Merc Rule 43: A merc is obligated to join a fight under two conditions: 1) someone hit a woman, 2) someone hit a man.
Mercs are a scrappy bunch of bastards. They’ll look for any reason to fight. But if we’re being fair, there are certain conditions that call for a good dust up. You can’t just have folks hauling off and hitting people. And if they do, they gotta get dealt with.
That’s half the point of mercs in the first place. They get paid to fight. Or at least look like they’re gonna. But when the shit hits the fan, the weapons come out, and chairs start flying. The bigger the fight gets, the more mercs join in. Might be the principle, might just be for the fun of it.
I can say for our part, me and Spivey enjoy getting into the fray. Reminds me of another time we were at the Bitter Bullet. Seems like brawls break out in that bar more often than they do in fighting pits. Maybe folks just fight there because that kinda thing ain’t tolerated in Granny Lemieux’s. This night wasn’t special.
A couple of liquored-up patrons got into an argument over a game of drunken daggers. Before we knew it a knife knocked the drink outta Spivey’s hand. As you can imagine he didn’t take kindly to that. And neither did I. We ain’t spiteful bastards. Didn’t feel there was any need for weapons. ‘Sides, we both do plenty well with fists and boot heels.
And well we did.
We dove in fists first. I might have punch out some teeth, kicked in some skulls. Spivey, the skinny son of a bitch is a lot stronger than he looks. He might weigh a buck fifty, but he was lifting men over his head twice his size and making ’em wear tables. Not five minutes in, the entire bar was at it and Ginger was hauling her minigun off the bar back.
Nothing breaks up a fight like the sound of six rotating barrels warming up to spit hot lead at the bar. Every man froze and reconsidered throttling the fella whose neck his mitts were braced around. Me and Spivey were no exception.
But if you’re a merc there’s a few things you can’t resist. And joining in a fight is one of ’em.
-Coyote Joe, Memoirs of a Merc
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