Devil’s in the Details

by RazorsKiss

He was older now. Aeons older. Drowned in gore, drenched with the sweat of hundreds, a killer now. Not only in name, but in spirit. This was not what he expected. “It’s only a part time job”, Reamer said. He was wrong. The Devil’s Fist consumed your soul.

He had it made. Millions in his hand, for any want he could desire. Respect, Fame, Infamy, Immortality in the minds of millions. He was a god.
In some eyes.
He was a demon. The one you fear when gazing at the inky blackness you call home. The Void. The great vacuum surrounding us all, in which we dance, pirouette, and twinkle like a firefly with our multicolored displays of high-powered weaponry. It was a beautiful show – a sight to behold.
To one who knows.
To one who deals death by the scores, obliterates the young pilots of Enhanced Breed, New Breed, Whatever breed, Whatever alliance…. it’s nothing but a blur. A smeared, stinking, searing, sordid blur. Of Death. Not your run of the mill death. A death for no other reason but that of your pocketbook, and of your professional “honor”.
To a pilot.
It is an adrenaline rush. The scintillating dance whereby we extinguish the light of hope behind that other transparisteel cockpit. The exhilarating thrill of crushing beneath your heel any who dare to merely insult your client. No mercy. Annihilation, retribution, proof of the “contract”, and another life, gone as if it never existed. It was just an explosion. Those whose terrified faces weren’t mere meters from your own, frozen in fear, yet courageously battling from within their own technological wonder, struggling to keep their life their own in a life or death “entanglement”.
To a casual observer.
The Black Death. A sable avenger, come to right a perceived wrong. Are they after you? You hope not. In the vast majority of instances, that ship, cloaked in the night that spawned it, is merely your death knell. That is the way of the Fist. No prisoners, no mercy (unless unequivocally stated in the contract request, of course). The Pale Rider on a Dark Horse, come to steal your soul. Vengeance is mine, saith – the customer.
To the Customers
The consummate professionals. No complaints about our work. They ask it, they pay for it, the target is dead. No questions asked beyond the usual first investigative inquiries. To hire the Devil’s Fist is to ally yourself with the Devil. The devil, however, is more forgiving. To slight the Devil’s Fist is to become a target. Being a Customer, they know what it is to bring their ire.

Today.
Was a day like any other. Clan business to attend to, paperwork, training sims, a mock battle at 2, and strategy sessions at 5. Nothing too heavy. He checked the comms.

All too familiar.

Another contract.

Another flight.

Another Life.

Another Death.

How I wish it was my own, this time.