NEON VIXENS

Weapons were loaded, barricades were reinforced, a fresh target was painted on the nearest wall.

Every gang needed a place to call its own.
The Neon Vixens had spent long enough fighting over territory that belonged to someone else.
Every abandoned workshop, every forgotten storage bay and every stretch of neglected transit tunnel seemed to have an owner.
Some demanded payment, others preferred bullets.
The Vixens had grown tired of both…

They needed somewhere to establish themselves, somewhere away from rival gangs and prying eyes.
A place they could defend, make their own and, preferably, turn the music up without someone complaining.

Their search eventually led them to an abandoned entertainment hab beneath an old transit station.
Once, it had been a pleasure club for miners and convoy crews. Its better days were long behind it. Cracked luminous tiles covered the floor,
dead neon strips hung from the walls and the remains of a bar stood beneath a thick layer of industrial dust.
Against one wall sat an ancient sound system, its speakers almost as tall as the women standing before it.

Nobody could remember when the club had closed. The transit station above had been abandoned years earlier,
and whatever had once drawn workers and travellers to this place, had disappeared with them.
But the structure was sound. There were several entrances, enough storage space for weapons and ammunition,
and a defensible position overlooking the old access tunnels.

More importantly, nobody appeared particularly interested in claiming it.
One of the Vixens brushed the dust from the sound system and examined its battered control panel.
She found a power cable, someone found a functioning socket. They plugged it in…

For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the lights flickered…
A low hum rose from the speakers. Somewhere inside the ancient machinery, a relay clicked, followed by a violent burst of static.

Then came the bass…
It rolled through the empty club, rattling loose fittings and sending years of accumulated dust drifting from the ceiling.
The Vixens looked at one another, they had found their home.

Within days, the abandoned entertainment hab had begun to change. The old bar became a workbench.
Ammunition lockers disappeared beneath the former dance floor. Broken furniture was dragged into the access corridors to form barricades,
while the club’s surviving neon strips were repaired and brought back to life.

Their weapons remained practical and battle-worn, their territory, however, was another matter.
Pink and violet light washed across the cracked tiles, music echoed through the deserted transit tunnels
and the old club slowly acquired a reputation of its own.
Every successful raid was another reason to celebrate. Every defeated rival provided another story to tell.
The Neon Vixens were beginning to feel at home.

The first unusual reading appeared during an otherwise uneventful night.
Music was playing, weapons were being cleaned.
Someone had discovered that the ancient lighting controls could still make the neon strips flash in time with the bass.

An auspex unit lay on a table beside a half-disassembled autogun.
Its display flickered… A single contact appeared near the edge of the screen, then it vanished…
The Vixen nearest the table reached over and struck the side of the unit. Its casing had survived considerably worse treatment
and she had little patience for malfunctioning equipment.
The display cleared…

A moment later, another contact appeared, then a second…
For several seconds, the signals remained motionless. The auspex emitted a faint electronic whine before its display dissolved into static.
By the time the interference cleared, the contacts were gone.
She checked the unit’s power supply, adjusted its sensitivity and ran another scan.
Nothing…

Outside, the old transit tunnels were silent apart from the distant vibration of industrial machinery.
No approaching engines, no movement on the access routes. Nothing that might explain the readings.
Perhaps the equipment was failing, perhaps something beyond the station was interfering with the signal.
The abandoned transit network was full of forgotten machinery, damaged power conduits and devices whose original purpose
had long since been lost.

She left the auspex running.
Several minutes later, the display flickered again. This time, the contacts appeared in a different position.
Before she could record the readings, they disappeared.
The Vixen stared at the empty screen… Then she looked toward the dark entrance of the club.
Nothing moved…

From somewhere behind her, a voice called for the music to be turned up.
She glanced once more at the auspex, saved what little data the machine had recorded and returned to the others.
Whatever had caused the readings, there was no sign of it now and the night was still young.

The following morning, the auspex showed nothing unusual. The Vixens had other matters demanding their attention.
Their new territory needed securing, ammunition was running low, and sooner or later another gang would discover that
the abandoned club was no longer abandoned.

They prepared accordingly.
Weapons were loaded, barricades were reinforced, a fresh target was painted on the nearest wall.
Someone turned the music back on. Beneath the flashing neon lights, the girls of the Neon Vixens returned to their preparations,
unaware of whether the strange signals would ever appear again.

For now, the club was theirs and anyone who wanted to take it would have to come through them.
The Neon Vixens were open for business.