Starpath: Scoundrels of the Interstellar Highway - Thread 2 - Games

Starpath: Scoundrels of the Interstellar Highway - Thread 2

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[QUOTE]Back on Duroma...[/QUOTE] [QUOTE][video=youtube;tkbgtVFlyCQ]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkbgtVFlyCQ[/video][/QUOTE] "What the fuck are you listening to? Turn that crap down and finish unloadin'. We've got to get this shit off the ship before we can spruce it up and sell it, remember?" spat the Upyri, carrying a large crate full of various bits of junk towards the open cargo door. "Spruce it up? You think anyone would still buy this old fucker? Its probably half your age!" said the human, whom had been listening to whatever music the former owner of the old cargo ship had collected. The Upyri paused and cut the Human a look. "This ship's about twenty years old. Perfectly fine. Just needs fresh paint, maintenance, and a little love. It'll be back hauling across the galaxy in no time." "If you say so, boss..." said the human, picking up one of the other crates. As he carried it off and set it down in the sand, he looked back up towards the ship. It looked like it had been through hell, really. "So what happened to it again?" he asked, motioning up at it as the Upyri walked back up. "Oh, pirates. Raided the ship, shot the crew, took the valuable stuff. That's what the SDF told me, anyway. Only thing I can't get over is the damn name." "The name? What's it called?" asked the human. The Upyri pointed to the side near where the bridge window was above them. The human stepped back a ways, using his hand to block out some of the desert sun as he got a good look at its designation. "...[URL="http://starpath.wikia.com/wiki/Mordred"]Mordred[/URL]?" he said aloud, before looking back to the Upyri. "Yeah. Ain't that some character from Human mythology or something?" The human nodded rapidly. "Yeah. Really old legend. He was the son of a king named Arthur and his half-sister Morgan. Evil fuck. Tried to kill his father and take the throne...old shit like that is weird." "Yep." said the Upyri, with a chuckle. He took a drink from a small metal flask pulled from his pocket, before motioning back towards the cargo hold. "Lets finish unloading. Then we can take a break before we start fixing what needs fixing."

After procuring a beat up buggy through a bar fight, Iron and Sting had been roaming around the desert settlements, mostly it was Iron driving around whilst Sting had been stuck in a drunken stupor. Clinging to the sides, she had been hooting and hollering whilst taking the occasional swig from her flask. After a few days escapade they had arrived back at the spaceport where the Company would be picking them up. Stopping on a ridge overlooking the small starport settlement, Sting looked with drowsy eyes out over the landscape bathed in the light of the sunrise. [quote][media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKeqXyY-9xA[/media][/quote] "Aint -hic-... Aint that just the... the most beautiful darn thang you ever done seen, ironman?" she said in a slurred voice as she climbed down from the back of the buggy and sat down on top of the drivers cage.

Iron climbed out and joined Sting. Ira removed her helmet and sighed. "If only everyone else took their time to appreciate what they already have." Ira sat down next to Sting and produced a metal flask from one of her pockets. "Cheers, partner."

Sting clanked her flask against Iron's and then took greed gulps. Looking out over the golden desert sands she sighed with enjoyment. "Ya know Ironman... I aint never thanked ya for pickin me up from that lockup over at Jugmach." She said, giving Iron a squinting grin.

[video=youtube;FAcaAeIwl1Q]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAcaAeIwl1Q[/video] [quote]March 28th, 2385: It's been smooth sailing this whole last month. We've been able to get a lot of weapons shipped out to our friends on Seloveha, including a few prototypes. I had a talk with Mattheus and told him not to waste time trying to make the tank work underwater. I worry about that boy sometimes, and I hope the next time I see Beshyem, he'll have forgotten about that conversation. In a few days, we'll be linking up with the Muramasa II and sending them out with the Archive. Honestly all of this just feels like the calm before the storm. I'm nervous; Arkadam has been cloak and dagger about this whole mess, and I'm too afraid to press him for information after what happened with that Ryvik punk... So all I'm doing right now is searching for ways to arm the crew and prepare them for what comes next. Neasha's been in close contact with Argos, too, trying to build up a better rapport with them, and, oddly enough, they seem just as concerned about our crew's survival as we are. Neasha says that she's just about ready to trust them, and if that's the case, we might even let Arkadam out of the brig. He's bitter about everything, but if it turns out he was right about all this then maybe he should be. He had been part of our inner circle when the Boss was still with us, and we forced him out as soon as she was gone. I wish I could know what she'd do, here. But I guess we'll just have to go with what Neasha says. At the moment, we're headed for Upyri space. I got a lead on a scrapper/salvage auction there, where they've been saying a lot of weapons are about to turn up. The conflict with Sol and the USR has been amping up the arms trade like you wouldn't believe... I've heard they're even going to have some mechs up for grabs there. If we can get one, it would massively increase our combat effectiveness. I wouldn't be surprised if they end up being the next big thing in warfare, honestly. But if we can't, maybe we'll settle on some military-grade drones. Mattheus needs some more raw materials to work with for his reverse-engineering projects. -Ioannis Constantine, Belladonna Company[/quote] The Aurikha dropped out of warp smoothly as it approached Nyx, one of the two Upyri homeworlds. It would be a quick stop, intended to give the coming mission a boost in firepower. Arkadam, laying on the cot in his brig cell, felt the change in speed while resting on his back. It was a strange sensation, but one he had gotten used to. There were no windows, and he silently wondered where he was. The last month had passed by in a blur. It had only felt like a week or two, with every day bringing on new surprises. When they set off for Duroma to meet the crew, not only was he confident that he wouldn't see them off, like the others, but he wasn't sure if he would ever see a friendly face again, unless everything he planned came to fruition. But then one day, Neasha came to his cell not to scream at him or curse him as she had for the first few days of his captivity, but to ask prodding questions, and to give him begrudging updates about the company's relationship with Argos. It was clear that she believed he had seen something that she hadn't, and was beginning to reach an understanding. As far as Arkadam was concerned, she was still a world away. But it didn't matter. He only hoped that she would release him before April 1st. If she didn't, everything would work the way he had told her it would. He'd be redeemed in the eyes of everyone, but he'd also be a dead man walking, and so would they. The Vigil would spare no expense in tracking him and the other Belladonna Company leaders down and slaughtering them. He needed to get out of this cell if he was going to make it work the way he wanted it to work. To render the Vigil, and Argos, harmless. To save Yanim. He sighed and ran his claws through his hair. All he could do is wait. --- Compared to the ultra-modern skyline surrounding it, the Aurikha looked like a relic. Neasha, standing on the bridge, drummed her fingers on her hip as she sipped on a cup of Topa. The big day was approaching, and in its shadow she felt less and less prepared to handle it. Arkadam's treachery had shook her, and with his half-ruined face, he reminded her too much of Rask to ever be comfortable working with him. But given the circumstances, she would rather be uncomfortable and relying on a real bastard than to be empty handed and unready for what was to come. As the ship set down on the pad, she sent an order down to the warden. "I've made up my mind. It's time to let him out." She felt sick inside. [I]Godsdammit,[/I] she thought. [I]I should have just made him a third partner.[/I]

[QUOTE=Radley;53192059]"Ya know Ironman... I aint never thanked ya for pickin me up from that lockup over at Jugmach." She said, giving Iron a squinting grin.[/QUOTE] Ira returned the grin and nodded. "The pleasure was all mine. I never thought I'd enjoy the company of a would-be bounty." She raised her flask. "To the future and to odd friendships."

"To the wilds side." Sting said as she raised a toast to herself as she threw back the flask one last time. "Now... Drive us down to that landing pad, just in case." She muttered as she fell down onto the cage, gripping the bars to hold onto.

Nyx was like an inescapable labyrinth of skyscrapers and neon lights. The Belladonna leadership felt comfortably anonymous here as they walked down to street level, where they were able to hail an automated taxi. Neasha, and Constantine sat in the front seats, while Mattheus sat alone in the middle seat. In the back, Nir sat with Arkadam. She held a large and heavy revolver at the ready, while Arkadam looked emaciated and ill in a heavy coat, his cuffed hands resting between his legs. "...It's not a matter of 'human-built' or 'upyri-built,' or 'kanad-built,'" Mattheus explained as they spoke about the auction in advance. "It's about what firm built each piece, and what they're good at making. I'll have to get a close look at every lot." "And what if that's not possible?" Constantine asked. "In that case, don't buy anything I don't recognize at a distance. There's a good chance we'd just be wasting our money." "[i]Our[/i] money," Neasha corrected. "Look, we don't need every purchase to be a winner. In fact, this time, we're willing to hedge our bets on some risky buys, because if even one ends up saving someone's life on the Muramasa, it's worth a dozen bad decisions." "Alright then, but I'll let you know if I'm out of my depth." Arkadam stared at Nir with hateful daggers, muttering under his breath. "Kisk yoma virim ratra is'kisk okan harnil kupt pipar met irdam em ke, kisk akhana Kaminmangana..." Nir merely smiled at him, dismissively. "Don't waste your breath cursing me, little man. That jaw of yours needs a good polish, and I'm more than willing to remove it for you to give Mattheus a chance to clean it." The taxi pulled up to the curb in front of a nondescript building with numerous doors open to the street. Inside, escalators ferried the crowds in and out of a diamond-shaped room with holoscreens hanging from the ceiling in every direction as words rapidly scrolled past, advertising all manner of goods being bought and sold at different chambers within the complex. "Where are we headed?" Neasha wondered aloud. "Over here," Constantine said, pointing at a particular stage number. "E6," he added. "That's what my lead told me." They all shuffled along, ignoring INTERGALACTICA broadcasts that were displaying one of their final interviews with Nicolas Chevelle, all except Arkadam, who paused and watched the broadcast with a mixture of resentment and sadness in his eyes, until he was grabbed and pulled along by Nir. He bared his fangs as he searched them for an explanation. "Why did you bring me? I have no role here..." "A number of reasons," Neasha answered, without looking him in the eye. "You look terrible. You haven't been eating like you're supposed to." Arkadam was annoyed. "Oh... so you're worried about your pet then? Thought you'd take me on a walk? Keh heh heh... A leash would be embarrassing, but I think I'd like it a little more than your ogre and her peacemaker. I bet they think I'm your slave." "I don't care what they think," Neasha replied, indifferently. "I brought you here because we're going to stop keeping you locked up in the brig. But I don't know what you've been cooking up in that clockwork brain you've got, so I need extra assurances." Arkadam laughed at her again, and there was an undeniable decay within it. Neasha knew that whatever he had lost had been gone from the moment Yanim died, or possibly even before, but Arkadam had only begun to display it openly as of recent. "You think I would run? I've been inside a tiny room for a month, serek. Don't you understand how much it hurts just to walk at this pace? No, no you don't... You're only concerned about you and yours... [i]your[/i] Belladonna Company, [i]your[/i] money." Neasha's expression was sour, but she kept her thoughts to herself. "We need to talk, Arkadam. Once this auction is over with, I'm taking you to get some good food, and we're going to talk about what you did with Argos. My opinion on the matter might have changed recently." "Stop talking like that," Arkadam interrupted. "Either it changed or it didn't. And since you brought me along, that means it changed. You know that I did the right thing. You owe me an apology." "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Neasha shot back. They took their seats among the gathered crowd so that they could bid on the items which would soon be on display, being lowered one by one into the auditorium from the rooftop, where a line of hovering craft were waiting in a cue to place their cargo on the pad. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Karl slowly walked through the empty street with his hands in his pockets. After Duroma the former reality star had gone back to one of his favorite planets: Jaktmark. Located on the northern edge of Sol territory the colony, if you could even call it that, had been founded by the Valhallans. It was a small temperate world with a lush tropical region on its northern pole. Despite its abundance of open terrain, fauna, flora and resources the planet was sparsly populated. Inhabitants were mostly fishermen, hunters and a few farmers who maintained a small region. The rest was a massive reserve, thanks to a Sol-UGC agreement. Over the years more the isolated regions of the planet had been used by both Sol and the UGC as breeding zones for species risking extinction. Hunters operating from Mjödhall, Jaktmarks only township, were tasked with population control and anti-poacher operations. Karl stopped to behold the horizon. It was early in the morning and the sky was set alight by a combination of orange and purple waves. This was his legacy. While he intended to work with the Belladonna Company for the foreseeable future Karl was not a stupid man. He knew that this last mission could go wrong. Because of this he had donated a hefty portion of his fortune to the Jaktmark Reserve. It was the least he could do. Commotion from a nearby building pulled his attention away from the horizon. Eight Sol Marshals and two Sol Sheriffs were marching out from their local field office and headed towards the pair of shuttles stationed nearby. Once more Karl was reminded of the galaxy's turmoil. It was time to head back into the action.

In a dimly-lit, unoccupied place where one could avoid all interaction with the world outside, Beta had established her new workshop. Sparks from her welding torch cast shadows on the industrial nonslip floors, harsh, strobe-like movements mimicking her every move like arrogant demons mocking her in Hell. With a flick of her wrist, she artfully crafted the machine which would finish what she began years earlier, on the way to Kuromo. The tail was just the first step in becoming something which transcended her mortal abilities, and her moral constraints as well. She stepped back and admired its lethal form, an expression of the horror within the very fiber of her being. It would be her new skin. Grinning, practically salivating, she lifted a control component off the workbench and activated the internal power supply. A deep red glow filled the room, drowning out all other colors as the reactor provided ample strength for her to use. The shadow demons stood still in this Hell made manifest, awestruck, as Beta stood triumphantly before the Infernal Machine. Its breastplate opened as the helmet lifted backwards, and a seam gradually split down the center of the torso all the way to the loin, as if it were unzipping itself. She had watched this procedure repeatedly since the very beginning of construction, but always with a power umbilical connecting the machine to the grid. Now, it was as if the beast was alive, with a heart as loveless as her own. She adored it. Sliding one leg and then the other into the machine, she held onto handles built into the open torso hatch to balance, before placing each of her two arms into the sleeves. It was well padded inside, and water-cooled. A waste disposal system and antimicrobial surfaces meant she could spend days or maybe even weeks inside, with minimal maintenance required. The arsenal of weapons was small, but oh-so satisfying, tempting her with an array of destructive tools as soon as the holographic display was lowered over her unmasked eyes. Had this been all the machine was designed to do, however, she would have completed it so much quicker. No, it had one more great secret in store, one which would change the entire momentum of battle if she was ever forced to use it. It was called the Zhukamangana, and it needed a test fire. Across the room, a strange, cylindrical object was positioned so that its flat end was aimed at her position; this would be the "dummy." With a click on the control component, the object began to emit a glow of its own, and grew to be white-hot as something whirred inside. Something akin to a miniature rift engine was spinning itself up to speed within, but with parameters no race would ever use to travel. No, the spacial distortion being created within the lab had only one specific application. It began to erupt with boiling-hot steam as the coolant was insufficient, and a hazy, blue light one might associate with radiation began to pour out of it in a circular bubble. The ground and ceiling in front of the device began to dissolve on the molecular level. Yet, somehow, this wasn't the focus of her research. For a fraction of the amount of power being used to create the distortion, Beta could unleash far more death and destruction. Instead, Beta picked up a large, flexible wrench from the workbench and tossed it flippantly into the haze. Something like a lightning strike struck it, sending half of the tool hurtling across the room, dangerously, while the other half vanished into thin air, probably appearing again somewhere in deep space. Now was the moment. She activated the Zhukamangana, and the reactor on her back revved into overdrive, the reddish light intensifying until the Velkratkammik looked as if it was on fire. She walked boldly into the distortion, watching as the bluish haze was repelled from her form, striking against the walls and dissipating with a shriek, until she was up against the dummy target. Grabbing onto it with her claws, the machine clamped down, ripping into the white-hot metal as if the target were a block of clay. Beta ripped it apart, piece by piece, and watched the nearly molten remains fall to the floor inertly. As she did so, the glow of her armor returned to its dormant yet menacing normal. She let out an evil cackle, as the test had been a perfect success.

'Reading another one of your [I]educational[/I] book, Specter?" Countess asked from behind his seat. Specter's comfortable position with his feet kicked up on the console was compromised as he made a slight jump in his pilot chair. Hurrying to to close the book and hide it before she could get a good look at it's content. "I h-have no clue w-what you're talking about." He said while avoiding eye contact as much as possible. "I'm reading up on Argos and their history. That's all." "I'm sure." Countess patted him on his shoulder before sitting down in her own chair. "I've been meaning to ask you about those actually." She slipped a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. She offered one to Specter, but he refused. "So, you're one of those old-school types right?" He looked at her, slightly confused "You don't read on holotablets or any other digital way. I noticed you had stacks of them in your cabin while I walked past it the other day." "I guess you can say that I'm old school, yeah." He shrugged "I just like having a physical thing in my hand, y'know? Plus I don't have to think about battery or anything like that while just reading them. At worst these things will just fade, but I can just order new ones." "Flipping through that one the boss told me about, you really like holding something in your hand. Didn't pick you to be the trashy romance novels type." "You buy one book like that and they never let a guy live it down." "Your fault for doing that while your supervisor is a nosey robot." "That is commanding officer, countess!" Archangel's voice echoed through the intercom. "You're both running late for VR training. You have fifteen minutes to check-in or I'll lock you in with Beta for five minutes." The two looked at each other. The question in the air was whether he was serious or just trying to scare them. Either way, they weren't going to sit and find out. [I]12 minutes later [/I] The duo arrived at the VR training facility used by the Vultures in-between missions. The rigs that they used were specifically made to simulate actual operations with the added bonus of stimulation to the body if someone to take damage during the sesion. Specter was always reminded the first time he put that thing on. He didn't think much of it until he got shot in the gut due to negligence on his part. The pain was might as well have been real even if he didn't suffer any real damage. One look at the rig locations could tell him that someone just got shot in the head with the way they were jerking around and holding their head. 'Poor fucker.' "It's good of you two to finally join us." Archangel looked at them from the operations console "I was just going to send Beta a message to prepare something for you." "Oh come on now Arc, you weren't really gonna call her." Specter tried to lighten things up. His smile quickly faded "Oh god, you were serious." "He's always serious. The tin can doesn't lighten up." Specter recognized the voice but had to turn around to confirm it. Nathaniel was right behind them with hands on his hips. "Or did you forget that, Zack?" "Nice to see you again, Nathaniel. When did you come back from the front?" "This morning. Executor send out a call for the Horsemen to be ready, so me and Arc are putting you guys through some trials to make sure you're sharp." He looked towards the squad that was finishing up their VR sesion "What was their program?" "The raid on Folokram 3. Version 4.2.3. I added three extra guards at the entrance of the hangar. Just to see what would happen." "And?" "Squad leader got her head taken clean off by shrapnel and her second in command got blown out by a grenade. He might get blown out by one for real one of these days. Rest of them got their shit together as the demolitions expert took charge. They suffered only three more casualties before extraction. Conclusion: The guards did very little. Addendum: Put Kobold up for squad leader in future simulations." Specter looked towards the Vulture that was clutching their head earlier. Guess that was the reason why. She didn't look all too happy about it either. He wondered if he was going to go through the same simulation. "Are we running the Muramasa simulation again?" Countess asked "I think I figured out how to dodge the Argos fighters long enough to blow up the ship in that last version." "No Countess, you're getting too comfortable with that one, something that I want to avoid so not to encourage lazy and predictable behaviour. I got a brand new simulation ready for you and Horseman Nathaniel to try out. Boome, version 1.01." "Great, clone boys at their own turf." Nathaniel shrugged and motioned for the two to follow him to the VR rigs. At this point the setup was a routine for Specter. Slip on the gear, turn on the neurolink, grab the 'gun' and put on the goggles. He was hoping he would be in one of the pods to simulate flight, but looks like he was on infantry duty this time around. He could only guess that they needed to catch up on ground work so they wouldn't be completely fucked if they were forced to land. The simulation began when the squad was linked in. The training facility disappeared and gave way to the sight of a lush jungle. He was there only for a second, but he could already feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Even the smell was there. It had rained just an hour ago. He had no idea how he gathered that, but he just felt it. Next to him was Countess, five other Vultures were in front of them with Nathaniel leading the pack. The group were moving slowly through the jungle, cutting through the vegetation. They stopped when they happened on a unusual sight. The trees were bend to form an arc, from them tied to ropes grizzly trophies of skulls hung. Some of them looked humanoid, others were alien and bestial in nature. A very clear warning not to proceed. One that they would have to ignore as the HUD showed their objective was located several kilometers inside the forest past the point. "Didn't know the science experiments did this shit." One of the Vultures commented on the landmark. "They don't. This is someone else's handiwork." He motioned for the squad to move deeper into the forest. Specter began to ignore the sweat running down his neck as chills began to run up his spine. They walked for what seemed to be hours, the feeling of being watched never leaving the back of his mind. On the path they were following they passed by totems and bits of architecture unfamiliar to him. Someone lived here long ago, but who was the current occupants? It didn't take long for them to figure out what kind of opponent they were dealing with as one of the Vultures walked into a trap. His foot fell through the ground and straight into sharpened spikes bellow. The trap mangled his his foot, leaving him crippled. The next victim to a trap was Countess as she stepped into a snare, sending her into the air and hanging from a branch. "Get him out of that pit!" Nathaniel ordered "Specter, you get her down from that tree." Specter nodded and began to climb so he could cut her down. He was about to reach for his knife when it happened. An arrow shot from the forest and straight into her chest. Piercing the armor and leaving her hanging limply from the tree. Specter's eyes went wide as he turned around to see the a spear fly out and nail one of the Vultures helping his comrade, skewering him and leaving him pinned to the ground. "AMBUSH! LIGHT THEM UP! BURN THE FUCKING FOREST!" The Vultures began to return fire from where the primitive weapons came from. The sounds of gunfire and explosions began to fill the air as the foilagge turned out to be poor cover for whatever was attacking them. But that was just the start. A scream was heard from deep within the jungle, followed by a roar. The remaining Vultures looked at each other before turning the guns to where that infernal sound came from. And then they saw them in the darkness of the shadows cast in the by the trees and bushes, menacing eyes looking back at them. They were down to five, but the jungle dwellers were without number. Specter was still at the back, his attention focused on the same direction as his comrades, he failed to notice the hands creeping up behind him and yanking him into the bushes. His back and upper body crackled as he hit a rock. He was dazed for a moment but he regained focus to see the sight in front of him. He had a good look at the creature, over two meters tall, yet still hunched over. The skin was light green, it's face was long, two long tusks pointing from it's mouth, a mohawk on top of it's head and tribal tattoos all over. The thing smiled as it grabbed specter by the neck and pinned him to the ground. He tried to trash and kick out of it's grip but it was no use, the thing raised a club in the air and brought it down. Next thing he knew, he was back in the VR rig, his head pounding from the hit he took. He could only guess that it killed him and ended his part of the simulation early. "Take it easy, Specter. You were just killed in action by getting your head caved in." "Yeah, Arc, no shit!" His head cerainly felt like it was caved in, aspirin wasn't going to fix this. "The fuck were those things anyway?" "Boome's call them the locals. Or the ugly fuckers that live in the jungles if you prefer the more colourful version." "Boss" Countess spoke up, holding the spot where the arrow went through her "How the fuck did an arrow go through our armor like that?" She was angry, probably suspecting foul play from Archangel during the simulation. "The local's weapons are not to be underestimated, they may be primitive, but they craft strong tools in order to survive that planet. And to chase off any invaders." He looked at her for a second "And you weren't exactly wearing heavy duty gear, were you?" "So what now?" "Now Specter, you and the other dead go get something for the pain and report back here. We got more time and your training for the day is far from over."

One by one, lots were brought onto the stage for bidding. The variance of quality was staggering, and Mattheus, using his tablet as a sort of magnifier, examined each to offer his input on whether or not the company should bid. However, it quickly became clear that finding a bargain would nearly be impossible, as invariably, the price of the better lots inflated far beyond their reach within moments of hitting the stage. Neasha leaned back in her seat, frustrated. "This isn't working," she said quietly to the others. "Is there any chance we could just buy cheap shit and upgrade it?" Mattheus was hesitant. "There's not a whole lot we don't know about the mundane, boss. If we're going to keep up with the expensive new stuff, we're not going to be able to accomplish that with old equipment no matter how much we invest into improving it. It'd be like trying to win a cook-off by dressing up cheap meat." "Maybe we'd do better at a salvage lot, then," Constantine suggested. "If we can't afford any shiny new toys, maybe we could get it one piece at a time." Nir smiled. "I know plenty of scrapyards on Rigel-" "Don't even suggest it," Neasha interrupted, to the khergian's amusement. Just as the group was about to pick up and leave, a new lot was brought to the stage with some unusual-looking gear, including an intimidating-looking battle drone. "Whoa, hold on," Mattheus said as he scoped in on it. "Let's just see what's going on here, before we go..." The lot presented next had been pulled from a cargo vessel which had been impounded months earlier in Upyri space for carrying a false registration, and the contents within revealed the reason: along with large amounts of salvaged and stolen military technology apparently bound for USR hands, there was also a heavy stash of narcotics and hard currency. Once the ship had been halted by authorities, its true owners had decided to just take the loss. Once the weapons had been processed by the state, those which could be sold to legitimate mercenary outfits were appraised and brought to auction for the public's benefit. "Session number 41," a voice droned over the intercom, "asset forfeiture lot 18B, military hardware. Twenty-two automatic pistols, unknown manufacturer: '9-mm ZPD77.' Sixty Vashkom Arms VA-80 rifles. Thirty-five Blitz ARU Raptor submachine guns. One hundred and eighty Colt Ranger-II semiautomatic pistols. Sixteen Kalashnikov Group AKP-78 rifles. Two rifles, unknown manufacturer: 'TAC-85.'" "Godsdammit," Neasha said under her breath with a wry smile on her lips. "Six Aurora LLC light machine guns. One hundred and sixty ballistic helmets of unknown manufacture. One hundred and eight ballistic vests of unknown manufacture..." Mattheus had his eyes locked on the drone in the back. "I swear, I've seen that thing somewhere before... maybe a newsreel or something." "Looks like a tank with legs," Nir commented. "Maybe you should make a version that swims." Constantine stifled a chuckle. "Quiet, you." "No, really," Mattheus insisted. "I don't know exactly why, but I'll bet anything that the droid back there is worth more than the rest of the lot combined." They all perked up, aside from Arkadam, who had fallen asleep in his chair. "Really?" Neasha asked. Mattheus nodded. "If we go all-in on anything, it should be this one." "...and one Southstar Alliance DA-2 'Golem' territorial defense drone. There is no minimum. Bidding will begin in two minutes." Nir hadn't exaggerated. The beast of a robot looked like a bipedal tank, and was very likely top-heavy due to the large missile pods and array of guns mounted on its broad shoulders. Free of its weapons, it would actually be quite narrow at the midsection, with a unique spinal-column design which would allow it to twist and bend more like a living being than a machine, but its stout and triangular head presented no semblance of humanity or any other sentient being. Its digits were long and curled like an eagle's talons, and each concealed a heavy cutting blade, presumably ones which were heat-assisted. Despite its size, Mattheus noticed that much of the space taken up by the machine's arms and legs was actually a sort of advanced honeycomb design, meaning the droid was probably more nimble than it appeared. All at once, it hit him. "Hey, I remember now... Southstar Alliance- they were the ones fighting, uh, I think they were called 'Avenir Minerai,' over a planet in the southwest before YsCom took everything over. I remember an old friend of mine went to work out there." "A competing colony situation?" Constantine asked. "Yeah. It got [I]really[/I] ugly. Bad enough that civilians on both sides abandoned the effort when the corporations wouldn't come to the negotiation table. Just imagine [I]that[/I] thing roaming around in the wilderness behind your house. Friend or foe, that's just nerve-wracking, isn't it?" "Yeah, it is. So who won?" Neasha asked. "Nobody," Mattheus said. "Southstar definitely went out of business, and I think the other guys did too. Or maybe they were bought out. Last I heard, the abandoned colonies are a sort of no-go zone where droids like these are roaming around. I honestly forgot about it until now; I haven't heard anything about it in years..." "Do you still think it can help the crew?" Neasha probed. "Oh, hell yeah." "The bidding will now commence," the voice on the intercom droned. Neasha's hand shot into the air as she clicked the button on her remote. Bids came fast and early, and the price escalated, but the serek matched every raise with one of her own, until three, and then two, bidders remained. "This is going to hurt," Constantine remarked as the price began to rise. "You know some of our guns are in that lot, right?" Neasha replied. "That's got to be fate." "I like this company," Nir said to no one in particular, a wide grin on her face. "Plenty of guns to choose from, lots of goblins to kill..." Neasha clicked the button again, sitting on the edge of her seat. The auctioneer counted down, and when it was clear that the other bidder had backed off, a chime alerted the room that the lot had closed and that the Belladonna Company had purchased the goods. Neasha was so surprised to have won out that she froze for a moment. "How much did I just spend?" Constantine looked at her with an exasperated smile. "Not enough to put us in the red, but enough to say I'm never having this idea again. Now come on, we need to go and get our stuff out of the warehouse before the next lot hits the auction block. Hey, Arkadam, wake up."

Abraxas stared out into the sky, wondering. He could feel that his time was almost over. But for now, he'll have to finish it to the end. It's only the right thing to do.

Backstage, the leaders of the company overlooked the extent of their purchase while Mattheus worked out the details of transportation at a nearby public phone console. While a third party would be responsible for moving the goods back to the Aurikha, the small group would be free to attend to other matters. There was only one item on the agenda: as promised, Neasha would treat the entire group, including Arkadam, to a nice dinner at a moderately-expensive restaurant near the port.Approaching the lobby of a nearby tower, they paused for a moment to address the elephant in the room. "Nir, we're going to need those keys," Neasha said. "Don't make me regret this, 'Kadam." "I think you already do," Arkadam replied bleakly as he held out his hands. Nir unlocked the binding and removed the cuffs, allowing the kanad to stretch out his arms before shoving deep into his coat pockets to warm them up. "You didn't accomplish a damned thing by keeping me locked up all this time, did you?" Constantine intervened. "It wasn't about accomplishing anything. It was about peace of mind. If we couldn't trust you not to contact Argos without our knowledge, then how were we supposed to trust you to stay out of trouble this whole time?" "So that's what you want to call it?" Arkadam snapped. Neasha was indignant. "Oh, don't play the victim... We kept you safe-" "Are you about to lie to me, or to yourself? Because I remember what you wanted to do when you learned, and if it weren't for that delayed relay to the Vigil, I'd be dead right now!" "The fact you set that up ahead of time shows you I reacted exactly how you expected me to," Neasha argued back, "the way anyone would have reacted." Arkadam smiled, but his eyes showed something far removed from happiness. "Anyone?" he repeated. "No... not everyone would have murdered me for acting out of turn, but you certainly would have. I planned for you. You and this spineless fucking mockery of what Yanim built. This animal we brought back from Rigel. All of it!" Constantine was about to grab Arkadam to silence him when Nir did the deed herself, chokeslamming him onto the concrete and knocking the wind out of him. Bystanders quickly cleared some space, albeit standing close enough to capture some footage on their mobile devices in case the fight continued. "Damn," Constantine remarked, noticing that Nir had neutralized Arkadam so easily that she was still holding a lit cigarette in her offhand. "Pick yourself up," Neasha instructed. "Uh, it's alright everyone," Mattheus said as he motioned for the gathered crowd to disperse. He wasn't sure if Arkadam was injured, but he needed to think of something, quick, for fear that the police would be called. "Our friend here doesn't handle his drink too well, and uh, he just tried to start a fight. It's over now and he's okay, I promise... We're gonna get him back home soon." Laying on his back for the moment, Arkadam stared off into the sky. He was degraded and beaten down, but the act needed to continue. Ironically, being too cooperative would foster even less trust, as they would know that trust was what he wanted most. Vindication was a more believable motive, even if it frustrated them and further dragged along the suffering. Nir leaned over him so that cigarette ashes fell onto his clothing, and smiled mockingly. "You are so small," she chuckled, "if I'm an animal, then you're a pest. Should I stamp you out?" "That's enough," Constantine said, patting her on the back. Arkadam lifted himself painfully off the ground and steadied himself against the wall. "If she lays a hand on me again," he threatened, "I'll forget to stop the next signal. Your choice." Neasha merely glared at him and motioned for him to follow as the group entered a luxurious tower. There was a restaurant at the top which promised rooftop dining, but it was far from the actual open air above the buildings. Instead, it was still dark outside from all the building shade, with lamplight giving the whole lounge a sort of late evening feeling. Live music was playing as they exited the elevator, tensely locating a table in a secluded spot where they could eat their meals. It was a while before any of them tried to speak again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEL-tROJEpY Engine output is at optimal levels. The warp drive has been recalibrated and is operating efficiently. The ship's weaponry has been throughly inspected and maintained properly. Missile pods have been restocked. The ship's armory has been restocked with the appropriate ammunition and gear. The mess has been restocked with food and amenities. The bar has been restocked with the proper assortments and amounts of liquor. The medical bay has been cleaned and restocked. The crew quarters have been inspected and cleaned. The hangar and cargo bay has been maintained accordingly. All in all, the ship was probably in the best shape it had been in in a while. Eve stood alone on the bridge, looking about the room as music played from the console where she usually sat. She had done everything asked of her by the captain, and she had even gone the extra mile and improved the ship's systems as well. All in all, a very productive day. She shifted a bit, as she heard a beep come from one of the terminals nearby. She knew what it was already. Captain Caine had just left her quarters. Eve had tweaked the ship's interal security systems, improving its reaction time from thirty seconds to only three. There was a heap of junk code, which was properly dealt with. She wished she could have lessened the time even further, but she could only do so much. She stepped over to the terminal, her music stopping with a wave of her hand, then pressed a button. "Greetings, Captain." she said, her voice traveling through the terminal and being projected through the intercom system. "The ship is as ready as it will ever be. Now everything rests on its crew." She then released the button, and stepped back. Was the crew ready? This was very likely a suicide mission, with the Death Vigil gunning for them as well as possibly Yscom. Who knew what was going to happen? They might live, they might die. Eve looked down at herself. She was but a few weeks old, born on a drone rack on a frozen world. Created by a notorious pirate. She had only known life here amongst the crew of the Muramasa II, and as a member of the renamed Belladonna Company. She was a sentient AI, able to experience that which other machines and drones only dreamed of. She had emotions, ideals. She genuinely cared about these people she was with. She didn't wish to see them perish, but at the same time...she didn't want anyone to perish. She was given life, and life was precious to her...but she would defend her friends and crew from those that would chose to try and take their lives. She would fight. Its what her creator would have wanted her to do. Fight. Eventually, the door to the bridge opened, and in stepped Taylor. "Very nice work, Eve." she said, walking over to her as she looked about. Eve turned to face her, folding her hands behind her and nodding. "Thank you, Captain." Taylor looked a bit different from the last time Eve had seen her. Her hair had been cut even shorter than before, giving her a tomboyish appearance. She was wearing what appeared to be a t-shirt with something written on it, along with a simple leather jacket and blue jeans. It was honestly the most relaxed she had ever seen the Captain. She did, however, have a revolver strapped on her thigh. One that she had never seen before. She must have brought it back when she was on Mars. Taylor spoke up again a few moments later. "Everyone else seems ready enough for what's coming...are you?" she asked, looking Eve over. "Not yet, but I will soon be." replied Eve. She planned on making a few tweaks and modifications to her chassis. Ones that she hoped would improve her survivability. "Well, better do whatever you're planning to do...I've got a feeling they'll be calling us soon enough. Probably in the next few days." said Taylor, tilting her head a bit. "Yes, ma'am. I shall return soon." said Eve, before giving her a salute and departing from the bridge. Taylor simply strolled over and sat in her chair on the bridge. She breathed a sigh, before drawing out her tablet and checking news reports.

"So, Mattheus," Constantine began as he cut into a nicely-seared steak, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "how long do you think it will take to have that droid ready for combat?" Mattheus put his beer down and gave it some thought. "Hm... Well, it depends on what sort of condition its software is in. I'll have to look into what sort of steps the previous owners took to make it safe for transport. If they simply placed the machine into a standby mode, then I'll have to reprogram it, but that wouldn't take more than a few hours. If they wiped the entire operational sector of the machine's memory, though, it'll be a race to have it ready by the 1st." Nodding thoughtfully, Neasha spoke up. "If that's the worst case scenario, then what's the best?" Mattheus smiled as he imagined what he might have done, had he been the one to package the droid for sale. "The best thing that could happen? I'd be really happy if I booted it up to find that the previous owner had actually read the machine's manual and merely performed a factory reset. We'd be able to issue new commands immediately." He took another sip and relaxed. "Of course, this is assuming it's just your standard war machine... things could get a lot more complicated if I peek under the hood and find an AI core in there." Constantine grunted. He was tired of hearing about AI. "Then how about all the rest of that equipment? Nir, what sort of impact will it have on the new recruits?" Nir cocked a crooked smile. "I'm certain those guns would have a powerful impact, but they might be better employed against the enemy." After pausing to allow the others at the table to groan, she answered more seriously. "Actually, I think they'll be very happy with their new supplies. Our company rifle is a bit underwhelming, and the weapons we salvaged on Rigel are unreliable and made for little baby goblin hands." She glanced down at Arkadam, expecting to see him cast another hateful look in her direction, but he didn't look up; he was fully concentrating on eating the eclectic stew he had ordered, only to find that his hands were shaking almost too badly to hold a spoon without spilling on himself. She almost felt bad for him. Almost. "My finger won't even fit through the trigger guard on those Black Fleet guns," Neasha grumbled. "Anyway, now that we've provided the goods, I want to see our security team in top form. I don't want to lead us into combat any time soon, but if push comes to shove, I want us to at least put up a fight... But at least, if Argos is to be believed, we won't have to worry for too long." Arkadam stopped eating and paid close attention, as this conversation was, no doubt, the reason he had been pulled from his prison cell. "Red and I have had a few long talks about our plan, and what we're going to do afterwards. As it turns out, Yanim didn't burn as many bridges as we thought. Argos might be open to employing us again, once we've settled our differences. I'm inclined to accept that offer, as it's very unlikely that they would turn on us if we continue to be valuable to them." "You're going to let them buy us out," Arkadam commented quietly. Neasha frowned. "No, we're just doing what we've always done." "Things have changed," Arkadam continued. "They know what we know and they know ho capable we can be as independent actors. If they get us in their clutches, they'll never let us go again." "Then propose a better solution," Neasha replied, testily. "You seem to fashion yourself as Yanim's voice in the matter, so what do you think she would have done?" Arkadam shrugged. "I think she would have done the same, keeping our enemies close and remaining guarded. That's why I reopened communication with them in the first place. I just worry that you'll commit too much to that relationship and get us tied... Especially when you talk about 'settling differences.' We're a different breed of company. We don't need to cater to anyone." "And what if keeping that identity gets us all killed?" Constantine asked. Oddly, Arkadam gave a zen smile. "If Yanim were here, she wouldn't be asking 'what if we get killed?' She'd be asking, 'how do we survive another round?'" Neasha sighed. "You know, she probably would. But I don't exactly miss that particular quality of hers. Whatever happens, I'm not leading this company into another Rigel, because she had another side that I think you're forgetting." Neasha ignored the ugly look Arkadam gave her for the comment, and continued, "Yanim would have placed the crew's survival over the company's survival. Whatever risks we take, it's us- we should be the ones held accountable. If Argos wants to swallow us up, we can send the Muramasa crew on the run and face the consequences ourselves." The two stared each other down for a moment before surprising themselves; they were in agreement. Arkadam nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think that's about right," he said. They relaxed and finished their meals, tipping generously before heading back down to street level and hiring a taxi to the landing pad. Mattheus and Nir had work to do.

Upon returning, Arkadam lumbered away to his personal quarters to take a hot shower and relax in privacy for the first time in weeks. Constantine resumed his duties on the bridge, while Nir gathered up the security team for an immediate equipment inspection. This left Mattheus and Neasha to inspect the newly-purchased drone in the workshop. The two walked into the spacious but somewhat sparsely-outfitted engineering room to find themselves up close and personal with the hulking machine. Its menacing lines and overabundance of weaponry made it clear that the original designers had intended for the drone to be as much of a psychological weapon as a battlefield one, and had sacrificed much in the way of practicality in order to achieve this. Nevertheless, Mattheus assured Neasha that as long as he could get the machine working, it would be as effective, or even more so, than any of the Muramasa's crew members in a combat scenario. Without further delay, he set about opening the containment for the robot's logic boards to inspect the configuration within. "So?" Neasha asked after a moment, unable to read the engineer's intense expression. "...I'm not sure," Mattheus answered. "This isn't YsCom or Sol standard, that's for sure. There are a lot of daughter boards in here, but I can't tell what they're for, just yet. There's also a REGENT card mounted on a board with a K64/4 port," he explained, and when he realized Neasha had no idea how to interpret the information, added, "that's a bad sign." Neasha leaned in and caught a glimpse of the complicated innards. "How so?" she asked. "Well, REGENT cards are usually used in industrial robotics. They were all over the place back on Germania because they're a good, cheap tool for instructing robots in a group work setting on how to efficiently use time and resources, using a shared 'virtual agent' that could be adjusted by human operators. What scares me is that port. K64/4 is a Collective standard, which means that at least some of these components were imported from the east." Squinting her eyes, she could just barely make out the connector Mattheus was talking about, and was impressed with the engineer's keen eye. "Why would they do that?" she asked. Mattheus rubbed his forehead. "If I had to guess, and honestly, it's a pretty safe guess, I would say that it was a cost-saving measure. The company that built this thing was fighting for survival and probably had nothing to spare in terms of funding. The REGENT system implies that this machine views combat operations like an industrial process, which doesn't exactly speak well for its competency. That board it's plugged into is probably a knockoff of a western card, built on Vashkom, Sirgas, or even Adanis. If they were that desperate that they couldn't even buy something from human space..." he trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "If I can just lift that chip down there and figure out what it's doing, I might be able to determine what architecture the machine is using, which would get us on the right track." "Well then, get to it. The clock is ticking, Mr. Badaloni," Neasha instructed before leaving the room. He buckled down immediately. The company had spent time and resources re-training him after Mars, getting him to re-focus his work from engines and hull structures toward electronics and weaponry, and restoring this robot was his first real test in his new role on the Aurikha. There was a lot of money riding on his work, and possibly even the lives of the Muramasa crew, so failure could not be an option, even if it meant building a new AI from scratch and jury-rigging it into the machine. Quickly, he de-soldered the suspect chip with the aid of a magnifying headset and lifted it from the board. Across the room, he opened a drawer and retrieved a socket board with the correct number of pins, which allowed him to place the chip inside before plugging the whole card into a testing console. While running the diagnostic, he turned his attention to the REGENT card from the robot. Unplugging it, he then placed it on a read-only magnetic array panel which read the card instantly without the use of a port. As the results began to come in, he was both surprised and relieved. Whatever cash-strapped laboratory had created this "Golem," as it was called, had planned for a sunny future which never came. The components he dissected were merely made to translate the simplistic REGENT software into instructions for a more capable system underneath. At last he understood what had happened- the Golem was designed to use contemporary Tri-Enterprise components, but when Southstar Alliance began to falter, they were forced to stop purchasing the expensive AI controller card and instead made use of off-the-shelf parts- a wily decision that probably violated the UGC laws of warfare at the time. All he needed to do was remove the sub board, acquire a Tri-Enterprise compatible AI controller while the Aurikha was still at port, and install it in the machine with a stock operating system. A storage device located within the machine contained additional driver and protocol software which would allow the AI to mostly configure itself. A few hours later, a courier arrived just in time to hand off the vital component before the Aurikha was due to depart. Neasha and Constantine returned to the workshop to find Mattheus pouring over the OS configuration tool on a holoscreen nearby, a small pile of destroyed components shoved unceremoniously to the side. Nodding with apparent confidence, he pulled the card from the diagnostic computer and brought it over to the machine. "This should do it," he announced, half in excitement, half in warning. He was certain he had rendered the drone fully subservient to the company, but was always prepared in case of something he missed. Reaching inside the cavity of its head, he found the location where the translator board had been attached, and pushed the new AI card into place. Even before he had sealed the compartment up again, the machine was powering itself on. Standing tall, it looked down on its new masters as Neasha stared back, trying desperately to hide her intimidation. "Identify yourself," she instructed.

A series of beeps and clicks came from the war machine before a series of synthetic noises resembling human speech echoed through it's head. "G O L E M" it said slowly.

Kanadys At a certain point, when a state is faced with troubles which can't be rationalized, can't be downplayed, and can't be ignored, one of two things will happen: either the state will dissolve into petty politics and infighting, or politics will dissolve in favor of action. February 20th, 2385, marked one of the lowest points in modern Collective history. The Black Fleet had been pushed deep within its own territory by an enemy which showed no signs of slowing in its advance. Spirra and Koda, the two home planets closest to the border, were threatened with orbital bombardment. The Spirran High Council was openly discussing secession from the Collective and surrender to the Mantle out of hopes of escaping the suffering they had endured once before in the first Sanghvi War. And then, on Rigel, General Vorokar Vor'Pangn, designated leader of a reorganized intelligence-lead effort to gain control of that lawless planet, had been murdered in cold blood by one of his own subordinates in the most extravagant way imaginable. A small-yield nuclear device had been detonated in the frozen wastes, killing only two men, but rendering an already precarious situation utterly hopeless. Only a week earlier, the beleaguered Black Fleet had been defeated by a mercenary force, allowing the hated Terika-Belladonna Company to escape just days after nearly being eradicated. Without General Vorokar there to shape the local military and SS forces into a functional unit, the already low morale plummeted to the point of open mutiny. After cleaning up irradiated debris from the outskirts of the military stronghold, the Black Fleet enlistees joined rank with the UGC Peacekeepers in demanding leadership or withdrawal. Investigations were ordered through the Black Fleet's own anemic intelligence unit, and the response was concise and brutally honest. Vorokar had violated longstanding protocols regarding clones and their ethical use. He had misappropriated equipment and heavy weaponry. He had made costly and unnecessary maneuvers for the sake of creating pretense for additional occupational forces, which, of course, he wished to administrate. Corruption and moral bankruptcy had caused many of the failures in the "Terika" investigation, and the Grand Vizier was involved to a concerning degree. The High Council had heard enough and showed no sympathy to the Vizier when he came to them to grovel. Yredik and Vorokar's friendship had caused repeated embarrassment to the Collective, and as a result, the mutineers on Rigel escaped punishment- within weeks, Vostokrebh had been reduced to a skeletal UGC force, and the base was due to be turned over to the locals as soon as the last remaining vessels had left the repair platforms. Thankfully, the nuclear blast had done so little damage to the surrounding area that the state was able to claim it was merely a terrible accident, a story which, in many ways, was actually quite true. The Council agreed that the extent of the humiliation was so great that the story needed to be hidden from the public for morale reasons. Similarly, the SS sought to contain the story as much as possible to protect their own political interests. They arranged for Lieutenant Ryvik Sidikan, the young man who had been so thoroughly exploited for the sake of Vorokar's scheme, to be awoken to a carefully doctored reality- a stunt which was completely undone by Captain Vixe Sidikan. Two days after the so-called accident, the Captain arrived home on Kanadys having failed multiple psychological evaluations. Her own involvement on Rigel had left her temporarily unfit for duty, and she had been ordered to seek counseling before her status could be restored within the batakya. Unbeknownst to anyone, she was carrying a journal which belonged to Ryvik, and had been written in by his clone. She passed it along to a near-stranger, Korvo Rozel, a former captain himself. Korvo located Ryvik within a military hospital and delivered the book. To the state's great relief, this leak was discovered and closed before it could travel beyond those few individuals, but an appropriate response was still difficult to decide. The SS attempted to press heavy charges against Vixe and Korvo, but the Black Fleet lobbied heavily to the Council, which in turn held the Vizier accountable. In the end, Vixe was sentenced to a month in prison for sharing classified information and was stripped of her active solicitation- a lenient sentence which would allow her to eventually re-enter the Black Fleet at her current rank after completing her prison time and being cleared by the psychological board. Korvo was sentenced to a month for providing false statements to law enforcement. To some extent, the extreme corruption and misdeeds of Vorokar's office resulted in lighter sentences to the two "insubordinate actors" in the case. Ryvik was not held accountable for the actions of his clone, or his old friend, Vixe. In a rare move, he was awarded recognition for Distinguished Lifetime Service- a designation normally given to older officers at the end of their career, as it entitles them to retire immediately. But the SS and the Council were well aware that the Lieutenant would likely never fully recover after his time in the service, and that some form of reparation was in order. Suddenly, Ryvik found himself sitting awkwardly across the table from his parents, half their age, and retired with full benefits. "[Do you think they'll let me study art, now?]" he asked them as he shivered in his seat on February 26th.

Somewhere in the Foxglove region An masked man, decked in a torn brown long coat appareled from out of the bar. His coat was half open to reveal a bandolier of vitals strung across a light armored vest with a odd looking piece of tech strapped on his shoulder. His mask looked quite worn and archaic in design, it's visor was tinted a dim yellow and had a hair-line crack on it's left side. The Man walked up to the red-haired woman that was apparently looking for contractors, the Man needed work as certain people up top wanted him dead and being at bounty hunter central was a bigger threat to his health than his weakness to tox-gas. While he had a brief moment of hesitance when he laid his eyes on the young woman, he held his glare for a few seconds before reaching into his coat and taking a out a couple cards, passing them out on the table in front of her. "Name's Harvey, Freelance Medic...You hiring?" He muttered bluntly towards her while pulling up a stool.

Amy glanced at Harvey as he sat down, then to the card she was given. Not many people do this these days. "Viga. This the guy you told me about?" Viga simply nodded to the question. "I'll take it as a yes." She looked at Harvey with a reassuring smile before continuing "You are correct. I work for a very interested group of contractors that are looking for people like you. Think of me as a talent scout. I originally came here for my friend here. " She pointed at Viga "But before we were about to leave, she gave a recommendation for you. You can expect what you normally would expect from any group searching for people like us. Adrenaline, danger and all that. With the added bonus of security for you and a high payday... Now with that out of the way. Are you interested, Harvey?"

A few months ago... |Nyx, Nyxia| Two men walk side by side in the heart of the Upyri commecial capital. It was a cold night. Upyrians flood the streets and going into Bars or Casinos to take off the stress of their long and near luxurious lives. However for these two men in question. They seem to be having a pretty bad day as of late. Both men stopped nearby the entrance of a Upyrian Bar. One of the men look upon the name of that bar "The Drunkard's Delight" He the spoke up with.. "Tarver, Are you sure this is the right place? Knowing you. Your sense of direction is a bit broken sometimes." immediately after saying his piece. The man named Tarver looked back at him with disdain. "Aw. Come on Jason! I'm pretty sure this is the right place. I have my word on that!" "Tarver. You said that 4 times in four bars that we went inside in and we all got kicked out.." Jason then lean in his dead closr to Tarver. "..Forcebly" "Aw come on! People make honest mistakes.. Besides. I am pretty 100% sure he IS there. If not. Then, I'll gladly eat my words and whe'll get us some drinks. Al'righty?" Jason merely gives a grunt before speaking up. "Whatever.. The fast we get out of here, the better chances finding him" Both of them went inside and got two decent and comfy seats facing one another. Tarver calls a nearby Bar Waitress and place their order. The Bar Waitress finally comes to them. "Alright. Welcome to the Drukard's Delight. My names Kyral and what drinks or food do you guys want?" "Okay. Umm. We'll share some fries with Jason here. And also a Scotch for me and a glass of water for hi-" "I'll have Scotch as well" Kyral marked down their orders using the tablet she was carrying. "Okay that was 2 Scotch Whiskeys and a plate of fries. Alright. Okay. Can I have your name sir?" Kyral looked to Tarver "Mike Tarver." Alright, Mike.. Tarver. And Jason. Was it?" "Yeah. Jason Bradley" "Alright. Jason Bradley. You are looking quite cute tonight, Jason." Jason was flustered for a bit before regaining his composure. Kyral giggled at the sight. "Okay .. That would be.. 400 credits." Tarver gives her his credit storage card and swipes it at the side of the tablet. With a ping. The payment is done and she gives it back. "I'll get back with you guys later. For now. Enjoy watching some stuff on the mini screen in your table." Kyral goes away and then a double sided screen pops out from the middle of the small table. And it turns on by itself. On Tarver's Screen was a Gravball playoffs match between the Terran Blackbears and the Nyx Nightmares. While on Jason's screen was the news. Jason watches some of the news articles. Nothing really big. Until they got to the Intergalactical News. "....The SISP are still having problems about finding whO were behind the deadly Red Dome terrorist attack that left 50 dead and 20 wounded..." To be continued...

"We now tune in directly to the SISP conference live at Unity Square." The camera panned and zoomed in on Chief Carlos Reyes, head of the SISP and STRU, as he arrived at the conference stage. He placed a black leather folder on the speaker's console before looking up at the crowd. "This conference will serve only as a informative briefing for the public. I will not be taking any questions." Reyes looked down and eyed his folder briefly. "Roughly at eighteen-hundred hours two days ago SISP customs officers were deployed to a civilian transport with a disabled transponder. While onboard the officers uncovered multiple civilian casualties spread throughout the ship. The ship has since then been impounded while our forensic team conduct their analysis." Reyes paused as several of the attending journalists scribbled on their tablets. "While I'm not at liberty to share the details of the ongoing investigation I wish to reassure the public that we're doing everything in our power to resolve this tragedy. Aside form the SISP and the STRU the Homeland Security Division and the SSOID have both vowed to support the investigation. We've also enlisted the help of the Sol Marshal Agency for increased police coverage alongside the smaller colonies." "Thank you." Reyes stepped away and the journalists immediately stepped up to voice their hundreds of questions.

It was snowing violently on the day Vixe was released from prison. Standing just outside the gates, searched the foggy surroundings for a sign of her family, although she didn't much expect them to come; having been raised in a house with high expectations, they had no time for their "delinquent" daughter when she called, just before her incarceration. Standing there alone, beside a road which trailed off into uncertainty, she quietly sneered at her own supposed fall from grace. No, the truth was that she was wiser than before. And just because she couldn't see far ahead from her position didn't mean that she didn't know where she was going, or that she needed to feel afraid or lonely. She set off to find Ryvik. --- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpQXsvy4iys Neasha looked over the robot approvingly. "Not much of a talker, is it?" Mattheus smiled. "It was never meant to be. Speech synthesis is just a little trick I gave it, but it doesn't have any social programming." "Fair enough," the serek replied. "You... Golem, follow me to the hangar." The machine processed the command briefly before complying. The trio exited the room and a moment later arrived at the spacious hangar where Nir and the security recruits were inspecting the new weaponry. They stopped abruptly as the hulking machine made its debut, remarking on the seriously frightening equipment at its disposal. Nir grinned at the sight. "Well, pack it up everyone. We are not needed here anymore," she joked. "No kidding..." a grunt said as he approached, accidentally pointing his rifle at the beast. Golem immediately turned to look directly at him, but didn't attack, or make any other move for that matter. Nonetheless, the mercenary stumbled backward in fear and dropped his gun. "Shit, man... Shit!" he stammered as some of his comrades chuckled at him. A chorus of insults came from the gallery before Neasha waved her hand to silent them. "Quiet down," she said as she held up her tablet. "It's Constantine... Yes, Ioannis, what is it?" she asked. "You know, I was just thinking... I meant to bring this up earlier, but the timing didn't feel right. It's about that 'Dwan' character..." A concerned look settled over Neasha's eyes. "Ah... in that case, I'll be there in a moment, and we'll talk about this face-to-face." --- By the time Neasha arrived on the bridge, Arkadam had finished showering and cleaned up, and now wandered back to the navigation console. On one hand, he felt entitled to time off, but on the other, he was eager to reassert his involvement in the company's direction. As she walked in, she paused and made eye contact with the kanad, briefly considering asking him to leave, before deciding to ask Constantine about his concerns to figure out whether it warranted that sort of priority. "So, what's the problem?" she asked, calmly. Constantine turned around in his chair, allowing the other two to see the device he had retrieved from the safe in his quarters. It was the handset Beta dropped that allowed the holder to speak to the otherworldly character Dwan. It was immediately clear what the conversation would be about. "There's no problem. Well, at least there's no new problems. But I've been thinking off and on during this last month about that creature he set on us, and what we should do about it." "What do you mean, 'do?'" Neasha questioned. "If everything goes like it's supposed to, we're going to avoid her." "Nothing ever goes like it's supposed to," Arkadam interjected, bleakly. "I'd listen to what he has to say." Constantine appeared gravely serious. "Well, given what we know, she's going to get back to us eventually. That Ryvik prick said she pursues her targets pretty much relentlessly, and we already know that the Muramasa team is on her hit list. If she does come back, and she finds us instead of the crew, do you really think Nir and the gang can hold her off alone? Because I don't think so. Not if she's really what they say she is. I've still got a bad feeling about this situation with Argos; I feel like things are about to go wrong in ways we can't even quantify-" "Don't lose your nerve," Neasha cautioned, feeling the stress herself. Constantine shook his head. "Jag already warned us beyond the grave. This whole situation is tainted, and if that's the case, we need to get all the help we can. We're running out of time." "And what if calling Dwan is the mistake that causes everything to go wrong? Did you think of that?" Neasha snapped. "Come on. We both know that whatever Yanim thought about the man until the day she died was all mixed up... I don't trust him outright but I'd much rather deal with him than whatever's set to fuck up this Starvis situation. And even if Beta doesn't come for us... If someone else does, don't you think we'd be better off with a man who can break the laws of physics?" "I don't think he'll come out just to help." Constantine crossed his arms. "So let's entice him; let's make him clean up his own mess." The two stared at each other for a moment before Neasha sighed. "Fine, do it." Constantine pressed the button and placed a call.

A tinny dial tone began emitting from the handset's cheap speaker, and soon enough, there was a click, and then a voice. "<H-Hello-o?>" Dwan asked, the nervous tone of his voice sounding as though he had just awoken.

"Dwan," Constantine spoke, suddenly realizing he wasn't sure how to ask what he needed to ask. "...Do you still want to make things right?"

A long silence loomed over the three, awaiting Dwan's response as sounds of movement could barely be heard through the speaker, before it finally came through. "<...is this about her?>" he inquired, with his emphasis indicating to them about whom he was referring to, said so sharply it could cut through steel.

"What else would it be?" Constantine replied, flatly. "Our crew is about to set out on, possibly, the most important task anyone has undertaken in the last century. If we fail, the consequences would be immeasurable. And we've been warned that we will fail, by someone whose sight extends beyond normal perception, someone I would trust absolutely. Now, if this monster is the shadow of the Boss I knew, then she'll do whatever it takes to get involved with what's to come." "Dwan, this is Neasha Kyral. Everyone tells me that this 'Beta monster' is obsessed with death, obsessed with overwriting Yanim's legacy... We have no proof that she'll be there to try and stop us, but the Death Vigil might. You could save millions, maybe even billions of lives, by using your powers, even if she doesn't come-"

Dwan's breathing could be heard as Constantine and Neasha spoke, but as soon as the latter began even implying his involvement, he exhaled quite loudly, catching the three by surprise. The breathing slowly went back to normal, as though he was calming himself, before he spoke once more. "<...I, I don't know if it's the best idea for me to get involved,>" he stated, "<I-I've already caused enough trouble as is, and my rei-involvement may just cause things to get even worse...>"

"You already are involved," Constantine growled. "As long as that monster is running around our galaxy, killing off good people, that's your mark." He calmed down a moment later, fearing that Dwan would simply hang up the phone if he continued badgering him. "...Look. I know you don't want to bear responsibility for all those people. None of us do, but we can't back out now. So let me make a simple proposal- if Beta attacks us at any other time, we'll deal with her. But a few days from now, the galaxy might depend on her not attacking, and for that reason, I'd bet my left nut that she's going to be there, somehow. So why don't you come out here, take a few days and ride along with the Muramasa crew. They don't know you, so you can use whatever name you want. If this crisis comes and goes and everything turns out okay, you can walk right back out of the picture and nobody will be wise to it." Neasha and Arkadam leaned in as the pressure began to rise. "But if she comes, you grab her and vanish, and make sure she suffers for what she's done, and, more importantly- what she intends to do. We'll handle the rest."

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