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{{Infobox commlink
|title = Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 5
|image = Comm-Link-MysterySerial FI 3Crop.jpg
|url = https://robertsspaceindustries.com/comm-link/spectrum-dispatch/12812-Tales-Of-Kid-Crimson-Issue-5
|type = Spectrum Dispatch
|publicationdate = 2012-11-19
|series = Tales of Kid Crimson
}}
I don’t consider myself a vain person, but there is a pride, a certain calculation, you take in your reputation. So the notion that some dreg is out there using your name is bad enough, but snatching kids to sell into [[slavery]]? That makes me want to draw blood.
All my system clocks recalibrated as I hit the [[Terra system|Terra System]], the ping of which pulled me out of my homicidal funk. At this speed I should hit Terra by midnight local. [[Prime]] club time.
On approach, about six landing parks locked onto my trajectory and started competing for my attention, each offering cheaper and cheaper fares, faster customs authorizations, etc. One even flat-out offered me a look at his stolen merch.
I sent one of my dirtier ID tags. These guys couldn’t care less. On a planet of 23 billion, they’ll take creds where they can.
“Alright Mr. Dulli. You’re all set. Thanks for choosing Fisk Landing-“ I shut it off and dove.
Ten minutes later, I was street-side. Rain pounded the city but it definitely wasn’t keeping the people inside. Some kind of festival or rally further downtown had them out in droves but I weaved through the flow of slick raincoats towards one of the clubs the almost-slave kid told me about. I passed the bouncer and into a wall of noise.
I needed earplugs. I don’t know how these kids can do it. They say youth is a powerful antidote to life. All I know is that when you’re sold to sledge rock on an unformed world when you’re twelve years old, there’s no such thing as youth.
The first two clubs looked and sounded almost identical. The lights were different colors I guess. Otherwise, it was the same haze of desperation and escape. Booze made them forget the life that was waiting for them in daylight. They danced, consumed, and fumbled like it was all going to go away. For those unlucky to catch the attention of the thieves and slavers scoping the crowd, I suppose they had a point.
I put out some feelers to try and see who was carrying. The kid had said his dealer was slinging Neon but when you hit a club, everyone’s either on it or looking for it, and unfortunately he didn’t give me anything but the most basic of descriptions on this dealer Kendrick. So it was taking a while. After a couple hours, I realized something stank about me. Maybe they thought I was cop or the scowl on my face told them I wasn’t out to have a good time. Regardless, I had to change my approach so I started following people, potential targets. There are couple things your basement-traffickers will look for; jailhouse or youth-house tats, ratty clothes with flashes of expensive (stolen) accessories, anything that would send up a signal that society would probably get along just fine without you.
I was followed a couple outside who were definitely on the hunt. They met up with a guy who fit the kid’s very rough description. The girl was visibly nervous. It took about fifteen seconds before life got jolly again.
“C’mon Kendrick, spot me now and I’ll hit you back tomorrow..” The guy said.
“You think I’m here to make your night? That it?” Kendrick said, dismissing the couple with a wave. But when he got a better look at the girl, he grinned. “Yeah, you know, maybe we can work something out.”
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- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 1 (view source)
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- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 5 (view source)
- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 6 (view source)
- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 7 (view source)
- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 8 (view source)
- Comm-Link:Tales of Kid Crimson - Issue 9 (view source)
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