the high wind as she wound around a small car with ease.

She took to the middle of the road, driving right down the dotted yellow lines and feeling the jump of her bike as it ran along the warning rivets placed their to warn drivers they were getting too close to the left side of the street. She looked to the left and watched the setting sun sink down lazily under the distant red mountains and she allowed herself a smile.

A loud beep shook her from her revelry as as she saw a large grey metal mass heading for her. She jerked her handle bars to the left and narrowly avoided the Chevy Trailblazer headed right for her. A concerned young man with dreadlocks gazed at her, reacting negatively to the middle finger she'd thrown up at him. Most here would take serious issue with that, but the man kept on driving.

Several more minutes down the road, she turned right into a dusty drive and then left again infront of a rundown looking building. Neon signs let anyone who looked on know that it was a bar and that it was open. She barked her bike, looking at the three large and rough looking men conversing over cigarettes outside. This place was well populated with local losers and drunks, but at night, it really came to life.

She got off her bike and ran a tattooed hand through her silver hair and putting it quickly back in order. She ran a comb through it with practiced motions, pushing much of it over one of her eyes. Considering her leather pants, boots, and jacket, and her leather bra-like shirt with dangling silver attachments, she looked perfectly at home. The men in front of the bar looked at her with uneasy glances through their cigarette smoke.

"Well, good evenin', Darlin'." said the man in the center, his large arms crossed over his barrel chest. He puffed up in an attempt to hide his fat belly, but she wasn't fooled. The smoke from his cigarette played on her bushy mustache, dancing between the ratty hairs and resting in a cloud over the scarf he wore on his sweaty brow.

By now, the sun had almost set and the last remnant of rust-colored dusk-light reflected in the beads of sweat on his head. She approached him, stepping up the short lip off the barking lot and onto the cement floor under the wooden awning of the bar. She looked at him, her piercing hazel eyes studying his features and her lips turning into their normal devious grin, a bit more devious than usual.

"The names May." she said, reflecting his thick Appalachian accent. "I wonder if you gentlemen can help me with somethin'."

The men grinned and exchanged glances. The one on her left spoke first. He was a think and lanky man with a high-voice. His mustache was also thick and had cigarette smoke circling around it.

"What are ya lookin' for?" he asked with direct interest.

May looked at him, noticing his dialated beedy black putils. He looked like a weasel; she wanted to poke them out, but she refrained.

"I'm lookin' for a man. Bout your height." she answered, looking back at the fat man in the center whose eyes had sense wondered down to her breasts. When he'd noticed her looking at him, he snapped his head back up to her face as if he hadn't been seen. Ingrid imagined he didn't care whether or not he'd been seen very much at all.

"We'll you've found him!" he shouted and all three men began to cackle like idiots. Ingrid noticed the brown on each of their teeth and fought against the disgust that was welling up in her belly. Instead, she smiled an amused smile and offered a less severe version of their laughter.

"No, sir. This man is real strong and ain't got no facial hair. Matter of fact, he's bald as an egg, last time I heard of him." she responded, clearly having practiced the accent to perfection.

"Oh!" said the shorter man on her right, a sudden realization coming across his face. "You mean Little Rick!" he said, his own bare face showing the quiver of his lip. He wiped a dirty hand through his thinning head of red wiry hair.

"That's his name." she said with a wide smile. "Would you be so kind as to tell me where he is?"

All three men seemed to hesitate. They looked at each other uncomfortably and began to stammer the word "um" stupidly between them. The man in the middle shook his head. "Well, he ain't here, May." he said, his brown toothed grin clearly trying to be suspicious.

Ingrid couldn't force back a laugh at his expense. She began to chuckle and turned her back to them, her guffaw getting louder and louder until she'd nearly doubled over. She turned back to them, shaking her head. The answer "we don't know" would have been ten times less informative than "he ain't here". It was one of the best indicators to her that he absolutely was here.

"Thanks, boys." she said, still chuckling. "I'm gonna go on in here and have myself a drink."

"You can't go in there." said the shorter man to her right, moving to block her path.

"Well, why not?" she asked, a fake look of worry on her face.

"Because, Little Rick ain't here." he said seriously, putting his arms out to block her back further.

"Yeah, I got that...that's why I just wanted a drink-"

"Ya can't go in!" the man shouted loudly, his voice completely overshadowing every sound in the area, including the muffled country music from the inside of the bar and echoing down the street both directions.

"Mitch, calm down! Said the man who had been standing on her left, his tall arms swinging as he approached. "She don't mean no harm, look at her. Just let her in."

There was a long silent moment where they stood their in contemplation. Ingrid tried to look as helpless as she could; she was fairly certain it was working. After a long while, Mitch moved out of the way and allowed her to enter.

Ingrid entered through the door and, immediately, eyes started darting in her direction and following her to the bar. Her eyes locked with the bartender, a leather clad young man who's tattooed arms were bare and muscular. He seemed to have left another customer as soon as she'd entered.

"What're ya drinkin, sweetheart?" he asked, a devilishly handsome smile on his face.

She walked up to the bar, comfortably resting her arms on it close to the leaning barman. "Do have cream here?" she asked flirtatiously. It was always a good idea to have a good relationship with the bartender.

"We sure do." he said, with a widening grin. "You want a White Russian?"

"Colorado Bulldog." she answered, flipping her hair back flirtatiously.

"Coming right up." he said, winking at her and stealing a glance at her body before he turned away. She watched him walk away, her arms dancing briefly over is arms as she lifted herself onto a bar stool. Her focus on the man was broken just a few seconds after by the sound of a deeper and richer voice.

"Put it on my tab, Danny!" announced the man who had just lowered himself into the stool next to her. The owner of the voice was clearly not afraid to draw attention to himself. She noticed that, as soon as he approached, all the other male eyes in the room looked away. She must be dealing with someone very well respected or very much feared.

She turned her head in the direction of the new arrival and immediately she recognized him. He was tall and buff beyond all reason. Bald and evenly caramel skinned, this could be no other than Richardo Martinez or, as he was known among biker gangs, Little Rick. There was, of course, nothing little about him. She supposed they called him that ironically.

"Thanks." she said, looking at him with dumb interest. He was a powerful man. He would assume she wanted him and she didn't have to work very hard.

"Why haven't I seen you around here before?" he asked, a mixture of suspicion and attraction in his gaze.

She looked back at him and shrugged. "I'm new to town." she said honestly. 'I'm glad I'm being welcomed so well."

She had adopted his way of speaking quickly. It was best she didn't sound like the locals in this particular setting. Plain midwestern English would do here.

"That's what we do around here." he said charmingly. "What's your name?"

"May." she said simply, smiling at him. The drink that she'd ordered was delivered by Danny the bartender. Rick offered a quick thanks to the man and watched as he reluctantly scurried away. "And yours?"

He laughed to himself, but when she didn't join him in his amusement, he looked at her with a question in his eyes. "You serious?" when she responded with a look of confusion, he lifted his eyebrows and gave another chuckle. "Sorry, I'm....so well know around here, I expected you to know. The names Rick."

"Well, as I said, I'm not from here, Rick." she said, grinning. She picked up her drink and took a sip.

"No...no, I guess not." he responded, still smiling.

------------------------------------------------------

The men in the bar cheered when Rick had walked to the back of the bar with May. They had counted it a success for their fearless and charming leader. Now, they suspected he would consummate his conquest. The didn't know that she had something else in mind.

He lead her through a door into a back room which was well decorated and had gang-themed furniture all about. She watched him as he closed and locked the door and observed his biker gang's symbol copied on the wall. She pulled off her jacket slowly and threw it to the floor, looking at him with desire in her eyes.

The man responded immediately, rushing over to her and kissing her passionately. His hands found parts of her body she wished he would avoid; they were strong hands and his mouth tasted of cheep alcohol and peanuts. He picked her up in muscular arms and lowered her down onto the biggest of the couches.

Ingrid kissed back, considering her next move. As she ran her hands over his arms and then his back, her hand located cold metal around his waste. She removed the gun and disengaged from the kiss.

"Look what I found!" she said, excitedly with a playful smile. She pulled herself out from under him and escape his grasping hands with impressive quickness. Rick at her a bit panicked as he realized what she'd gotten her hands on. She pointed the revolver at him and winked. "Bang." she whispered.

"Hey! Give me that! Stop playing around!" he exclaimed, clearly deadly serious. There was no hint of amusement in the man's voice. Clearly, he was a man who was used to being obeyed.

She gave him another playful smile, slipping the cold metal into her leather top. She looked at him with irresistibly ferocious eyes"Come get it." she growled, more animal than woman.

A look of tentative arousal was on his face as he stood and walked toward her. He seized her arms with his powerful hands and planted a kiss on her lips. As he kissed her, he let go of her arm with one hand and reached up to grab the gun. Once he had gotten it free of her chest, her ascended and closed over his hand and her fingers were around his on the metal. He pulled his lips away from hers.

"What are you doing?" he asked, more serious now than ever. He suspected something. "This doesn't seem like a game anymore. If you knew who I was, you would know that messing with me like this can be bad for your health."

"You told me earlier how mysterious, notorious, and powerful you are." she said, accenting each worth breathily as she leaned in to him, her hand still wrapped around the gun. "Well, I've got one question for you, BIG RICK." she continued. "If you're so serious a business man, so dangerous a gangster, so fierce a rider, why don't you have the sense to pay back loans you've taken from more powerful men?"

There was a moment of silence between them as she looked into his eyes, deadly focused and unafraid. She could tell by the growing look in his eyes that Rick was beginning to truly understand the nature of his situation. He had expected Don Carlos to send a grizzly looking man to do his dirty work, not some biker chick.

"Are you serious, girl?" he asked with a smirk. "You think you scare me?"

Rick tried to wrench the gun from her fingers, but she was stronger than she looked. He looked up at her, utterly surprised by her strength.

"Who are you?!" he asked loudly.

"I told you, already. I'm May." she said with a smile, sliding her hand over the trigger of the gun and pulling it back, causing a loud discharge that send a bullet flying through the wall. Stunned, Rick began to struggle even harder for the weapon, she turned his wrist so that he had less leverage. He shouted in pain at the twist and his other large fist went shooting for her face. She dodged backward without effort, evading the punch. "Carlos Garcia wanted me to pay you a visit."

"I don't have the money." he said with a scowl. "You tell that bastard if he wants it, he's going to have to wait."

"Don Carlos is done waiting." She said, dodging yet another swipe from the man's other hand blocking a kick with her leg. "You pay now or I have to 'deal with you. Can't let all our other business partners think they can pull one over on the Boss, can we?"
"Then, Little Rick, I've got to make an example of you." she said plainly, the look of devious excitement in her eyes growing.

A sound came from the door. Several knocks and the sound of screaming men. It wouldn't be long until they broke through the door to find out where the gunshot had come from. During the commotion, Little Rick was able to free his hand and the gun from her. He lifted the pistol to her head, breathing heavily. The look in his eye was mean and murderous, but he clearly didn't want to kill Garcia's goon; he'd never survive that. "If I were you, I'd get outta here. Tell Garcia he'll get the money when I hav-"

He stopped suddenly, distracted by the sound of the door to the room flying open. Several men rushed in while others stood in the doorway, their leathers worn and their faces angry. Ingrid used the distraction to her advantage. She was a master in Tironian Uproar, a deadly mixture of Milaysian Silat, Judo, and kung fu; taking him down would be easy. Her hand reached out like lightning, grabbing the wrist with the gun and putting it in a painful submissive position. She punched the arm brutally with her knuckles, causing him to scream, then yanked the arm and used the man's momentum and a quick swipe of her leg to guide him onto the floor. With one solid kick, she crushed his windpipe and removed the gun from his hand. His gargled cry ended soon as she lifted the weapon to face the bikers who had trailed into the room.

The men looked shocked and angry. She smiled, holding the gun up to face them. Her stance was almost casual in its nature like she had nothing to worry about at all.

"Who wants to be the new leader of the gang?" she asked casually.

One of the mens' faces twisted and his large mouth opened to speak. "You can go fu-"

The gunshot rang out before the man who spoke could even finish his sentence. Everyone else reeled back in fear for their lives as their friend tumbled to the ground, blood trickling from the hole in his forehead.

"That wasn't the answer I was hoping for." she said. "The man who leads will have the backing of Don Carlos. No one will be able to touch him....well, except me."

There was a long and tense silence as she moved to stand more easy, the gun down at her side. After a few seconds, a mean looking man with a long grey beard stepped forward. His small lips were set sideways and were surrounded by the long grey of his facial hair. He had a twinkle in his eye, it was the look of someone who had seen much and was normally of good humor.

"Names Pop. I've been with the gang longer than anybody. I should lead." he said, not as afraid as the other men around him. His voice was gruff and held warmth and harshness, like moonshine.

Ingrid nodded and turned the gun around. "Very good." she said, pushing the handle into his hand and stepping back.

Pop looked at her with confusion, his red nose twitching as he looked from her to the gun and back again. After a few uncomfortable beats, he turned the revolver over with a massive hand. He drew it back to his side, now a more powerful hand than it ever had been.

"Congratulations, fearless leader." Ingrid said with a smile."Don Carlos is pleased to do business with you. A collector will be back this time next month to pick up the dough. Have it, or all your men die."

Pop studied her for a moment, his face unreadable. The other men around him seemed to be waiting to see what he would do. He breathed without ease, stiring with what must be high emotions. Within moments, the man had lifted the revolver to Ingrid's head. "May." he said. "I'll see you and your Don in hell."

He discharge the weapon three times, but none hit their mark as Ingrid had already dropped to the ground in a low crouch. When he lowered the revolver to try again, she did a full low backflip and ended up in a similar position behind where the two bullets had shot through the floor. Gracefully, she got back to her feet. She took several slow steps toward the man. He lifted the gun and pulled the trigger again; this time, he only got clicks.

"You're out, Numb-scull." she said with disgust.

"Well," Pop responded with a smile. "I'll have to break your neck with my bare hands then."

With that, Pop lunged at her; he towered over her and she couldn't hope to match his strength. As he charged, she stepped gracefully and quickly to the side, using a sharp knee to his thigh to collapse his leg. As he fell beside her path, she grabbed a hold of his long beard. When his massive frame hit the ground, he howled from the stress she'd put on his neck by holding his beard. Powerfully, she reached back and punched him square in the forehead. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

A man was coming for her immediately to her right. She turned and delivered two solid punches to his gut. When he doubled over from the pain, she grabbed his hair and smashed his head hard against her knee. He roared in agony as blood sputtered from his nose and mouth. He reeled back, his arms spread wide. Ingrid planted her foot and spun into the air, her high-heeled boot collided with his head in a roundhouse kick.

Several men near the doorway beat a quick retreat, but a tall man several feet away came in for the attack. Ingrid delivered to his chest the most effortless looking and devastating kick any of them had likely ever seen. He flew back against the wall with the crunch of his ribs. She could hear the air leave his body. Uproar was one of the most deadly martial arts forms in the galaxy, but none of these men would die today besides Little Rick and the fool she'd shot in the head.

Next to her, a man threw a right punch and she dodged left, using her fist to punch the fingers on his right hand, breaking them. He through a left punch, lazily because of the pain, and she dodged the opposite way. This time though, she leaned into his body, grabbing him by the upper arm and shoulder and using the momentum from his punch to launch him over her body and onto the floor with a loud smack. Like an animal, she descended on him, clamping her legs around him and beating his face so brutally with her fists that all the other men stopped their violent approaches and looked on in horror.

When she was done with him, she stood, feeling the familiar ache of her knuckles and the wet sticky feelings of blood between her fingers. Several men stood around staring at her and giving her a wide berth. She stepped toward them and they immediately stepped back. This made her smile. She hand't made anyone do that in years. She reached down, wiping her hands off on the shirt of one of the men she'd put down. She then grabbed her own leather jacket and pulled it on again.

"When Pop wakes up from his nap, tell him that May will come again personally next month for the money because she had so much fun." she said. "If you don't have it, we can do this again....if I feel generous."

"If not," she continued. "Let's just say there won't be any third chances..."

With that, she pushed past the men, smiling brightly and emerging back into the now abandoned bar. She exited the doors and walked to her motorcycle. She noticed the three men who'd been standing outside when she first got there were gone. No surprise there. she thought to herself as she got back onto her black bike and started it up.

After she turned around, Ingrid pulled back out onto the open road in the pitch black of night, her engine echoing in the distance.


A Mission Post By:

Lieutenant Ingrid Hollister
Chief Flight Control Officer, USS Fearless

 

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