#quietfoot

“Where the..?”

Clay blinked open his eyes at the whisper, tried to move his hands to his throbbing head, and realized he was tied up. Yup, if he wasn’t awake before, he was definitely awake now. And, apparently, sitting on the deck of his ship, tied up against the mast, with nothing but the wide expanse of Junpai’s ocean surrounding it.

Well, damn. That wasn’t good.

He pulled against the binds, but they didn’t give- weren’t even in a position to grab so he could untie them. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

“The hell’s going on?” He snapped at the disembodied muttering, shaking his head to get the exhaustion out. He’d been drugged, and he always hated that. “Domino, you there?”

The same whirring as earlier returned and Clay finally got to see the source- a small drone hovered before him, chirping merrily and spinning in circles.

“Zoomer? Oh! He’s up!”

A figure moved into view and Clay blinked, because he recognized him. The stranger from the bar a week ago. He was still around?

“Hello again! So sorry about this, didn’t think you’d be the one I had to target. But, hey, remember, I promised- no killing!” He showed his hands, free of any weapon, and grinned.

“What the hell, man, I bought you a drink. Where’s Domino?”

“Domino? Oh, the one on the dock? He’s still there, I think. I took us out to sea so the other two couldn’t come back yet. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone soon!”

“What are you here for? It part of that contract?” Clay had a pretty good idea. The one thing every spot of trouble they’d encountered lately was after.

Zane nodded, opening the lid on a crate next to the cabin door and poking around inside. “Yeah, yeah. From a one Cutlord Karuu. Sure you’ve heard of her.”

Clay groaned, leaning his head back against the mast. “Yeah. Pirate queen. She’s been keeping an eye on our ring for ages. Whatever she wants, we don’t have it.” He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to look at what it could be.

Quietfoot was perched up on the sails, crouched and following the man below. He held up the alien compass they were supposed to be dropping off in Mariejois and put a finger to his lips.

Clay returned his sight back to the intruder. “So, what are you looking for?”

Zane sighed. “Ah, you know, a small, little, bobbly alien thing. Points north. What’s the word?” He paused in his searching, putting the lid on the crate down and leaning on it. “Actually, it doesn’t point north. Supposed to point to a Vault Key. You know, one of those things everyone’s losing their minds over these days? I don’t get it. But the actual ones point north.”

The hitman frowned and scowled at the drone as it bobbed around the ship, mouthing something to himself.

Clay watched, confused and slightly worried he had noticed Quietfoot above them.

“COMPASS!”

Clay jumped and whispered a quiet curse. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry. Remembered-”

Thump.

The two stopped and looked over to see what the noise was. The Eridian compass was spiraling in a small circle, and the two watched it fall without saying a thing.

“… Huh,” Zane finally managed, and looked up at the sky. “Didn’t think I had that pow-”

Quietfoot landed on top of him, sending him to the floor, and snatched the compass back, stashing it in his digistruct pack.

“Holy-! Where did you come from?” Zane asked after he got his breath back, pushing himself up off the deck with a cough.

Quietfoot had already pulled out his shotgun, and he fired it in response.

Zane’s shield took the brunt of it, a few pellets hitting the wall behind him, and he smirked despite the breath being taken away from him again. “You don’t talk much? That’s fine, I can cover for both of us!”

He tossed out a small disc that landed at Clay’s feet, which then projected another, flashier shield.

“What the hell?” Clay demanded, struggling to get out of his binds in order to help his partner.

“Get it?” Said Zane, hands on his knees as he laughed. “’Cover’? Ah, you guys are a tough crowd.”

Quietfoot pulled the trigger again and the barrier absorbed the blast, burning pellets falling around Clay. He felt lucky he was wearing his leathers today.

Zane grabbed the barrier from midair with a button press and bolted towards the rogue, bashing him with it while the man reloaded. He dropped his shotgun and Zane kicked it away, letting it bounce off the railing of the ship and skid across the deck.

“Come on, just give it up! Don’t make me hurt you!” He got a look at the man’s bloodied nose as Quietfoot steadied himself. “Uh, more. Don’t make me hurt you more! … So sorry about that- you seem like a cool fella.”

Clay glanced down at the electronic disc at his feet, then the flashy light shield, and had an idea. He lifted up his left boot and smashed it down on the thing, watching the sparks fly. The barrier Zane held fizzled out of existence for a split second. The hitman seemed surprised, turning his head to see what was going on with his tech.

“I- hey, I just got that fixed! Quit it!”

Clay grinned. He did it again, just as Quietfoot reared back for a sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The barrier vanished moments before his fist reached Zane’s face. He staggered back from the blow, blinking rapidly and touching the blood now dripping from his split lip. “Ow! What was that for? I’m trying not to kill you!”

Quietfoot lunged for his shotgun while Zane was distracted, finishing the reload from his crouched position on the deck.

“Shite,” Zane muttered when he finally looked up, as his barrier still hadn’t returned after Clay reacquainted his foot with the projector. He pulled out another device and pressed the button on its side, and then there were two of him standing side-by-side.

Clay blinked.

Quietfoot blinked.

One of the Zanes grinned and the other one waved.

“What the…” Clay managed. “How many tricks do you have?”

“Enough,” said one, and Quietfoot pulled the trigger on him.

The deck behind him gained a nice fourteen hole pattern, with splinters to boot.

“You know,” said the other, “we don’t have to do it like this. You can just give me the compass and we’ll all go on our merry ways! I’ll even untie you, Clay,” he said, turning his head to grin at him.

Quietfoot whirled around, pointing the barrel of his gun at the talking one and keeping an eye on the other, who was studying him, just in case.

The other opened their mouth to speak and Quietfoot took no chances, quickly firing off his gun. That one stumbled back, shield audibly breaking from the hit. “… Ow!” He wheezed, doubled over from the blow to his stomach. “That’s gonna bruise tomorrow.”

Quietfoot had reloaded while Zane was lamenting over his new injury, and lifted his gun to shoot once more. The hitman looked up and suddenly- instantly- he was standing straight, glaring at the other man.

No, Clay realized. That was the clone- the dude could switch places with it. Oh, now, that was just unfair. And also explained a lot.

“That’s the double!” He warned Quietfoot, who nodded, quickly removing his finger from the trigger, and turned to face the real one. But the original was gone, having dashed off somewhere while his attacker was distracted.

“So,” came a whisper from next to Clay, taking cover behind the mast from Quietfoot’s shotgun. “What do you see in this guy? I mean, not to be rude, but he’s not very hospitable, is he? Or did I do somethin’? ‘Cause, honest, no hard feelings here- just work.”

Clay’s head whipped around to see Zane standing with his back against the mast, peering out from behind it. “What in the- how did you-? Damn it, man, if you’re going to scare me, at least let me fight back first!”

“Oh,” he sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. “No can do. I’m trying to not kill you guys, remember?” He snapped his fingers and his drone buzzed down from its place above them, settling on his shoulder with a small wiggle. “You can play dead, though! It’s like a game!”

Quietfoot had advanced on them while they were talking and Zane grinned at Clay when the man rounded the mast. “Gotta go!”

“Quit running!” Clay yelled, struggling against his binds and kicking his feet as Zane darted out onto the deck again.

“Hell no! He’s got a gun!” The Hitman laughed.

Quietfoot sighed and re-rounded the mast, entirely done with the intruder and stopping first to assess Clay’s whole situation. At the moment, Zane was no threat, just a nuisance.

“You want help?” He asked.

“Holy shite,” Zane said, popping up next to them. “He can talk? For real?”

Quietfoot shot him, but it didn’t do much since the man simply teleported away and popped back up behind him seconds later, leaning over his shoulder.

“Wow! I can’t believe you can actually talk,” Zane rambled with a grin as Quietfoot undid Clay’s binds. “Do you just not like to, or is it something I said? Because I was asking Clay earlier if it was something I said and I’m just not sure. This whole thing we’ve got going on right now is only work, you get that, right? When I’m done with my contract, we should all get a drink together. You all seem like a pretty cool group of fellas. Like your friend, Domino! I remembered. Haven’t met the other two, but they seem neat. I like your shapeshifter- I know what that’s like. Must be cool to do it on command.” He paused momentarily, brain seeming to catch up with his mouth as he blinked. “Uh, I know what the tricking people’s like. Not the- not the other thing. So, what do you say?”

Clay pulled his hands loose and rubbed his wrists with a quiet mutter of thanks, then pulled his pistol from his digistruct pack as he stood. Quietfoot readied his shotgun and the two turned to face Zane, who looked particularly dumbfounded.

“Is that a ‘no’ to the drinks?”

“Listen, man,” Clay said, pulling the hammer down on his pistol and pointing it at him as he backed up towards the railing. “You’ve got three seconds to sit down and shut up, or else things are going to get really, really bad for you. I like your style, don’t get me wrong,” he admitted, “but nobody messes with my crew. And, here’s the thing: I think I don’t want to see your brains lying on my deck, so sit the hell down while we get this ship back to port.”

“Alright,” Zane said, raising his hands above his head with a grin. He held his clone’s device in one hand, and his silver digistruct pack in the other. “You got me.”

Clay glanced down at the man’s hip, because he could have sworn his digistruct pack was black.

… It was.

That wasn’t his.

Quietfoot cursed from beside him and began reloading his shotgun, pack blatantly missing from his belt. Clay understood, then, why the man didn’t stop Quietfoot from untying him and instead decided to talk nonsense. He went to take the shot for his partner, but the stupid drone flew over and latched onto his arm, throwing off his aim.

“Kidding. I was kidding!” Zane tossed his digiclone device into his own pack and saluted them with two fingers and a grin, hopping backwards onto the railing and balancing there for a moment. “This was fun! Seriously, let’s get together later!”

“What the hell are you doing? Get off that!” Clay yelled, still struggling to get the robot off of him. “Don’t be an idiot!”

Going overboard on Junpai-7 was a death sentence- everybody who lived and worked here knew that. But the hitman? He was just some stranger from Pandora. He’d have no idea the consequences. And Clay did, admittedly, have a soft spot for the guy, despite his thievery and overly talkative personality; he wanted to make him pay a little, maybe even recruit him into the rogues when all was said and done, not watch him get brutally ripped apart by sea kings and flash whirlpools.

But Zane didn’t seem to care about what Clay said. He looked him in the eye, did a dramatic, sweeping bow, and dropped backwards with a grin and a whistle.

The bot relinquished its death grip on Clay’s arm and flung itself over the railing of their ship with reckless abandon. The clone, too, vanished after a second, as did the broken barrier disc lying forgotten on the deck beside a smattering of bullet holes.

The two rogues were left staring at the place the man was standing, until Clay broke their stupor by rushing to the railing and leaning over.

There was nothing in the black waves.

Clay had half expected them to be pink with blood, or at least see the hitman struggling to stay afloat in the brutal current, but it was like he had vanished into thin air. What, was this another one of his tricks?

“Stay alert,” Clay told Quietfoot, who nodded. “Don’t know where he went.”

“That’s just great. He better not still be on the ship- I’ll blow his damn head open. Now we’re out twenty mil and all my guns. Sorry, Clay, I should’ve untied you sooner. Might’ve been able to get the bastard at the start if we were both up and at ‘em.”

Clay shook his head. “He was a real crafty son of a bitch, don’t feel bad. ‘Sides, one of those Vault Hunting bastards was bound to be strong enough to get what they wanted eventually.” He sighed, putting his pistol away. “Domino was right, it’s probably for the best we don’t get involved in all this alien stuff. Maybe twenty mil is a small price to pay to learn that.”