Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

nervous or insecure. Some of the gang members looked to be genewarped, or at least genechanged, from hiring out their bodies to unscrupulous body doctors, who always had a need for guinea pigs for their new experiments and processes. Misshapen faces and bodies were the marks of the lucky ones. They'd survived. Some had clawed hands and pointed teeth, others had
    the twitchy sudden movements that suggested hyped-up adrenal glands. They'd all have their hidden little secrets, but Valentine was reasonably sure they had no tech augmentations. They couldn't afford to buy or replace the energy crystals that powered them. They were all armed, most with swords, some with knives or machetes or lengths of spiked chain.
    Valentine smiled at them dazzlingly, just to keep them off balance while his thoughts raged furiously. The Demons were well out of gang territory this close to the Arena. By rights, they shouldn't have been here at all. The local guards should have seen them on their way the moment they showed their blue faces.
    Someone must have spread a lot of money around to buy a blind eye to their presence, even for a short while. Someone wanted this meeting very badly, but didn't want to be identified as the instigator. Using street toughs was about as anonymous as you could get. They'd do practically anything for money and didn't give a damn where it came from. Now that his eyes had completely adjusted to the change in light, Valentine could tell from the Demons' flushed faces and overbright eyes that they'd been primed with something extra. Cheap knock-off battle drugs, probably.
    He chuckled appreciatively. At least his enemy was taking him seriously. Real battle drugs were hard to come by outside the military, but Valentine had a supplier, as he had for most things. However, the number of people who knew that were very small. The identity of his enemy was becoming clearer by the minute.
    He concentrated in a certain way and breathed deeply as a catalyst set off the battle drug lying quiescent in his system. Blood surged through his veins like boiling water. The world seemed to slow down a little as his reflexes speeded up. He chuckled softly and nodded to the Demons.

    "Time to get this show on the road, gentlemen. Why don't you release poor Georgios and let him leave so that we can be about our business?"
    The gang members elbowed each other and sniggered. From the chocolate and cream around their mouths, they'd obviously been gorging themselves on Georgios'
    creations, and Valentine winced. The confections had undoubtedly been wasted on them. The gang members were quite incapable of appreciating the subtleties.
    "Poor Georgios isn't going anywhere," said the tough with the scarlet headband that marked him as gang leader. "Our orders are no witnesses."
    "And who gave you your orders?" said Valentine politely.
    The leader smiled mockingly. "You don't need to know that. What matters is the message I have for you. Well, not so much a message; more a warning. Word is, you've made a nuisance of yourself once too often, and our employers hired us to make sure it doesn't happen again."
    "Oh dear," said Valentine easily. "Another death threat. How terribly dull."
    "We're not going to kill you," said the leader, still grinning. "We're not dumb enough to take a job like that. Kill an aristo, and every guard in the city would be after us. No, we're just going to break both your legs, both your arms, do a bit of a dance on your ribs, and then walk away and leave you. Our employers want you hurt and humiliated, and we're only too happy to oblige.
    Especially for the money they're paying."
    "Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it," said Valentine.
    The gang members laughed and sniggered again, but the gang leader's smile disappeared. "It isn't just the money. It's a chance to get back at an aristo.
    You've got everything we ever wanted, and you're still not satisfied. You come slumming down here where we have to live, and laugh at our quaint and picturesque lives. You smash up our bars, trash our women, and make us scramble
    for the crumbs you drop. We're being paid a hell of a lot to crush you, Wolfie, but we'd have done it for nothing. We hate you, aristo. You and all your kind."
    "We don't hate you," said Valentine. "We don't notice you, any more than we notice any of the other rubbish that floats past in the gutters."
    The Demons stopped laughing, and the tension in the air was suddenly sharp and imminent. Light glinted