Is it weird to feel this good getting out of your mech?

In a world like Bailey’s, probably, but it hadn’t been for a damn while. A fight like that was good, sure. Circe made her feel like some kind of all-powerful goddess, that was true. But as she hopped a few feet down from her open cockpit to the cold, steel floor, stretching with such need that her robotic arms joined her organic ones in the act, she realized it again.

Bailey didn't need Circe to feel alive. Not anymore, at least. Not since she'd gotten so good at her job that competition was a years long memory. A nostalgic trip of fuzzy warmth before returning to the reality of it all. It was the price of perfection. A price she paid with interest, every simple battle.

Maybe she needed a challenge. Perhaps that rebel contract had become an even tastier prospect, as she left Circe in the capable hands of Chalybe City's finest contract engineers, the idea of finding the fight thrilling enough to turn Circe from beloved tool to her second self once more filled her brain like heavy cream. The exploitable toys occupying a base of hopeless resistance was perhaps more appealing, but Circe was lingering in her mind…

Maybe that was just what she needed. Though, at the moment, more than anything, she needed a drink after a fine day's work. That’d clear her head. She was weird like that.

After putting Circe through the cursory imperial scans and leaving her mech to the skilled engineering gals of that corporate owned hangar, Bailey was almost free to roam her favorite spot in the galaxy.

Almost free.

What’s this? This was new. A small imperial checkpoint right after the exit to the city's relatively small hangar bay. Bailey already wasn't big on leaving her toys in imperial-adjacent hands, no level of skill nor the humble, metallic reception desk to walk past on the way out could solve a distrust of authority. Working for bootlicking corps could never wipe that away for her entirely.

Besides her own personal distaste, imperial control ramping up was never good for a city, either. Tighter laws. Stronger enforcement. Slowly but surely it drained the life out of any good red-light district.

Rules. Restrictions. Utter fucking boredom. The rebels were foolish idealists, but at least they knew how to let a girl have some damn fun in their hopeless war. Clothes optional.

"Stop, pilot!" Bailey heard the bossy, repetitive tone of an imperial troop as she strutted her way to a meager checkpoint. It had the hallmarks of early Arcadium power exertion. A fence one could easily climb over, a minimal amount of tech, a lone armed guard in heavy, black armor, and a girl standing by the simple fenced gate. Small. Meek. If tiny kitty cats were the best Arcadium could do for border guards, then maybe that war wasn’t hopeless after all. Even if this was typically just a start.

"You two are new! Think I'd recognize a pretty face like yours. Even in that... tiny uniform~." Bailey hid her contempt for the short, young, white-haired woman the only way she knew how, with a trail of her tongue around her soft lips and a backhanded flirt. Toying with Arcadium, even in their lowest ranks, was a dangerous game... but Bailey could get away with just about anything. This girl, exuding pathetic, rookie-fascist energy from the get-go? Worthless compared to her. "Looking for ID, I assume?" Bailey followed that flirt up with a question in a drier tone. Neither the runt nor the guard intimidated her.

In this world, she was top of the food chain. Mercs occupied a nice, comfortable space for United Arcadium. Sure, she did her rebel gigs, if a client has cash she was interested, but corporate contributions gave her leeway. It gave her power, bolstered by Bailey being a terrifying prospect to kill, even for an empire. She could do fucking anything, her cocky demeanor and showy posture was bathed in that fact.

"M-Mhm! Yes, ma'am... I mean... watch your t-tone, pilot!" The meek reply from the girl and the glance towards them from the nearby guard only made that superiority clearer. That dire attempt at a save at the end couldn't repair the permanent reputational damage. Maybe it was the flirt, or the tone, or the half zipped up gray combat suit giving the imperial mutt a peek at the kind of bust she could never have.

Bailey didn't know. Didn't care either. She rooted through the black satchel on her left thigh for a few seconds before pulling out a laminate card with her details on it. "Mercenary Guild card should be plenty, yes?" She didn't feel the need to hand it to the watch girl, a simple look at the card said plenty.

"R-Right. All checks out. In you go, ma’am… um… I mean… Ms. C-Cluanaire... Heh..." The quiver in this rookie's voice was music to Bailey's ears, the slow metallic clanks of the gate opening simply adding an industrial backing track to that sweet symphony of superiority. Few respected a merc. None idolized them. When you're the cream of the crop, though? Fear came naturally, and that almost got Bailey off as much.

The merc strolled by the imperial runt as she popped her ID back in her satchel, leaning subtly towards her to give one teensy addition to the growing sense of fear, confusion and shuddering arousal she saw. "Good girl~." It was seductive, but it wasn't for the girl. It was for herself. An assertion of status.

A confirmation of dominance.

Bailey didn't even wait to see the reaction, she didn't care. She knew she’d won without seeing the blushing, sweaty face the troop couldn’t hide. Hopefully, she'd never see the whimpering little imperial ever again. Perhaps she’d be berated and shot on the spot by a superior. That’d be nice, but Bailey didn’t think of it beyond that passing ponder. She simply walked until she'd already begun forgetting, whistling to herself with a self-asserted smile.

The walk after let her enjoy the gorgeous pollution of neon lights, and the much less gorgeous pollution of nearby resource mining attacking her nostrils. Ansa wasn’t a planet sitting on some large oil reserves, nor was much of the land anything close to fertile anymore, but both the UA and Limbic saw strong tactical benefits from controlling the things Ansa did have. Boundless mineral deposits paired with perfect flat land to operate chemical factories on.

Other corporations had presence here. Where there were weapons to sell and wars to exploit. All that shit. But the UA’s strangest vessel had gained quite the influence, and it was felt as Bailey sauntered her way past neon lights, multistorey steel and concrete buildings hosting shitty apartments with shittier stores at the bottom, and the rare place of actual use. Motels and the like. Sleazy places for a merc to put her feet up on a girl’s back.

Despite everything, Chalybe never changed. It was easily Bailey’s favorite thing about the place. A city frozen in time. Full of memories that never went out of date. Cold steel and gray concrete towering above her in a haze of misty streetlights and cheap, flashy signs, advertising goods both regular and highly dubious right on the main street.

Even the slow, creeping presence of armed UA guards on the odd street corner didn't change what Chalybe was. Heaven in the form of debauchery? A post-capitalist Hell in a broken, dying galaxy? That was up to the beholder. To Bailey, it was some sultry, intoxicating balance of the two.

A few turns through dimly lit alleyways brought one from the more latent consumerism of a city already on the edge of United Arcadium’s Draconian laws to the thralls a girl like Bailey came for. Guns. Girls. Real alcohol. The red-light district. The black-market. They'd bled together long ago, and that was where a girl like Bailey Cluanaire called home. Tight alleys that only the most depraved, depressed and deranged felt safe in. She could get her boots shined and nails done later, the merc had sweeter business to help get her head straight right now.

She did stop briefly at a gun shop for a brief moment, though. Both the bar she liked, and most motels, had a staunch zero firearm policy. Better to leave her handgun in the capable mitts of one of Chalybe’s gun perverts than a dubious motel receptionist. Thieving hands were everywhere, and a gun like Bailey's was a potential jackpot.

Much like everything else Bailey owned, it was exorbitant. A snow-white double action revolver, further tarnished by a simple, feathery pattern engraved and painted across the frame in her signature bright orange. All only made worse by an added engraving of her first name on both sides of the barrel. It was disgusting. It was garish. It was fucking beautiful.

The gun was exorbitance that always got her looks on rebel jobs, more so than the youthful beauty, the painted, manicured nails, and even Circe herself. It was the truly useless shit you could afford when you're the best. Imperials were lumped with standard issue and impersonal service trash. Rebels settled for what they could scavenge for cheap. Bailey got whatever she wanted, even if it was pointless! She lived for what others couldn’t have. Helped that she preferred the classics. Only her arms got quite as many looks of jealous disgust.

She lived for it.

That was enough of that, though. She knew the district’s gunsmith well, it was in capable hands. Bigger things to think about. Tonight, her real stop was a little dive bar. The sign outside was a simple, orange array of neon that read 'Lucy's' in some barely legible font.

The outside of the place was another basic, uniform concrete metal building. The interior, though? That was a weirder story. Wood floors, cheap light strips attempting to mimic the soft florescent lights dominating the tapes that its owner coveted like gold. It was smaller than the bars in those cheap, ancient sitcoms, of course. Combining the few tables, booths and its counter, Lucy's had a max occupancy of about fifteen. Could probably fit twenty if she got rid of that stupid pool table, but Lucy never listened to Bailey.

"Ah, so ya didn't die this time, either." Bailey was greeted by the deep, soft serenading of Lucy's voice the second she ceased reminiscing and actually entered through the harsh metal door of the place. The barkeep was a simple girl. A stocky, graying-black haired girl with skin as pale as one would expect from a civvie who barely saw the sun. Pale as she was, though, Bailey knew one of her few friends in the galaxy was no slouch. She’d heard of and witnessed some of the fights that went on in here, Lucy’s lack of scars from those scraps were only more impressive, and baby, few could impress Bailey Cluanaire.

The previously mentioned occupancy hadn't exactly been reached, thought that was hardly a shock to Bailey’s senses. There were, maybe, three actual customers and a few girls hanging around by them. Some to successes, others to try and find other hookups for the night, but, hey, if they got drinks bought then the gals were no sweat off Lucy's back. Bailey didn’t check to see if the hookers were her regulars, she was a girl with laser focus, and that focus was on a damn good drink.

"If you're hoping to write my obituary, I think you're gonna be waiting... Oh, I don't know..." Bailey was quick to smirk back at the ashen-haired bartender as she took her usual spot on a stool by the counter, resting her cheek on one of her robotic hands with the same sassy look she gave that corporate rep. "...least another fifty. Got girls to outlive. Besides, don't plan on leaving you in a galaxy without me~." Unlike with that rep, this girl was capable of banter and a laugh, both of which Bailey liked in the women she wasn't slipping a hand into the pants of. For now.

"If I were only so lucky, right?" Lucy's playful voice slapped back towards Bailey even as she got a tumbler glass out for her regular customer. "Usual, hon?" Right back to business, but unlike that stuffy corporate slime, it suited her. Almost a shame Bailey hadn't talked her way behind the counter yet. Asexual her ass. A night with Bailey would change that forever, she was damn sure of it. To Bailey, an ace girl was just someone who hadn’t gotten a night with a real woman. Lucy was a stubborn gal, though. Always batted that one away with tact and a smile. Maybe she liked it about her. Maybe it’d eventually lead to her digging her fingers into her cunt when Lucy saw some sense.

Bailey was going to be civil, though. Tonight, at least.

"Does anyone know me better than you, Lucy?" Bailey gave Lucy's left arm a poke to a small groan, one of her robot arms reaching down to a thigh satchel and grabbing a decent handful of coins, tossing them onto the table with a satisfying series of metal clinks on polished wood. About four glasses worth. Even if her girls were no-shows tonight, Bailey had her plans, and they involved cream liqueur. "So, what's the word on the filth outside? If they plan on sticking around, I might have to start really committing to those rebel contracts!"

"Never took ya as a girl who minded a little Arcadium dirt, Bailey." Lucy mused to the merc, the playfulness Bailey enjoyed not leaving her voice even as she poured that frustratingly expensive liquor into the merc's glass, polished off with an ice cube, of course. "Far as I know, it was a request from Limbic. Whole terrorist thing shook 'em good. Made 'em get real cuddly with the UA, too. Vice versa, as well. Kinda unlike them to make their relationship so… public."

Bailey's eyes lit up like Christmas trees at that last detail, her silence only shortly maintained because of a nice, greedy sip of the creamy drink she paid good money for. After a pleased, quenched sigh, the words came flowing with confidence, though. "Have my theories. Limbic might be selling some of their weaker garbage to a rebel base nearby. Think the cozying up is a defense mechanism to try and hide that deal, maybe have it look like they could have been robbed. Adorable fucking idiots. Both of ‘em."

"You mean that whole brainwashing thing ya yammer about after a dozen drinks? I'll believe that one when I see it, hon." Lucy was such a doubter, even for a former journalist! It could almost make Bailey upset if she didn't understand the perspective. What the UA was doing in their perverted off time was her business to know, and she knew of Limbic's buried tendrils in that affair. Such affairs weren’t something she had a dossier for, though. Hunches and a sole encounter with an Arcadium Handler weren’t tight evidence, and Lucy’s journalistic mind valued that above all else, even if that time in the barkeep’s run was a lifetime ago.

A lifetime Bailey just had to keep hearing about over and over. Lucy was lucky she could stomach her.

"Yeah, yeah. Got a long-term thing I might be doing for some nest of rebel cuties tomorrow. If I come back with proof I drink free for a month, got it~?" Bailey's eyes glared towards Lucy with a dead serious expression, only dulled by the small, toying grin she couldn't hide from her favorite barkeep. Bailey loved a wager, and she knew Lucy loved ‘em too. All the greyhound racing memorabilia dotted around the bar? Bailey saw a gambler from the first time she showed up here.

It was a more comforting iconography to Bailey’s tastes than the odd rebel recruitment poster she saw behind the counter, too. Could she ever escape the face of that resistance poster girl? Fuckin’ Rayfield…

Before Bailey could lose herself in thoughts of a certain old, mutual acquaintance, Lucy gave her half-joking wager a response. "A week. And if you're wrong, you're paying double for two of 'em." Ah, and it was met right back with an equal glare and grin. That's the kind of back and forth Bailey just couldn't get from a mech fight anymore. A gamble. A tease. Confidence that Lucy was going to win their little bet before Bailey could even co-sign it.

Pure bliss.

“Don’t think I’ll forget, Lucy. Better stock up on the good shit. I’ll be back for it.” Bailey gave a nod of approval for their bet. Much like a good contract, the merc wasn’t one to let these things slip her mind, and certainly not with a barkeep whose memory was even sharper. She could taste the free liqueur already… but an easy drinking week wasn’t what dominated her mind now. Not truly. She’d gotten her drink. She’d made her bet.

Time to hunt down a main course.

Lucy’s attention returned to serving and monitoring the odd straggler who came in, and keeping an eye out for unwanted imperial visitors. Bailey’s moved to the less heroic act of inspecting the unsubtle prostitutes trying to make idle chatter with the civvies drinking their sorrows under the table. Ain’t much room on planets like this for normal people. Corporate work below the line of contract murder paid like shit and wasn’t typically bloodless either.

Poor things. Someone should just shoot ‘em before they do it themselves, but that wasn’t Bailey’s job. Not for free, anyway. The least she could do is give those hookers someone worthwhile to bother instead, right?

Bailey took some nice, slow time to pick out her lot, an easy task in a bar she frequented so heavily. Sitting with some suited up sad sack was a brunette a few inches shorter than Bailey. Been in the game a while. Supplemental work to cover the low pay she gets from working on one of the big weapon manufacturer's communications equipment. She was pretty sure it was Yarraman Manufacturing, the system’s main small arms company, though that detail didn’t truly matter, did it? Bailey had better connected contacts for info gathering on corp jobs.

Far more importantly than any of that, the girl was a great fuck, knew her place under Bailey’s heel the second cash was waved around, and there was always that sweet tinge of heinous delight to proving her superiority over another easily passing trans girl. She was fun… but not what she needed tonight.

Bailey was feeling a little bolder than just fooling around with one skilled, already well-broken-in girl. A few months on a rebel base meant she wasn’t seeing whores like this for a while, and courting cute rebel birds into drooling for her took both time and displays of skill. She needed a challenge. Some training. She was going on her vacation with a bang, and that took numbers. No, more than that. Something fresh. Sorry, gun girl, maybe next time.

It didn’t take Bailey much longer to spot her jackpot in this modest bar. Another girl she recognized was sitting with what seemed like a friend. If Bailey remembered right… farm girl from before the few crops one could grow here, and animals one could raise here, were set ablaze to be supplanted by arms factories. Sad. Boring. Basic. Bailey only remembered sob-filled backstories if they were useful, and occasionally it was for this cutie. Probably not tonight, though, hopefully. She loathed pretending to give a shit.

Said cutie, tonight at least, wore her red hair down to her shoulders, matching it with a simple, cheap looking red dress and an even cheaper looking silver necklace. Never flush with cash, this one, but few residents of Chalybe were. She was a little on the chubbier side, but Bailey’s tastes were known for their variety. A presence of skill helped plenty, too. Farm girl here was so good at this job she’d sucked Bailey dry right under the counter back in the day, to Lucy’s enormous annoyance and demands for a cash settlement.

Ah, Bailey was paying triple for months after that, but that face of bribed disgust was so fucking worth it. Besides, the place was empty! Bailey would have been more of an asshole to say no, right?

Fun as it might be to relive that expensive night of oral gratification with a miserable spectator, Bailey’s schemes and fantasies moved to the friend of her old regular hookup. A cute blond wearing the same short pixie cut as that fucking poster girl. Ah, Nataliza Rayfield. She’d be meeting her fangirls in hell at this rate. This was one dolled up fangirl, though, assuming Bailey wasn’t seeing the hero in places she wasn’t. The little red tube top and black short skirt looked brand new. Even from just a glance, it was clear the redhead did her friend’s make-up for this too.

Bailey’s mind raced with possibilities for a few more seconds. Was her friend encouraging her? Was this her first time? Dressed up like that and looking so hesitant to be here, she had to be, right? Were they more than just fuck buddies?

Mph, if the young cutie was fresh, would it not be a blessing for Bailey to get her accustomed to the scene… and maybe wreck her standards just a little? Surely her friend wouldn’t mind either. Plenty have thrown comrades to the metaphorical Cluanaire tiger, both in and out of combat.

She did want a little indulgence before heading off on her contract, too. Yeah, this could be perfect.

Bailey played these things slow, though. Rushing only risked the charms appearing false. Her robotic arm reached down to her thigh, exploring one of her satchels for a simple gray wallet, which was soon tossed into her waiting organic hand with flair for an imaginary audience… almost imaginary at least. She saw the pepping up duo looking towards her in the corner of her eye, a look of sweet impression filling the blond’s eyes. Definitely her first time here if cheap party tricks were working on her.

Adorable. Stupid.

Bailey’s hand lingered in her satchel for another moment, pulling away slyly enough for the move to go unnoticed by her ogling fans. The robotic arm folded back to its inverted resting place behind her back, its hand still strangely balled into a fist, while the organic limb of the same side tapped at the counter to grab Lucy’s attention. Said focus was gotten quick. Bailey could get annoying when ignored, and more importantly yet, she was fucking loaded. Quick service got Lucy a pretty hefty, if frustratingly flirty tip. The merc loved the little grimace it always earned, too. She’d worm her way into those pants one day, but time to focus on tonight’s prime targets.

“Refill me, Lucy. Get me two whiskeys for the gals over there too. On the rocks. Feelin’ generous~.” Bailey’s cocky smirk shined bright enough to make her intentions clear to a blind woman, but Lucy didn’t require charming lies. The barkeep knew her well, and the sound of coins clinking against polished wood, along with the presence of high denomination notes, charmed her more than enough.

“Ah, so ya didn’t just come here for a goodbye drink with me, after all. Shoulda figured.” Lucy jeered back at Bailey with a lighter, less brightly malicious smile. Two small whiskey glasses were placed next to Bailey’s empty, snazzier liquor glass. Only the best for the number one merc, hm? “You know the rules by now, hon. Keep your clothes on, don’t get too handsy. This is a hookup bar, not a brothel. I’d hate to have to kick your ass again.” Lucy all but purred that last part. Threatening Bailey with a good time? Meow.

“When have I ever broken a rule I knew about, Lucy? I’ll be on my best behavior.” Bailey accentuated her slight mocking by blowing a smiley kiss at Lucy.

“Riiight…” Lucy groaned under her breath, but the pouring of Bailey and her soon-to-be suitors’ drinks remained nice and steady. “Enjoy. And don’t mess with that new girl too hard. Last thing I need is another poor thing askin’ for ya every night.” She was right back to smiling and jabbing, coaxing out a small snort from the scheming merc.

“Best behavior, Lucy. Promise~.” The snort already made that difficult to believe, the continued presence of Bailey’s arrogant smirk made it an obvious and blatant lie. Bailey knew her favorite barkeep wouldn’t care, though, as long as the unhidden parts of this happened away from Lucy’s slice of heaven in concrete hell.

Whiskey. Ice. A rich, looming woman who’d change one of their lives forever. Just needed one more key ingredient…

“Say, would ya mind checking how much of the good shit you’ve got left before I move along? Wouldn’t mind bringing a bottle with me if I take that contract.” Bailey’s words were honest, she knew only the most trusted pilots got a little alcoholic indulgence from rebel commissaries. If Bailey was about to be chewing on ration packs for three months, she’d be doing it with an exotic treat to wash it down with.

“Ya got it. Just don’t drink and pilot with it, hon. At least want ya exploding sober.” Lucy chuckled, Bailey chuckled back, but that wasn’t what Bailey was waiting for.

Ah, there we go!

Lucy’s back was turned, the barkeep bending down to root through the private reserve she’d kept for a couple of customers, though by now it was fairly dominated by the merc’s expensive, varied tastes. Bailey could bathe in that ego trip another day, though. She had to be smooth as cream here.

With a clear, rhythmic level of practiced experience, Bailey’s robotic arm hovered above the line of glasses on the counter.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Fizzzzzzz.

Just as rapidly as her prosthetic was moved above the drinks, three pills were dunked into the two glasses of whiskey, and her own, more decedent glass of creamy liqueur, with the arm returning to its resting place behind her back in a similarly rapid flash.

Wasn’t a party if Bailey wasn’t pushing herself too, right? One didn’t grow tolerance to tricks like this by fooling around with the souls of others and not training their own. She was an equal opportunity drink drugger, and nobody had managed to flip that on her yet. Fat chance they ever would at this rate, but she did love a potential surprise!

While Bailey let the seconds of solvation pass, she pondered getting another bottle of these things before her trip. A benefit of being a rich bitch in the merc guild was that little existed outside of her grasp. Little kitty of hers had a hookup for the street level variants of United Arcadium’s stimulation pills. Were they combat meds? Advanced interrogation tools? Something for the weird sex shit those imperial animals get up to?

Who knew? Who cared? Bailey had figured out a decade ago that these things fucked with a girl’s senses and got them hot under the collar. The effects leaned more physical, but she knew by now the mental toll they took could be nice and abusable too, even if it was a non-permanent brain shake. Yet, paired with Bailey’s love for digging fingers into weaker girls’ brains, and they were a key element of her toolkit. Arcadium fuckgirls could have designed them as a headache cure for all she cared.

Oh, the fizzing stopped! Goodie! Bailey could just slip these drinks over to her clearly waiting gals now, but it’d be rude to make Lucy bend that pretty little ass over for nothing. Plus, she wanted her goods, Lucy’s ass aside, for now.

That could come another day.

“Alright, got a bottle spare. On the house if ya don’t cause any trouble for me tonight.” Such generosity from the smiling barkeep? Was she that eager to get her out of the damn bar? “Good luck with those rebels, girl. Don’t mess with ‘em too hard. Get back here without any extra pieces this time, kay?” Aww. It was because she cared. That was just adorable.

The merc hadn’t truly decided to go yet, of course, but free liqueur wasn’t something she had the honesty to turn down. “I’ll be sure to think of your little dive when a whiny rebel’s drinking it from my abs, Lucy~.” Bailey took the bottle into her greedy hand with a smile communicating not even a little hint of sarcasm. Bailey said what she meant with her.

Unfortunately for Lucy.

“Ah… one day you’ll come in here and be normal…” Lucy sighed with a slight smile, soon heading back to the act of cleaning glasses and keeping subtle, watchful eyes on her customers.

Mostly Bailey, who felt her eyes on her pretty much constantly. Always nice to have an admirer, wasn’t it?

With Lucy off to work, Bailey was free to do a small bout of showing off for the girls soon to be drooling at her boots. With her bottle of liqueur in one organic hand already, the merc grabbed her glass with the robotic arm occupying the same side, letting the mirrors of those arms grab the laced whiskey tumblers and proceeding to proudly march over to their table. Confident steps in knee-high leather… that could maybe do with a polish before her debated trip. Eh, maybe tomorrow.

“Well, if it isn’t Cherry. Brought me a friend this time, hm?” Bailey was quick to assertively make herself known to the pair before she claimed a seat in between them, setting the three glasses and her pricey bottle down with no spills and laser precision. Few could afford whole bottles of anything other than swill in this city. Fewer could stomach the cost of getting something excellent imported from another planet.

Only Bailey could get it for free.

“Rememberin’ my name and bringin’ me a drink without askin’? Anglin’ for a discount, or is there some kinda occasion, ma’am?” Now there’s what Bailey loved. Even a light joke accentuated with an assertion of status. Though, if she couldn’t get a simple prostitute she’d known for years to call her by a commanding title, she’d be a sad excuse for the best woman in the galaxy, wouldn’t she?

No acknowledgement of her shy, meek friend, though? For shame.

“You tell me…” Bailey’s natural hookup smile grew a little as she took a sweet, if ever-so-slightly tangy sip of her drink, eyes immediately moving to make contact with the dolled up blond just inches away from her. “Figured you’d introduce me to a cute kitten like this right away. I’m hurt, Cherry.” Bailey let her smile falter, feigning offense right towards Cherry’s now gulping friend.

Those pills acted fast, didn’t they? It had been a little while, but within a few seconds she could that subtle, warm, narcotic embrace. Ignore the soft tingling downstairs, Bailey. You’re far above their level. Fucking prove it to ‘em.

“H-Hey there… I-I’m Sarah!” Look at you, blondie. Interrupting your friend and giving out your real name before a sip of your first drink. Bailey liked her already. Knew her place even better than Cherry did, all those years ago. So nostalgic.

“Sarah…” Which Cherry sounded a little less enthused about. It wasn’t common practice to hand out your real name to clients here. Who knew what breed of freaks could abuse a hooker’s personal info like that? “Well, cat’s outta the bag, hon. This is Sarah, my girlfriend. Sarah, this is Bailey… my…?” Clearly not Cherry, but that was nothing new. Bailey had coaxed the redhead’s real name from her on their first night bumping uglies. Little Maribel seemed confused about her status again, though. Were they friends? Absolutely fucking not. Truly, Maribel was more like a friend’s pet you let crawl on your lap when you visited. A few scritches. Maybe a treat to nibble on or lap at.

It was a real shame their meetings were so occasional. None of that confusion would exist if she had the time to simply leash the little bitch for herself. But was she even worth that?

Was anyone truly worth that permanent sign of Bailey’s warped concept of love? Who knew? Who cared? All Bailey knew was that she felt an urge, and it wasn’t just the drug causing it… probably.

“Can’t call me your friend, Mari? Thought we were so much more by now… Go for the jugular, why don’t you~?” Didn’t even take a sip of that drink to get the plump girl’s face reddening to match her hair. Maribel was the strongest willed girl of this city’s revolving slate of hookers, and even she fell to Bailey’s whims long ago. But how easy was her girlfriend? “So, Sarah. Tell me a little about yourself. A girlfriend of Mari’s is a friend of mine!” Even as Bailey felt her suit tighten a bit at the groin, her words continued spinning their silklike web with an inviting smile… and another sip of her corrupted liquor. In for a penny and all that.

Oh, wonderful! It was sipping that Maribel seemed quick to join in on too. So wonderful. So trusting.

So fucking stupid.

While Sarah tried to find her words, and where to focus her eyes, Bailey got to appreciate the more immediate change in Maribel’s sitting position. She’d figured the girl would have grown Bailey’s tolerance to this stuff by now, but guess it’s tougher when you never figure out your tangy whiskey is being drugged in the first place. So many years. So many drinks she’d had without Bailey.

So fucking stupid.

“W-Well. Mari… Cherry? No, Mari, right?”” Sarah was fumbling already, seeming to eventually settle on Mari in Bailey’s company before continuing on. Not like her and Bailey were anything close to strangers. Bailey wagered she was already picturing some really tasty scenes involving her girlfriend in there! “Mari convinced me to take my shore leave before a… big thing coming up. I wanted to do something she liked, so I’m here…” Sarah seemed to lighten up quick, though Bailey’s astute look and warming smile were certainly responsible for it. Matched Mari’s comforting if slightly shifting smirk beautifully.

Was Bailey truly listening? Somewhat! Shore leave. Big thing. Kinky couple. She’d gotten the meat of it to poke and tear at, but Sarah could give her so much more than that. They were friends now!

“Don’t look like an imperial mutt to me. You stationed on the rebel base on this planet, or somewhere more exotic~?” Bailey got to work poking for information with an increase in sultriness. Maybe that was the drug. Maybe that was just Bailey. More likely to the merc, it was a cocktail of those two wonderful little things.

“U-Um… Well, I probably shouldn’t…” Either way, Sarah seemed hesitant to answer. Bailey may have been a new friend, but she was also a stranger, and telling strangers about highly confidential base locations was dogshit OPSEC. Bailey knew that, just like she knew she’d get her way within the next minute. It ain’t arrogance if you’re right!

Bailey watched the blond make a glance towards Maribel, who’d managed to down two third of that whiskey tumbler by now. Was a good drink not just irrationally addicting, hm~?

“Only if ya feel comfortable, hon. But I trust ‘er.” With a clearly fuzzing Maribel giving her two cents to her doting girlfriend, they exchanged a smile and a nod, a foolish group acceptance that Bailey was as trustworthy as it came, followed by Sarah reaching down to her glass for a bit of liquid courage. Atta girl. You’d find that and more after a little sip.

Bailey eyed her prey as she downed around a third of the glass, making a face the merc could swiftly ascertain was confusion. Should Bailey be concerned? Not at fuckin’ all. This could simply be a chance to show further rule over both the drug and this sweet future toy.

It was a good thing neither girl had peeked under the table. A tight gray stealth suit like Bailey’s wasn’t built to hide what was twitching to half-mast down there. She may have some control over the mental effects, but this shit did a real number on blood flow.

“Weird taste for a whiskey… is that… normal?” Clever girl! Either she had better tastes than the usual rabble in her bar dives, or she was just more of a drinker in general. Who knew? Who cared? Off to work!

“Really now?” Bailey’s joy was contained with cold precision, forcing a face of genuine concern as she took Sarah’s glass from her in a play only growing more powerful by the second. A nice little sip… a small sigh that hid Bailey’s general distaste for scotch… “Ah. Tastes like the usual whiskey here to me, Sarah~.” Fuck, That felt great before she even got a reaction. Her sickly, delicious words were followed by a slow, long lick of her lips that she saw Sarah ogle with the early signs of that sweet, shared narcotic bliss.

Bliss Bailey knew. A sensory flurry she even felt. “Think it’s just a lil tangy here, Sare. Lucy’s a doll, but she ain’t a miracle worker.” A tingle Maribel, who once again gave Sarah a reassuring smile, was obviously feeling too. Written off as Bailey’s presence simply being too intoxicating. No doubt about that.

The animals here all had their excuses. The true reasons a quick chat with Bailey always led somewhere depraved. Her presence was just intoxicating. They were light drinkers who get a libido when they’re drunk. They were weak to sweet talk from a pretty girl. A whole cottage industry of red-light, underground workers too naive to think the scummy, number one merc could possibly be drugging them into acts far beyond their pay grade.

Even the most callow of rebels wasn’t this fucking stupid. Adorable little kittens. It’d be getting Bailey hard even if she hadn’t drugged herself by now! She was stronger, but the arousal was there. The buzz was in her brain, and wreaking havoc on her loins.

Her weapon to wield against weaker beings.

“I… guess whiskey tasting different on other planets makes sense, right?” Ah, and there was Sarah’s first foray into excusatory behavior, just in time for Bailey to have handed her the glass back, wordlessly cajoling the cutie into another sip of whiskey… and the soft, creamy aftertaste of Bailey’s saliva to give it a… punch. “Not awful, a-actually…” Never mind, maybe a callow rebel was this stupid.

Uniquely so, actually. Sarah had finished her glass before Bailey had downed even half of hers, with Maribel still having a good swig to go herself. “You’ll get used to it, sugar pie. Kind of an acquired taste, right?” Such a useful idiot, aren’t you, Maribel? Might as well have already been plunging her fingers up her girlfriend’s pussy for the merc by now, though, it’d doubtlessly be something she needed for herself soon. Fidgeting in her seat already? For a rough farm girl, she always gave in fast, but maybe that’s why she’d earned a place as one of Bailey’s regulars. Knew where she belonged. Didn’t question things. Good little dairy cow.

“You bet. Acquired taste, Sarah.” Bailey answered Mari’s question by redirecting the act of answering it softly towards Sarah. She wasn’t callous enough to totally ghost the redhead, that wasn’t good hunting etiquette at all. A robotic hand let itself get as handsy as Lucy hated by warmly rubbing at Mari’s back. Nothing too sensual, as much as Bailey’s loins ached for it. Rushing risked mistakes, and Bailey refused to allow the very concept of them. “So, Sare. Where were we?” An organic, gloved hand took its perch on Sarah’s right shoulder before Bailey’s smooth voice ceased its chatter, giving gentle little rubs while she looked for those first, scintillating signs she was molding her new clay correctly.

“H-Heh… I guess if Mari trusts you, I can say a little…” The fidgeting, the giggle. Sarah may know her drinks, but she was a first timer to Bailey’s real treats. No rushing, though, as wonderful as it would be to get that skirt off. Superiority, Bailey. Prove it. “What is it you say sometimes? I’m gonna be the girl on all the rebel posters in no time? Heh.” The rebel hypothesis was confirmed, but that only whet Bailey’s appetite more.

“Sare here’s an ace, ma’am. Might even have a lil competition on your hands.” Mari’s bold statement of confidence was cute, but even more foolishly naive than their escapades usually left her. Annoyingly stupid, actually. Only one woman had ever shown risen to Bailey’s heights, and she didn’t expect to feel that rush again…

Ah, now that feeling was the drug alright. Desires invading her brain, thoughts that weakened her, all burying into the softness of her gray matter… That twitching she felt below at the thought of an old flame. An old asshole. That poster slut.

The brief prod into Bailey’s psyche was just that. Brief. Dwelling on the past, and on her, was pointless. She had a hunt going on, and that was intoxicating enough to kill all false musing… Right?

Fucking definitely.

“A regular ol’ Liz Rayfield, hm? Well… you’ve certainly got the looks, don’t you~?” Even saying her name with such flirty reverence put a pit in Bailey’s stomach, but tonight that name was a tool. It was damn effective for her. Like Nataliza used to be… like she still could be… but Nataliza wasn’t here, and Bailey was. Fuck her. “You know… Got a contract coming up on a base here. Think I’ll see you there, Sarah~?” There we go. She hid it well behind simple flattery, but the idea of breaking in some cute bitch before her gig even started, then getting to break her better for months around her allies? If she wasn’t throbbing at full fucking mast from the spiked drink, she’d have gotten there by now from impure thoughts alone.

That was better. Beating the drug’s penchant for making you sink into your buried desires was a fucking trip. She felt invincible. She fucking was. Bailey was invincible enough that she started moving the hand behind Mari’s lower back. Surely she wouldn’t let Bailey feel her up that easy, right? She’d barely given her any attention at all tonight. Almost time to find out.

“I fuckin’ wish.” Mari gulped down the last of her toxified drink before letting that lightweight, drunken swearing get the better of her. Talk over that pretty little girlfriend, Mari. Make her feel nice and small. “They got her in some freezing dump back on Orsus. Hard ass has her workin’ some power play against the UA… A raid or somethin’, sugar pie?” That was it. Free info and Sarah sinking into her seat a bit. The redhead’s chair fidgeting seemed to get a little more frequent with each passing word, too. Mari really had built up no tolerance at all, huh?

Weaker animals never did.

Orsus sure seemed like a hotspot, though. For a freezing pile of climate ravaged snowstorms, that was impressive! Would have been worth a trip, if Bailey didn’t fucking detest the cold.

“O-Oh, it was uh…” Bailey read Sarah’s hesitancy as a lingering desire not to blabber. Suddenly remembering what OPSEC was? What a hero. The merc was quick to realize, however, that Sarah’s hesitance came from distraction… which, surely, downing the rest of her glass would curb!

The drug was hitting her clear as day, just from the perceptible change in tone of voice alone. She wasn’t quite slurring, but the effects one might expect from a few strong drinks were there. She was lighter. A little less coordinated. The break in her words left Bailey waiting enough for her to take a tiny peek below Sarah’s belt, though, and that confirmed… plenty of things. It was working alright, but that bulge in her skirt was a genuine surprise. Either Bailey’s impeccable radar was off, or this girl passed almost as well as the merc.

Though… nah. That chest was just above a washboard. Bailey won out, Mari’s eyes wandering the merc’s figure over her girlfriend’s only served as spectator confirmation.

After a glug and a lightly shaky slam of the tumbler glass back down onto the table, though, Sarah seemed eager to talk, smiling with a warm buzz while her shoulder instinctively sunk into Bailey’s soothing massage work. Mari even seemed to be resting a hand by her own thigh. Increasingly high up on it, actually. Almost time… “A couple dozen of us are infiltrating a space carrier… PostTech owns it, I think? Commander Kern’s… well… m-maybe I’ve said a little too much…” The brain fog was getting to Sarah, but Bailey was magnanimous enough to let her speak before moving to exploitation of looming suggestibility.

Well… “Do it, Mari.” Bailey could indulge a little, leaning over to whisper just loud enough for Sarah to undoubtedly hear it. She looked confused, Bailey was blocking her view a little after all.

Better clear any confusion up while Mari slipped that hand under her dress, hastily peeking over her shoulder to ensure Lucy wasn’t watching them. How handy. Bailey didn’t even need to tell her to check anymore!

“That’s more than enough… Sare~.” Bailey spoke with an added air of torridity, entering her fiery element with fuel from both her own drugging and the inherent, nectar-like sweetness of molding needy girls in her hands. Speaking wasn’t all she was doing, though. Comfortable in her impending victory, Bailey’s hand slithered from Sarah’s shoulder to caress her cheek with a continued, false flavor of tender warmth. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? What you’re really looking for tonight? Doubt Mari brought you here to share some printed peanuts with me, hm?” Each word was slicing through Sarah like a hot knife through the artificial butter substitute rebel bases pretended to stomach…

…although something else did too. “Ain’t that right, Mari~?” While Bailey’s words briefly swung back to the redhead in unison with that synthetic hand’s sudden feeling up of the little cow’s fat ass, the orange haired merc took notice of something… odd. A shiver from Sarah. One which seemed to correlate with Bailey’s gloved hand rubbing its dextrous fingers around the blond’s soft cheeks. Her hands weren’t cold, the recent runaround against that pile of ash one formerly called a pilot made sure of that… sensitive to touch maybe? Whatever it was, it was getting Bailey going. It got her mind racing. Fuck.

Time to investigate. While making Maribel whine for her, though. She could multitask!

“W-Weee… You know?” Poor Sarah, though. She clearly fucking couldn’t. Her words shook with the intensity of a mech tanking a railgun shot, even just balancing speaking and the instinctive nuzzling she was doing into Bailey’s hand seemed fucking Herculean. The merc didn’t even need to look down to know she was twitching a storm down there. Adorable. So fucking gullible. Gods, this was more of a rush than ever. Bailey should spike herself more often!

Reel her the fuck in.

“Weee… what? Come on, Sare...” Bailey let her growingly sensual tone cut Sarah down mere inches from her equally needy girlfriend. Words were plenty, Bailey was no stranger to slipping things into drinks, she knew that. When a girl’s showing potential, though, why not use it? Why not start sliding her leathery hand to Sarah’s chin and press two fingers near her bottom lip? Just as a treat. “Don’t you trust me~?” Her simultaneously spoken words oozed a lurid mixture of seduction and sincerity. Bailey felt invulnerable. The narcotic coursing through her. The delicious shudder from Sarah as her fingers all but graced her lips with their presence.

She was invulnerable. Invulnerable enough to throw caution to the wind and move the arm teasing Maribel’s plump rump to a more lethal target. The farm girl’s seeming addiction to going commando gave her free access to her similarly plump, leaky cunt.”M-Ma’am~???” Maribel something about someone seeing something afterward, but Bailey tuned out what wasn’t useful from her now. She was hers to fingerfuck barely outside of Lucy’s view. Always had to be careful with her robotic hands when sliding two of those cold, synthetic fingers into a girl’s cunt, though. Those ends were basically metal claws. One wrong move, one thrust too deep, and she could cause a world of hurt.

Good thing Bailey Cluanaire didn’t make wrong moves. Not anymore. Not since… Focus!

“I-I guess I can… s-since you’re already…” Sarah’s words were barely held together. Bailey made no effort to hide what she was doing to her girlfriend, if the whispery desperate moans had left that as a possibility in the first place. Might as well have ripped the cow’s dress off and mounted her on the table for her amusement. Screamed at her to moo. Fuck, maybe she would when they found a motel.

“Mhm. Go on, Sare.” Bailey kept up the encouragement, though, now tracing her index finger against the practically drooling bottom lip of the future ‘rebel star.’ That’s it.

Speak up.

“Mari… Mari and I were looking to… you know… w-we’re not really tops, but we want to have a good night before I head back w-with… someone… I-I didn’t see anyone I liked until… um…” Now wasn’t that just adorable? The whole thing would have been so much quicker if they’d gotten on their knees and begged when Bailey walked through the door! Gods, the girl was leaving a wet spot on her skirt by now. So cute. So weak.

So exploitable.

“All that worrying for a threesome? You? A rebel? Come on now, Feels like you wanted something, bolder…” Bailey spoke frankly, training Sarah to give her the sweet, disgusting words she wanted with a seeming matter of fact resonance to her voice, and her hand finally going in for the kill. Two gloved fingers pushed past Sarah’s already parting lips to test how far gone one singular narcotic and the Cluanaire charm pushed her. Was there any resolve there? Any embarrassment about the glancing eyes of depressed barflies? “Go on, kitty… Both of you. Tell me what you really want~.” Any will to resist worshiping at a loathed merc’s feet before flying off to her likely death?

“Mphck…” Gods, not even a little. Fucking pathetic! Even Maribel feigned concern over spectators. Sarah just suckled like a good kitty cat, coating her gloves in a cleaning coat of saliva with… verily shocking skill, come to think of it? Expert suckling. Delicate, soft navigation of her leather-clad fingers like they were a divine treat. She was worshiping them like she’d done it before. Savoring the taste as if it were a familiar childhood meal. Like she’d done it plenty. Fuck were those rebels on Orsus teaching their meek, frail animals? Almost a shame Bailey wasn’t getting a contract from them instead. Sarah was making it seem like an all you could break buffet!

Couldn’t leave Maribel out, though. Broken earlier or not, juggling needs was the name of Bailey’s game. Navigating her four arms necessitated it, just as the slow speed-up in poorly hidden fingerbanging of a shaking, whining cow necessitated the upmost focus and precision. Easy shit. Fillet enough piss poor pilots in a mech like Bailey’s and your hands could do anything.

Now give her the cream.

“I-I… fuck… I-I want to screw her~.”

“Mphi w-want yew to f-fuck me with heeer!”

In unison, the pair gave Bailey her ticket. Gave her a few ideas too. Ideas that almost had her leaking pre in that expensive stealth suit she prided herself in. She could fit in a laundry trip tomorrow. Why care? “See? Was that so hard? Consider all this a yes, Sare~.” Bailey smiled as earnestly as the two had ever seen, which was real fucking sad if she thought about it. Poor idiots, but it was fine. She’d give these two exactly what they wanted.

And the exact fucking opposite of what they asked for. Just before they could thank her for the privilege, though… “Ahem!” Ah, there was the party crasher. Lucy was just doubtlessly jealous of the attention Maribel was getting. Or maybe Madame Asexual was a leather freak too, like that sweet rebel cunt. Tough to say. If she wasn’t booked for the night, maybe she’d find out how much of a bullshitter she really was. “Remember what I said, Bailey. I would… hate to have to kick you out. Hint. Hint.” Ah, such a fun little bitch. Bailey was fine with it, though. She was about on her way anyway. No use hitting up the rebels to accept that contract tomorrow with a black eye.

“If you insist, Lucy. Keep the good shit cold for me. I’ll be back soon~.” Even in the heat of foreplay and a drug enhanced libido, Bailey still managed to address Lucy with something masquerading as professional tact. It annoyed the merc, but annoyance only fueled how she’d take things out on tonight’s drooling animals.

Besides, the sudden pulling away of her hands from Mari’s needy wet cunt and Sarah’s greedy little mouth had them even more desperate than before. Sarah let out a small groan of dissatisfaction. The couple of sluts were practically humping their seats. Prey in heat, the both of them. “Hah… Aren’t ya gonna finish yer drink, ma’am?” Maribel clearly wasn’t quite dazed enough not to notice the half-glass of cream liqueur sitting in front of Bailey.

Easily solved problem that. “Why don’t you finish it off for me, Mari? Better I’m a little sober for us, right?” Bailey didn’t even wait for an answer before pushing her chair back and standing up proud, the extra loud thomps of her boots serving as a little final test to see if tonight’s newest animal was what she hoped she was. A real test. A unique splurge before slumming it at Corvis Base.

“M-Makes sense to me, Mari… I-If you want.” Sarah was still adorably loyal to her more outgoing girlfriend, but the eyes didn’t lie. Dead on her boots the second they thumped to life for the drugged gal. Bailey should have a real conversation with her commander about proper military ethics and personnel treatment after this…

…

Or to show her how it’s really fucking done.

“Eh, c-can’t hurt, right?” Mari simply shrugged in response to her girlfriend, swigging back the creamy, laced liquor with a look of mixed messaging on her face. Now, the shit Bailey drank really was an acquired taste. “Phew… O-Okay then, that shit’s different… Dang I’m…” The added tang of imperial ‘medicine’ certainly didn’t help matters, nor Maribel’s already crushing libido. Girl was fucking shaking. Pathetically, stupidly adorable.

Bailey was quick to grab her bottle of said good shit with a robotic hand, resting it behind her afterward to give the two organic arms freedom of movement. Couldn’t forget the liquor. It was about the only other thing worth anything at this table.

“Alright. Think we should take off. Get you two what you really need. Think Sare here deserves a gift too. Something to bring back with her, so she can remember us on her big mission, right?” Bailey’s voice oozed satisfaction and fake consideration, though an onlooker could probably just gather that feeling from a look at the unsubtle bulge at the groin of her suit. It wasn’t exactly a modest outfit when she was simply strolling about her day. Hard on power and narcotics, though? She looked fit to burst… and she knew where she planned to do it. “Feel like picking it up on the way… kitty~?” Hey, being on better behavior for Lucy as she left didn’t mean zero taking advantage of her prey.

“O-Oh! U-Um thank you, ma’am… Of course! You were right, Mari. S-She actually is nice...” Most generous benefactor in Chalybe at her service. Letting Sarah suck on her leather-clad fingers might as well have been a charity act. A gift too? Just let her lead the people entirely with such magnanimous behavior.

Adorable fucking idiots.

“Phew… Ain’t she? Just… hopin’ it won’t take too long.” There was the needy sex freak Bailey knew and got use from. Maribel was the first to stand, likely hoping a little movement might make the aching in her loins easier to handle. Never did. Cute little dope.

“Believe me, I’m just as eager as you are. But this is important!” They had no idea what Bailey’s words truly meant. They’d get what they wanted, Bailey was sure of that. But animals were never clear. Didn’t communicate their true desires. Their true needs for a little guidance. “I’ll treat you two right in no time~.” Some damn domestication. They’d get it. They’d get plenty. Bailey was on fire, and she was dousing these two in it before she had to really pretend to be on good behavior. Unless she was there… Did she need to pretend in that case…?

…

All in due time, though. Before that… Bailey had a quick stop to make… That shoe shining place sold leather cleaning kits, right...?