Saints in a Chip

Both strolled down the uneven path, which was a blend of patchy green grass and dirt underfoot. Lazaro leaned back, resting his hands behind his head, gazing up at the blue sky while walking, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I’m curious,” he said.

Jude, lost in thought, glanced at him with a slight frown. “About?”

Lazaro’s chuckle slipped out, teasing. “If Patrick had actually charged you for the gas and drinks, what would you have paid him with?”

Jude shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the dusty path. “I don’t know... probably clean dishes or sweep the floor, something I could do. I’m not used to things being free,” he admitted, kicking a pebble absently. “There’s always a price to pay, I guess.” A small, ironic smile tugged at his lips. “Not like I don’t have money—I’ve got a ledger. You know what it is, right?”

Lazaro shrugged, still amused. “Fancy stuff, huh? Around here, it’s all trade for trade, or you offer up a service in return. No money, no tokens.”

Jude nodded, half-listening, but then Lazaro’s next question caught him off guard. “How much did they pay you?”

"Who?"

"The UGS, how much?"

Jude froze mid-step. He wasn’t obligated to answer, but after a brief pause, he muttered, “30 SLD.”

"The irony of your name." Lazaro shook his head. “And that’s not much for treason.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Jude’s face. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve got a son on the way. Every penny counts.” His voice tightened as he quickened his pace, clearly annoyed by the sudden intrusion into his personal life.

Lazaro gave Jude a light, playful punch on the shoulder. “No need to sulk, man. I was just curious. We do what we must.”

Jude didn’t respond, but their conversation ended abruptly as they both slowed down, eyes fixed ahead. The scene before them was grotesque—stakes thrust into the earth, each crowned with a head.

Some were little more than sun-bleached bones, while others still clung to decaying flesh. The sight made one thing clear: the monkeys weren’t killing for food; they were killing for the sake of it.

Jude swallowed, his gaze sweeping the scene. “You think they ate them?”

“They didn’t even bother,” Lazaro muttered, disgust edging into his voice. “Just left them to rot. They don’t care at all. They just don’t care.”

He began counting the stakes, his gaze flicking from one gruesome head to the next. "These must be fresh. No way Paris would just let this slide with a simple blacklist," Lazaro murmured.

Jude scanned the other side of the camp, brow furrowed. "I’m counting 49 over here."

"38 on this end," Lazaro responded. "And something tells me we’ll find a lot more ahead."

Jude’s fingers tensed at his side. "Maybe we should head back. Gear up before we get any closer."

A nervous smirk tugged at the corner of Lazaro’s lips. "I don’t feel like eating monkey steak today," he said. "Don’t worry about it. We’ve got this."

Jude shot Lazaro a questioning look. "So, what’s the plan?"

Lazaro’s stride didn’t falter as he moved forward, the stench of rot and blood thick in the air. "We stick to the basics—start by talking.”

Jude eyed the stakes, another severed head passing with each step. "I doubt they’re in a talking mood."

Lazaro shrugged. "It’s not about getting them to talk. It’s about making sure they listen."

Jude fell silent, counting heads as they walked, each step heavier than the last. Soon, they reached a makeshift fence, rough and hastily constructed. Jude braced himself for what he might find on the other side—perhaps some chaotic scene with drums, chanting, and a leader perched on a crude throne.

Instead, he was met with an unexpected sight: apes.

The apes lounged without a care, some peeling fruit and munching idly, others picking through each other’s fur, grooming in silence. One, seated cross-legged, casually flipped through the pages of a book. There were only six of them, but the scene was unnervingly peaceful.

Even as Jude and Lazaro neared the makeshift fence, not a single ape looked up. They continued their leisure, completely unfazed by the approaching humans.

Jude cleared his throat and called out, “We wanted to speak with… uh… with…” His mind blanked on the name.

Lazaro didn’t miss a beat. “Albert! We’re here to talk to Albert!”

Still, none of the apes moved or even glanced in Jude and Lazaro's direction as if they were invisible.

Jude leaned toward Lazaro, whispering, “Maybe they don’t have UTD.”

Lazaro, unfazed, pointed to one of the apes, the one sitting quietly, engrossed in a book. “That book’s in Russian.”

Jude squinted, tilting his head for a better look. “How can you tell?” he asked, eyeing the strange characters on the cover. Cyrillic letters danced across the page, indecipherable, but the bold "1984" was unmistakable.

Lazaro gave a small nod. “The UTD translates language through sound, not sight. The visuals don’t change. But after some time, your brain turns those unfamiliar lines into sounds. Just takes practice. I have read The Maias in Portuguese."

Jude shook his head, half-sighing. "You know what, I’m not even questioning that logic."

His eyes wandered over the scene, searching for the scanner landmark amid the haphazard mess of the apes’ camp. At first glance, nothing caught his attention—a strange structure made of twisted branches, with a human skull sitting ominously on top of a flat surface.

He nudged Lazaro. “Look, found it.”

Before Lazaro could respond, a towering ape strode toward them on all fours. He was dressed oddly—pants, a shirt, and even a cardigan hanging loosely on his frame. Two larger apes followed closely behind him.

The tall ape smiled, his teeth gleaming as he spoke. “Two humans in my camp. Got a death wish?” His grin widened menacingly. “Because I’m more than happy to oblige. So happy.”

Jude steadied himself. “You must be that *Albert*.”

The ape’s eyes narrowed, the smile fading slightly. “There is only one Albert.”

“Pretty common name,” Jude replied, shrugging.

Albert’s eyes darkened. “One Albert!” he snapped, his voice rising.

Jude smirked about to lean casually against the fence. “Good with words, not so much with numbers, huh? I can relate. Math wasn’t my best subject either.”

The moment his hand touched the fence, every ape that had been ignoring them turned their heads in unison, eyes locked onto Jude. He quickly stepped back, the playful smirk fading from his face. “We just want to talk,” he said, his tone shifting.

Albert’s posture straightened, chest puffing out as if to make himself seem even larger. “There’s nothing I want to say to humans. We’ve already been expelled from the gardens—what more could you possibly take from us?”

Lazaro stepped in. "Look, Albert, the one and only, we just need a quick moment with that little device you've... decorated so thoughtfully."

Albert’s expression darkened as he squared his shoulders. “I will not allow it. It’s in my camp. It belongs to me. And only I can touch it. It’s mine!”

Lazaro nodded, hands open in a gesture of peace. “Of course, we recognise that. It’s yours, which is why we’re asking.”

“Nicely,” Jude added with a half-hearted smile, trying to ease the tension.

“We won’t take more than a minute of your time,” Lazaro said.

Albert’s brows furrowed deeper, his wrinkled face hardening as his fists clenched. “Are you humans *defying* me?” His voice was low, simmering with anger.

“No, no,” Lazaro said quickly, waving his hands in a show of defence. “We’re just asking.”

Albert’s eyes flicked from Lazaro to Jude and back again, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Well, if you can get past me and my brothers and sisters, you can touch whatever you want. All you have to do is walk in.”

Jude’s stomach tightened. “I don’t like this,” he muttered under his breath.

Lazaro’s response was almost too calm. “This is what I expected,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to Jude. “Whatever happens, just remember—I’ve got this.”

Jude glanced at Lazaro, taking in his wiry frame. The man was all skin and bone, had no muscle to speak of, and was hardly the picture of a fighter. His concern deepened. “Laz, are you sure about this?”

Lazaro’s expression remained steady. His eyes focused ahead. “Trust me,” he said, stepping forward with surprising confidence. "Trust me, I've been waiting to let off some steam," Lazaro muttered, rolling his shoulders before striding toward Albert.

Jude stood frozen, watching as Lazaro, with an almost casual air, reached out and tapped the towering ape with a single finger, pushing lightly. The response was instant.

Albert’s eyes flared with rage, and without warning, he drove a brutal punch into Lazaro’s gut. Lazaro doubled over, the wind knocked out of him as he gasped for breath. His arms instinctively wrapped around his stomach, trying to steady himself, but the impact had left him disoriented. He struggled to rise, the pain evident in his face as he fought to catch his breath.

But it didn’t end there. Another ape rushed in from behind, fists clasped together, slamming them down on Lazaro’s back. The force dropped him to his knees in the dirt.

"Laz?" Jude called out, his muscles tensing, ready to leap over the fence and help his friend. Before he could act, Lazaro was kicked square in the face, his face collapsing to the ground. He groaned, spitting dirt as he struggled onto all fours, trying to push himself up. But another ape grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerked his head back, and pounded his face repeatedly.

Jude’s hands tightened around the fence, ready to leap in, but Lazaro's voice, even strained, rang out. "Don’t! I got this!"

As Lazaro gasped for air, another ape locked its arm tightly around his neck, squeezing as his face turned red. Fists rained down on his head, blow after blow, and Jude could hear a faint voice from Lazaro, barely audible between the strikes. “27, 28, 32, 34, 35... I think that’s enough.”

Suddenly, Lazaro rose to his feet with an eerie calm, seemingly unaffected by the beating. He grabbed the ape clinging to his neck by the shoulders and, with effortless strength, hurled it through the air. The ape’s body crashed into a tree, hitting the trunk like a ragdoll.

Lazaro turned to the second ape, delivering a single punch so hard the crack of bone echoed through the air. The third ape, still pounding on his back, found itself lifted high above Lazaro’s head as if it weighed nothing. Lazaro slammed the creature into the tree trunk, once, twice, and a third time with such force that the bark splintered, and the tree itself shuddered under the impact.

The remaining apes backed away, retreating into the shadows with cautious glances. Lazaro wiped the blood from his split lip, his eyes locking on Albert. "So, Albert," he said, his voice calm but challenging, "are you ready?"

Albert's eyes narrowed his expression hardening. He peeled off his cardigan and shirt, tossing them to Jude without a word. His muscular frame tensed as he faced Lazaro. "You don’t scare me," Albert growled, "I’ve fought stronger than you."

Lazaro’s lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, I don’t need to scare you," he said, taunting. "All I want is for you to hit me—as hard as you can." He stood tall, arms at his sides, daring Albert to strike.

Jude watched closely, and in that moment, it clicked—Lazaro's ability. He could harness the force of every hit, absorbing each blow and converting it into raw strength. It explained the confidence, the almost eager way Lazaro invited Albert to strike. Jude's mind raced, impressed as he pieced it together.

But the fight wasn’t unfolding the way Lazaro had expected. Albert wasn’t rushing in. Instead, the ape paced methodically, his fists raised, eyes locked on Lazaro like a predator sizing up its prey. He was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment.

Lazaro mirrored him, stepping in rhythm with Albert, with a smirk on his lips, but the tension was building. “Come on, Albert, I don’t have all day,” Lazaro teased, though his eyes never left the ape.

The minutes stretched, and the two locked in a slow dance. Jude’s unease grew as he watched. It hit him—Albert was stalling. Was Lazaro’s power limited by time? Was that what Albert was waiting for? Jude’s chest tightened as he considered the possibility. If Lazaro’s strength waned with time, how long before Albert struck? And would Lazaro be able to handle it when he did?

Jude's anxiety spiked as he saw the tension in Lazaro’s body growing. “Lazaro?”

“Stay back!” Lazaro barked, his eyes still locked on Albert.

It was clear now—Lazaro knew. If Albert didn’t strike soon, Lazaro’s strength would drain away, leaving him vulnerable. He needed to be hit to recharge his power, but the ape had been playing the long game, deliberately holding back.

Suddenly, Albert lunged forward with brutal speed, his massive fist driving into Lazaro’s gut. The force of the punch lifted Lazaro off his feet and sent him hurtling through the air, crashing at Jude’s feet like a ragdoll.

Albert’s booming laughter filled the air, echoing in the quiet. He stood over them, clearly amused, as if this was all a game to him. Jude looked down at Lazaro, who lay winded on the ground. It was becoming painfully clear—this fight wasn’t going to end well.