"How can you keep all that scratch for yourself, you little shit? How can you be so selfish? Ungrateful? After everything I fucking do for you!?" I hear Fatima suddenly yelling. I find them a couple of paces away. She's circling Helmet like a starved murder-bird, the kid frozen stiff.

"Oh, Goggles, thank the Emperor." the medicae exhales in relief. "This little mine-rat isn't giving me my cut. Gone all statue on me, like he always does. Can you talk to him?"

"I already paid her fifty percent," Helmet mutters, eyes fixed on nothing, voice hollow.

"What was the hustle?" I ask, already knowing I'll regret getting involved.

Fatima's hands flutter like nervous insects. "Henrik - that new guard, the big bastard from topside with the neck tattoo, you know him? He was looking for someone... of his tastes. Helmet wasn't exactly his preference, but I worked my ass off convincing him otherwise. Did the little guy a solid, even got him proper lube, tranqs, the whole premium!"

"She sold those to Henrik." Helmet clarified.

"I got it FOR YOU you ungrateful shit!" Fatima jabs a yellowed finger into the kid's chest hard enough to rock him backward. "So YOU don't have to suffer through it dry, so YOU can pocket some coin! And what do I get? This fucking mute routine - every damn time!" Her voice cracks with practiced desperation. "Can you at least look at me when I'm talking, you little mine-rat? Emperor's balls, you're causing a scene! You want the guards coming down on all of us?"

Helmet kept still as death.

"So what exactly does he owe you then?" I ask, my fake teeth clicking awkwardly as I try to keep my voice level.

"Nothing. We agreed on fifty," Helmet states flatly.

"That's grox-shit and you know it!" More jabs to his hollow chest. "You should've told me! Should've been a proper friend and apologized, offered the remaining twenty-five percent without me having to drag it out of you! That's what fucking friends do!" She turns to me, eyes suddenly wide and pleading. "Right, Goggles?"

I sigh, feeling the Forza wearing thin in my system, joint pain creeping back. "Helmet's probably cooked after shift, probably got more Forza than blood in his brain. Can't think straight." I run a grimy hand over my precious goggles. "How about sorting your percentages on Mass-Day, eh? When everyone's got fresh coin and clearer heads. Meanwhile-" I give Helmet a look, "the boy probably needs to get some food in him before he drops. I'll make sure he doesn't disappear on you."

Fatima's eyes narrow. She reaches into her filthy med-pouch, fingers twitching with an addiction of her own. "Fine. But I want what's mine, Goggles. Don't think I'll forget." She slips a dented Forza vial into my palm, while I slide my coins across.

"Come on, kid," I mutter to Helmet. "Let's get some food in you."