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Author's Chapter Notes:
like a boss
“What is it now?” Striker demanded. Clearly trying to sound exasperated, yet somehow coming off sounding nervous instead, despite having the people who sank her ship right where she wanted them.

“Several of our crew! The ones that stayed with the cargo!” Mousy blurted. “They’ve all been killed!”

“What the hell is the meaning of this!?” Striker demanded, turning on Mercer.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about!” Mercer retorted, bristling with indignation. “Last I heard, we already secured the cargo holds…”

“We left our sisters in your care after they got left behind back in Alta,” Striker reminded him.

“They got left behind,” Mercer muttered, “because you just had to go after that ship, and business be damned.”

“That was business,” Striker informed him, gesturing to her nearest prisoners, “just as this is. They were Pactra, Mercer, do you know what that means for you right now?”

By now, all of Striker’s crew and Mercer’s were pointing weapons at each other in open distrust.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Mercer pointed out. Though his own crew was almost equal in number to her boarding party, he still didn’t trust those odds with them already onboard, let alone having reinforcements back on their ship. “That Max guy is still on the loose.”

“And taking care of the brat’s companions was on your end of the bargain,” was Striker’s curt reply.

Just when it looked as if the tension in the room couldn’t stretch any tighter, one of Mercer’s men came rushing in with his own frantic announcement

“Captain!” he reported, “There’s a problem! A couple of our men were found tied… up…”

He trailed off as he finally noticed the situation he just blundered into.

“Well now,” Mercer quipped, “I would dare say this means we both have a common enemy, Striker.”

“Max?…” Justin wondered aloud, blinking as if at the realization he had even spoken.

“Maybe…” Shades speculated, “but Max ain’t in the habit of just killing people…”

“Maybe they didn’t give him a choice?” Almost as soon as Maximilian finished speaking, he looked like he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth at all.

“Perhaps,” Striker cautioned. “If it is him, then you might get off only paying blood price, as this still happened on your watch.”

“Either way,” Mercer assured her, “he can’t make a move as long as we have his friends.”

“He’s probably right on that account,” Mousy mused, recalling her impression of Max from their last run-in, “but I can’t help wondering if someone else is onboard with us…”

“Like who?” Striker scoffed.

“I heard rumors, back in Alta…” Mousy told them.

“Nonsense,” Mercer agreed. “Who could possibly sneak aboard while we were all standing—”

Perhaps it was because they were both on-edge in the face of an unexpectedly grim end, but Shades and Justin were the only ones to notice the little black balls that rolled into the room, turning away just in time as they lit up the room with blinding strobe flashes.

Even as everyone else flinched, the second wave burst into a cloud of smokescreen. Justin and Shades wasted no time turning and disarming the nearest of their captors while they were blinded. The two of them being the only ones who closed their eyes in time to see anything of what happened next, caught glimpses of fast, agile movements cutting through the pirates’ midst. Flashes and flickers of neon yellow laser blade punctuated by grunts and cries of pain as this vague, fluid shape worked its way through their ranks.

One of the last ones standing regained his sight just in time to see a cleated boot rushing up at his face before he hit the ground.

The broad sweep of a laser staff ending in Striker blocking with her own red double energy blades.

“Oh shit…” Mercer gasped. “It’s her!”

A flutter of cloak, draped to her left in her current fighting stance. Shoulders squared by broad, angular shoulder guards, framing a dark grey military garb of unknown design. Stripped of any insignias, and fortified with bits and pieces of light body armor, including open-fingered gauntlets and knee-high armored boots.

Mid-length blonde hair, and the violet eyes of Cyexian ancestry, that seemed to match all too well with the dervish grin that took everyone else aback as she confronted her prey.

“Problem solved…” the newcomer declared.

Moaning, twitching pirates from both crews sprawled around the deck at her feet.

“The Hunter!” cried Mousy. “So it was true!”

“Quite the catch,” the Hunter remarked. “The Alta Assembly hired me to investigate some shady business dealings, but I never thought they’d lead me to the likes of you. And Mercer. And Sloan, with his confession…”

But Mercer wasn’t having any of it, running for the nearest door.

Only to get knocked staggering right back inside, falling flat on his face.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Max told him sternly as he strode into the room. Turning to their unexpected guest, he told her, “I don’t know who you are, but I thank you for saving my friends.”

“Nor do I know who you are,” the Hunter told him, “but I’m assuming you’re not defenseless. Hostage situations are such a pain in the ass.”

“You’re tellin’ me…” Shades muttered.

“So it is you,” Striker remarked, turning to face Max. “It’s about time you showed yourself, boy.”

The Hunter wasted no time pressing her own attack, forcing Striker to face her again.

“You don’t have time to mess with him,” she informed the pirate captain, “not when you’re dealing with me.”

Much to everyone’s surprise, Mousy jumped in between them, giving Striker an opening to go after Max as she drew her power pistol.

“The Captain’s got a score to settle!” she told the bounty hunter, apparently surprising even herself with her conviction, “So you’ll just have to—”

But her opponent wasted no time, cleaving her gun and sweeping her laser staff back across so fast Mousy could barely dodge the second swing, staggering away.

“You talk too much,” the Hunter told her, turning to see that Striker and the young man were already engaged. As several of Striker’s crew charged into the room, she kicked over a table and ducked behind it as she switched weapons to a compact, sawed-off disrupter rifle concealed under her cloak, a jagged-looking bayonet folded across the top. “Tch…”

Fortunately, Justin and Shades, who had armed themselves in the meantime, also wasted no time upending tables and joining her in returning fire as Maximilian and Sebastian hit the deck.

Max and Striker, meanwhile, picked up where they left off aboard the Brazen.

“I know that symbol, boy,” Striker told him. So much chaos that day, but there was something about that mark on Max’s headband that bothered her from the moment she first laid eyes on it, and it stuck with her long after they parted ways. Now that they stood face to face once again, she could confirm what she merely suspected before that humiliating battle: “It was the same mark worn by the man who stole my predecessor’s sword!”

Max paused in a dangerous moment of recognition. Last time they fought, he was sure he had seen her blade before somewhere before. Now he realized where: her sword looked just like one Angus had in his collection. Nabbed as a ‘trophy’ as he recalled, from some pirate or another, one half of a set. This must be its twin.

“Uncle Angus?…”

“You know him…” Striker’s eyes ablaze. “Where is that bastard!? I want what’s mine.”

“Wouldn’t know.” Max shrugged, surprised at the sound of his own regret. Though not for her sake. “Haven’t seen him in years.”

“Then I’ll settle for your head!” Though Max had at least provided her with a name. Angus. More than her predecessors ever found.

With that, she resumed her attack.

“You’ll pay for what you did to the Brazen!” she snarled, “and you’ll pay for what you did to me! You won’t defeat me this time!”

“I’ve defeated you once,” Max reminded her, ignoring her glare with an effort. Trying not to show the strain in his leg or shoulder, he reminded himself of all the experience he’d gained. Erix. Nikopolas. Ma’Quiver. Danjo. Rawne. Stronger than he used to be. “I can do it again.”

“Don’t get cocky, boy,” she warned, “just because you bested me once.”

Striker quickly discovered, though, that she was in for a rude awakening. Fast becoming apparent that Max’s skills and technique were leagues beyond what he was capable of the last time they crossed swords. Gone were all the gaping openings she could exploit before, tighter than she had ever seen anyone achieve in such a short amount of time.

Gone was her rape face, replaced by one of stern focus as they dueled their way across the ballroom, for it was becoming increasingly obvious who was leading this dance.

“Dammit…” Striker hissed, catching glimpses of the battle turning against her crew, owing as much to this unwelcome guest as Max’s troublesome friends.

“Captain!” Mousy called out, cupping one hand over an earpiece she wore, “There’s trouble back on the ship!”

Striker wasted no time, using that moment of distraction to rush Max, who had paused to hear what her second had to say, and he barely dodged, tripping over a fallen chair and losing his grip on his blade as his elbow banged the floor.

As his weapon rolled out of reach, he rolled over to find Striker standing over him, her blade pointed at him, just like on the Brazen.