[center][h1]The Knife Game [/h1][/center]

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[hider=The Knife Game][youtube]https://youtu.be/_t2bnp8aoXw[/youtube][/hider]

Cal stood in the open doorway of the club Banebdjedet, his hat in his hand. The setting suns cast rays of light around his shoulders onto the floor inside, but beyond that, the darkness swallowed his vision. A few steps in and his eyes began to adjust to the sight of overturned tables, chairs, and supplies from which he surmised he was too late. His jaw tightened as his hand tapped his hat against his thigh.

Turning to leave, his face met the business end of broken-off, brass railing. Cal, reeling into a flipped table, steadied himself in time to see his attacker was just one of two assailants, the larger of which wore some sort of a machete in a sheathe strapped to his leg. That man lazily closed in on Strand, swinging his improvized club at the air in preparation. Cal unhinged his jaw, a finger feeling for the loose tooth that made his mouth well up with blood. Rising, he expectorated and raised his guard.

The railing fell at an downward angle--Cal caught it with his left and jabbed with his right, hitting the man in the nose. As the first one reeled from Cal's blow, his counterpart filled the gap, swinging a table leg. Strand dodged, the leg grazing his shoulder, and turned, jamming his elbow into the man's back, sending the smaller one sprawling. His back was turned to the big one, who caught him around the shoulders in a vice grip. 

Thus disarmed, the small one clicked his tongue before closing the distance with a swift fist to Strand's jaw.

Cal, never having learned when to leave well enough alone, spat a stream of blood into the man's eyes, and stomped with all his might on the big one's instep. In a deft movement, Cal ripped the machete from its scabbard on the man's leg and it sung through the air in a semi-circle. On the ground beside him fell a man's right hand, clutched in anger.

The small one reeled toward Strand, table leg raised, only to stop short as a shot rang out--his body slumping to the floor. Behind him, the man without a hand writhed to the ground, whimpering. Cal, who thought himself mighty merciful, shot the second without looking down. 

Rubbing his bloody lip on his sleeve, Cal holstered his pistol. As he stooped to pick up his hat, the Captain raised the China Doll with his com, "Yuri, come in."

A smooth voice modulated back to the Captain's brusque one, "It's just me Cal-"

"Change of plan. I need the Doll in the BZ, pronto."

"I'll relay the message, but everyone's tied up right now," the AI replied cooly.

"Well, tell them to get their pi gui's in gear and get over here!"

"The Alliance officers currently on board the ship have discovered the Anabaptists in the hold," her matter-of-fact tone rubbed him all wrong.

"That's not good."

"Don't fret," he could almost hear the smile in her voice, "it looks like you may owe Quill a favor, Captain."

"Darlin', right now? I'll take any and all favors, with bells on."

"With bells, hmm? I'll be sure to let her know," her tone cusped on teasing.

"You do that. Now bring me my ship."