The two raced through the abandoned city, flitting through the urban jungle of pipes, concrete, and barriers.
"Hey," Rhiem said, vaulting over a six-foot high fence. "What does the Northern Cross do, anyways?"
"Hm," The Merchant paused for a second, before kicking down a door. "The Northern Cross is really just a knife."
"'just a knife'?"
"Physically, yeah. But what it also is, is a marker."
"A marker?"
"For an air strike."
Rhiem stopped, on the lip of an empty swimming pool.
"An air strike from what?"
The Merchant looked up to the sky.
"There's something up there... a long time ago, in the last great war, Rubina put an weapon far up in the sky." The Merchant dropped his gaze. "A perpetually floating, aerial gun platform. No one ever knows exactly where it is... and that is exactly what Rubina wanted it to be."
"But then..."
"Then the former capital of Erubinassel was razed... the controls to the aerial gun platform was lost."
The Merchant looked at Rhiem through his bandages.
"During our development, we managed to create a radio marker that was powerful enough to contact the aerial gun platform again, no matter where the thing might be. That is what the Northern Cross is."
"It's a contact to that aerial platform."
"Right. But first we had to solve the problem of the damned thing being destroyed if it was ever used. It is a strike marker, and will be at the center of the strike. So we made it indestructible. And because it's indestructible, it's reusable. "
"An indestructible reusable strike marker... disguised as a knife."
Rhiem gazed up at the sky, too.
"So where is it?"
"What, the gun platform?"
"Northern Cross."
The Merchant glanced at Rhiem.
"Under my pillow, at the Shylock."
"Under your pillow."
"Yeah."
Rhiem chuckled for a second, before during to the Merchant.
"You kept an aerial strike marker underneath your pillow every night?"
"Not the best idea, now that I think of it."
"So..."
"Hm?"
"Does this gun platform have a name?"
"..." The Merchant glanced down for a second.
"Amatsumagatsuchi. It's designer named him. The weapons genius, Kravotsky Sayama."
The gang symbols sprayed on the surronding buildings alerted them first.
The random shots in the air second.
And the red flags and partying thugs all over the Land Ship Shylock, third.
"Goddamnit..." The Merchant muttered several more oaths. Over two dozen young men were drinking, rubbing call girls, and firing rounds into the air or at spray painted targets into his ship.
Rhiem glanced onto the deck.
The deck was slick with beer, bullet casings, and passionate lovers brought together by a few thousand zeni.
"What...did those jerks do to my ship?"
Rhiem glanced at the huge, red flag fluttering at the top of the Shylock.
"They took it over."
He slowly turned to face the Merchant.
"Northern Cross."
There was one who didn't join the partying. this one sat hooded, drinking by himself on a bench off the side. The couple making out next to him didn't even notice him, but if they looked, they would see the sharp eyes, never blinking, staring into the center of the party.
One of the partiers noticed him. A hooded guy... he had never seen him before. All that comforted him was that this hooded stranger had on a red bandana, but unlike everyone else, he had his wrapped around his arm rather than his head.
The half-drunk guy waved him over.
The hooded stranger hesitated, before walking slowly towards them.
"Hey, hombre. Haven't seen you around before."
"...I'm new."
"No kidding. I've been here for five months, and I only saw your culo here today."
"Hm."
"Oi. Hombre. You lonely? Lemme introduce you to Anya, and Sofia. Say hi, ladies."
Anya, the darker one, gave the stranger a winning smile, while Sofia stayed silent, clinging to the partier's arm.
The stranger motioned to the center.
"Who's that guy? The one in the center, around all the girls?"
The Partier's eyes grew wide.
"Ay Dios mio. You are new. That's Bulldog. he's our comandante, our...our leader."
The stranger regarded the leader, Bulldog. He was dark, but he had also shaved his head, apparently recently, that exposed a pale-skinned scalp. Seemed he was actually white. The leader looked to be about in his mid-twenties, but was sporting a belly that did not happen on twenty-year olds. More like thirty, or forty. The face was scrunched up and floppy, really like a bulldog, except for the eyes, which were beady.
The crude man laughed, arms around two girls, at a joke he had just told. It took a second, but everyone started laughed with him. Bulldog whispered something in the girl to his left's ear. The girl smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes.
The stranger turned back to the partier.
"You put up with him?"
The guy shrugged.
"Sure, he's not El Che. But he pays well."
"Hm. How'd he become comandante?"
The Partier frowned.
"Well... you're leader if you beat our first leader. Back then it was Maxio that was leader. But then Bulldog challenged him. He was just our scavenger back then. So the two went down to the docks to duel alone."
"No one knows what happened to Maxio. We just came back the next day, and Maxio was missing. Bulldog was sitting on Maxio's favorite motorcycle, smoking his cigar, and told us to go get him a beer. He was our comandante after that."
The Stranger nodded, and then took off in Bulldog's direction.
"Hey! Amigo. Where you headed?"
The stranger turned to the guy. And laughed.
"To become Comandante."
The guy was so shocked, he didn't even notice Sofia taking his watch.
Rhiem stood in the middle of Bulldog's ring of friends. Pushing his way through the throng, he called out,
"You Bulldog?"
The guy took a second to lock onto Rhiem in his crowd. In all fairness, he was drunk.
The Bulldog smiled. He spread his arms.
"Hey, amigo."
Several of his friends cringed at his fake, bad accent.
"Como esta? How can I help you?
Rheim raised his gun. At this, Bulldog squawked with alarm, and groped for his handgun.
"Give up Northern Cross. Andale, if you know what that means"
"...you're telling me... to go for a swim?"
Rhiem sighed.
"I challenge for the position for Comandante."
The Bulldog sneered.
"Now you're speaking my language, amigo"
Half the people listening to this rolled their eyes. His language was English.