And then she approached. Casually. No armor. No threat in her posture—which meant only one thing: the threat was real.
Shiori.
The same bounty hunter they had once met while chasing Feather.
She looked like she had stepped not into a sweating war pit full of two hundred armed degenerates,
but into a cherry blossom festival.
Long dark hair, tied in a neat bun, decorated with red and gold pins.
A massive assault rifle rested in her hand like it was nothing more than an umbrella.
In the other—a small pink flower.
She leaned toward it gently,
as if that flower were the only filter capable of protecting her soul
from the smell radiating off two hundred sweating mercenaries.
She wore a short top that revealed arms of almost barbaric strength.
Over it—a kimono-style coat lined with kevlar.
Magazines and grenades at her waist.
Behind her—a katana, gleaming like it had just been polished by angels of death.
She moved without a sound.
Like wind.
Like calm, born from discipline.
Zeros turned his head two degrees.
Blindy—about thirty.
Which, in his condition, was dangerous.
Shiori smiled at both of them—
the kind of smile worn by someone who had already calculated the situation ten moves ahead
and decided no one here was a threat.
“Hisashiburi, gentlemen,” she said softly. “It’s been a while.”
Blindy tried to look up at her…
and almost collapsed on the spot.
“Oh—fuck… that’s… uh…
that’s a talkin’……nah—hold up—
that’s a talkin’ head with—
with some serious……HUGE…
…HUGE POWER—”
Shiori paused briefly, studying them.
“You were respectful.
You did not interfere. That suggests a sense of honor.
And that is rare.
Humans and non-humans alike cut throats for money.”
Blindy straightened instantly, like someone had pulled invisible strings inside him.
Shiori stood over him like a living Sakura-terminator and gave a small nod.
“I respect you.
And that means I owe you.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“You may take my job.
And… I see you do not have a spacecraft.I can give you a ride to the location. What do you say, gentlemen?”
Blindy nodded way too fast.
“Uh—yeah—yeah, no problem, colleague—
I mean—yeah, we good—
we can do jobs, we do jobs all the time—
like… professionally…”
Shiori smiled:
“I’ll be waiting at the spaceport.
Hangar Hachi.”
She turned and walked away—
and the crowd swallowed her like she had never been there.
Blindy came back to life.
Fully.
Zeros stepped forward, but Blindy grabbed his shoulder.
“B-b-buddy—
my… my heart’s racin’ like I just outran death…”
Zeros nodded.
“Let me guess.
You’re still in shock from her muscles?”
Blindy swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times.
“…Man…
I ain’t in shock—
I’m in… whatever comes AFTER shock…”
Zeros added:
“She’s stronger than you.
I’d give her about thirteen seconds
to beat the shit out of you.”
Blindy exhaled, surrendering to reality:
“…Nah…
Nah, I’m already defeated.
I’d surrender immediately.Like—no resistance.
That’s… that’s love, man.”
Zeros snorted.
Blindy took a breath, visibly shaken by his own thoughts:
“Listen…
If I had a woman like that in my life—
I wouldn’t even NEED you no more…”
He gestured vaguely, trying to explain something his brain couldn’t fully process:
“She’d—like—keep me alive…
You get it?
Like—someone like that next to me—
I ain’t dyin’. Ever.That’s the kinda partner I need, man…”
Zeros nodded, calm, almost philosophical:
“Yeah.
You definitely need a partner like that in your life…”
He paused.
A very theatrical pause.
The kind where even the air already knew what was coming.
“But YOU—
she doesn’t need at all.”
Blindy went silent.
Completely.
Even the alcohol fumes seemed to freeze in place.
Zeros slapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s enough whining. Let’s go work, idiot.”
They headed toward the spaceport.
As they passed the hangar
where Z-P-N-E-S used to be parked,
Blindy barely managed not to fall into depression on the spot.
He slowed down…
just a little.
He stared at the wreckage, eyes soft for once:
“She really…
she really gave up on me, huh…”
He sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve.
“…Good ship…
stupid… but good…”
He shook his head hard, like resetting himself:
“Aight—nah—no, we movin’ on.
We got rides now.
Better rides.
Way better rides…”
He glanced ahead, already recovering:
“…preferably ones that don’t explode.”
It was complete chaos:
the hangar was fully destroyed,
debris still being cleared,
servo-machines and the Helari—small, stocky creatures barely knee-high to a human, the kind of engineers and technicians found in almost every spaceport—
trying to reassemble the hull
as if expecting it to magically fix itself out of love.
The ship had split into several massive pieces,
and the fact that Blindy was still alive—
was a miracle.
…or, to call things by their proper name:
blatant plot armor, written in by a talentless author.
And the bastard even left us a note here, trying to justify it:
“Zeros allegedly activated a quantum protective bubble, which compressed space-time
and kept Blindy unharmed
while everything else turned into cosmic mush.”
As I said—
absolute, universal, embarrassing bullshit,
invented by the author to cover up his own narrative screw-up.
Zeros pointed ahead.
“Let’s go.”
They moved on—toward Hangar Eight.