Futuristic Burning Sails [OPEN]

[Infab]

"[That is what I came to this quadrant to find,]" she said softly, "[but I feel disconnected from the past, here. I don't know these people or why they hate each other. I don't know how killing Anora will affect the future, or why I should care. But I don't know how else I can be useful right now, to anyone, anywhere.]"

Lauren listened quietly, studying the young kanad as her translator scrambled her words and put them out as something Lauren understood. She's like a robot...she needs a directive. A reason to function. To exist. Otherwise, everything's meaningless, since that's all she's ever known. A hard, sad life of just following orders.

"... Well, you're already useful. You're actually talking to me." said Lauren, a faint chuckle attached to the end of the statement. She smiled afterwards. "But if you need a purpose... a reason to do something, I'll give you something. A pair of starting objectives to accomplish."

She pointed at Vixaya. "Objective number one: Learn Terran. It will help you out a hell of a fucking lot, if that translator of yours ever gets busted. And things will be far easier when you talk to the rest of us. I think I have some old holotapes around somewhere back on the Guillotine that might help out, if you prefer the classic 'just watch cartoons' style of things like I did. Or you can listen to Zadra's rambling. She tried to teach me when I was younger, but she's kinda shit at the whole 'teacher' schtick."

She held up two fingers. "Objective number two: individualize. Make your own decisions. Wipe the slate clean, and build your own style and personality. Being an individual back home might not have mattered much, but it matters out here. We're outlaws. Pirates. True renegades, like how the Quadrant is nicknamed. We make our own rules, carve our own paths in life, and don't take shit from anyone. And we don't do that by following along like an blank slate, rank and file grunt. Get me? I want to see you make something of yourself."

"The rest, we can teach you or you'll learn for yourself. The Renegade Quadrant is a wild place. Lots of history, lots of pirate and privateer groups. Lots of criminals and bounty hunters too. If you want to know the history, and why some of us are at each other's throats, all you have to do is ask around. We can fill you in."

 

[SniperComZero]

Olivia's face leaned forward just a little to see just what was in that tin. And, judging from the wince on her lips and the knitting of her brows, she didn't. Frankly, she didn't really wanna know. "...Nah. He's got his head screwed on straight. If OID hasn't blasted his ass into a fuckin' star yet, somehow I doubt two-bit mercs'n pirates're gonna do it."

"My money's on that weird kid-- uh. Y'know. The human one. She's way outta her fuckin' depth."

 

[K0mori]

Individualize. The word hung in Vixaya's head like an echo in a hollow space. How could one be given an order to think freely? Lauren's explanation of what being a pirate is supposed to mean certainly didn't help clarify the matter. If a pirate doesn't "follow along like a blank slate," then should Vixaya take Lauren's two directives without arguing, or should she raise an objection? What did this woman want out of her?

She thought about what she had been doing before Lauren arrived. Shelby's appearance had caught her attention, and she had spent a while exploring alternative fashion... a personal interest. Vixaya didn't have many, but when she did allow herself to escape into them, it was usually in silence, or in a virtual space. Bringing any of it to life, however, seemed pointless any time she considered it. Her father and his lieutenants ensure that Vixaya would only change if she was ordered to, to speak only when necessary, and so on. Over time, the emotions and impulses that controlled her in the same way they controlled others began to fade away. To feel joy, or longing, or jealousy- these were just choices that everyone made, and that she was obligated to turn away from. Now, she could sense their absence without knowing how to call them forth, to hold them.

[No tears, no soul! Can't you see?]

The voice, ringing in her ears from a memory long ago, caused her to twitch again, hard, as she forced it away. This was the heart of the problem: Lauren wanted Vixaya to redevelop the ability to want things for herself, but that in and of itself was a desire which she lacked. Being patient, quiet, and immovable had served her well enough to survive the war when so many others didn't. If she changed now, would she still be a proficient soldier? If she were an emotional killer, would she hesitate and be killed herself?

At least the first directive was simple by comparison. Vixaya nodded and looked Lauren in the eyes. "[I will try.]"

 

[joshuadim]

"If you want to build a new life, then from my experience here's my advice: avoid Sol or any of its satellites." Vance said to Katja, "Nothing good comes from there. Especially when they go about stomping on people's rights all the time." He then shook his head and sighed, "You might find some luck rebuilding your life on a distant colony at the edge of the galaxy somewhere. Far away from galactic politics or other meddling. I hear its the best way to build something new there... and it's been tempting me for some time too if I'll be honest. But right now, we got this to see through so I won't be thinking about retirement for a while it seems."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

"My money's on that weird kid-- uh. Y'know. The human one. She's way outta her fuckin' depth."

Typhon nods in agreement. "I wonder if the captain understands." Another spoonful of the oddly-colored greyish paste goes down. "Part of me wishes to watch this quadrant eat them alive for being this stupid to find company with pirates, while the other half demands I phone their parents before they become a liability to all of us."

 

[DG-117]

Kalashi mostly kept to herself, keeping her deactivated stealth cloak on tight and her metallic body covered as she listens to her employer's debriefing. Keeping her mouth shut and her eyes watching on her so-called "comrades" very closely. Yet, someone of interest was that of the young Kanad, the little girl that looked to be no more than a sickly, malnourished adolescent. Most likely an orphan from the civil war back in Kosokom quite some time ago.

Nonetheless, Kalashi still kept closely to herself. Untrusting of any one of these vandals, yet in regards to this mission. This need to "blend in" so to speak.

Kalashi, with a heavy breath, some heavy reservations on her mind, and a strong shot of Tox, deciding to break away from her judgments and seek out the Reaver's so-called disguise expert in the lounge. Carefully walking down the rusty corridors of this worn starship. Her hand firmly on the grip of her handgun as she eyes all of these odd faces.

Still, she pressed on and looked into the center of the group. Letting out a heavy breath before asking them.

"So..." She says in a low, raspy voice, "Where's the... 'Disguise expert' here?"

 

[Infab]

"It might be worth giving it a shot after Shadespear, especially if we're going to spend the foreseeable future running and gunning our way towards Anora with bad odds. At least as a way to clear the air."

Damien glanced to Nathalie, before shaking his head. "What's wrong between the three of us isn't fixable by talking it out." he said simply, before standing. He then motioned for Nathalie to follow, as he headed towards the cabin door. "We should head back downstairs. I imagine we're getting close to Shadespear." he said, glancing back before slapping a button on the door frame next to the slab door. It slid open with a hiss, and he stepped through before hanging a right. Heading down the hallway towards the elevator.

​

"[I will try.]"

Lauren nodded. "Good. I'll keep a check on ya to see how you're doing. Alright? If you need help, then just ask around. Either me or one of the others." she said, "...I've got a strong feeling that you'll figure things out."

Her attention shifted, as Valkyrie herself strolled into the lounge from the hallway leading to the bridge. She spoke, as she caught the end of Typhon and Olivia's conversation nearby. "I was a kid when I got into piracy. She'll do fine." she said, before looking at the rest of the group in the lounge. "Finish up whatever you're doing. We'll be arriving at Shadespear soon. And for the love of god, stick to whatever stories you came up with for your disguises. Easy way to get outed is to juggle lies."

​

About twenty minutes later, the Mordred dropped out of warp. The massive orbital colony known as Shadespear Terminal came into view, floating silently above the storm covered world of Gostoth. The colony used to belong to the Upyri Federation, before they were ousted from the system by pirate forces lead by Captain Achill Shadespear. Shadespear died from wounds inflicted during the Battle of Streg, and the colony was renamed in his honor. Debris from the destroyed pirate and Federation vessels sill floated around the planet of Gostoth, which occasionally fell through the cloudy atmosphere to slam into the surface.

The station wasn't frequented as much initially, but travel exploded once the former pirate haven known as Durakas was destroyed by Federation forces in a coordinated strike in 2385. Between Rook's Wharf, Shadespear Terminal, and the various other pirate havens, pirates weren't in short supply for places to get gear, recruit, or simply hang out outside of Frontier Militia space. A problem, however, was that bounty hunters and privateers also frequented Shadespear, as it was closer to civilized space than other locations.

It wasn't long before a voice crackled over comms on the bridge. "Been a while, Mordred. How's life out in the black?" Aesha smirked. "Same as always, Tower 3. One shit show after another. Got a bay open for us?" she responded, glancing back towards Valkyrie whom had returned to her captain's chair. "Bay 7 is open. You can set her down there. And don't worry. We got the message, and payment, from Slade. You'll be listed under the 'Medraut' in the bay listings."

Valkyrie spoke up afterwards. "Thanks, Carter." she said aloud, before the line was cut. The Mordred slipped in, passing entering and exiting ships as it approached Bay 7. Once inside the expansive docking bay, it touched down on the pad. "Now, lets go see what Nonara wants." muttered Valkyrie, as she stood from her seat. The rest of the crew on the bridge got up as well, following after her. About five minutes later, the ramp touched the bay floor, and off walked the group. Valkyrie at the forefront.

Standing several feet from the end of the cargo ramp was a thin black man, wearing a bright yellow jacket and brown cargo pants. Attached to his legs were what appeared to be cybernetic enhancements, allowing him to move his legs. He smirked as soon as he saw Valkyrie. "VAL!" he said, waving a hand towards them. She approached, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she walked. "Brand. How's things here on Shadespear?" she asked, as she arrived.

He waved his hands off to his sides. "Same as always. VOC-1 didn't change shit here. Though some of the other captains ain't too happy with you. Everyone thinks you did it. I can tell the difference between bullshit and the real thing, though." he responded. Valk nodded. "Glad you can. You know I'm not stupid enough to fuck up what we had going with the Militia."

As they spoke, a few others around the bay began to drag hoses and such towards the Mordred. Standard refueling procedure. Some even brought ladders and lifts in order to give it a bit of a cleanup. It was something Valk always requested when she docked at Shadespear. Keep the ship looking and working right, and the ship would take care of you by keeping you alive.

 

[Viper Actual]

Nathalie simply nodded in response to Damien. She didn't believe him but at the same she knew her place- there would be no point in making an argument out of it.
"I agree," she replied as Damien stood up. Nat followed him closely as they left the room.

"Let's see what awaits us on Shadespear."

* * *
​

Upon arriving at Shadespear it was time for the crew to get their gamefaces on. Nathalie was quick to mask her face once again prior to disembarking and while idly listening to Valkyrie and her associate speak Nat eyed the hangar crew with great suspicion.

While plenty of mercenaries, privateers, pirates and other spacefaring folks referred to Shadespear as a haven Nathalie knew that agents from various galactic powers and supercorporations frequented the station to gather intel and to pick off unlucky wanted sods that strayed too close to civilized space.

YsCom hit-squads. Federation ONI agents. SSOID assassins. The list went on. Everyone were looking to score on Shadespear; wanted traitors, killers, deserters, whistleblowers, thieves and other general targets for liquidation, interrogation or both.
Nathalie had been on a few similar assignments herself. Not that she'd share that with any of the Reavers.

No, her own bloody history on this station would remain a secret. For now.

She sighed and tucked her hands into and underneath her cloak.

 

[Frankafurter]

Katja didn't have much else to add to the conversation aboard the Mordred and them coming out of warp to dock at Shadespear caused her demeanor to shift towards a more stoic one. She tugged the scarf around her neck to cover the lower half of her face a bit better before disembarking with the rest of the crew. She keeps herself mixed among the group so as to not stand out as a straggler in case someone wants to pick apart the group before they reach their meeting. Her right hand rests atop the slung PDW casually to keep it close at hand in case something goes wrong.

Katja's eyes scan over the various people and objects in the hangar interior, looking for things that may seem out of place in a docking hangar, while she's not one hundred percent sure what exactly fits in as "normal," her intuition tells her to just watch for people lurking in obscure spots or just loitering around watching the Reavers instead of performing their duties as dock workers or admin staff.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Despite still reeling from Eve's little brokerage of information, Shelby noticed Kalashi needing some help with their disguise and, taking the chance to occupy his mind, helped them as best as he could with pointers, advice, and direction in transforming them into a new passable identity. Costuming was something Shelby did for fun or business, but as of late his efforts seemed more directed to avoiding detection to remain safe.

Once on Shadespear, Shelby focused his mind and took on his new person to match his outfit - a disinterested, expressionless tech specialist. He even had a little terminal hanging on his belt to promote the fake identity, matched with a pair of old salvaged headphones hanging around his neck that he had wired in. Shelby kept his short jacket zipped up to conceal his armaments, not that he figured it mattered too much considering this was an outlaw station. But the bulk around the chest helped further his original disguise on top of the one he was wearing now. It felt a little strange being in two disguises at once, though it wasn't anything entirely new. His entire life had been nothing but one role after another. Two at once was like wearing two different colored socks. It meant nothing.

 

[Infab]

Brand motioned to the men moving in around the ship. "We'll get the Mordred fueled and cleaned. Same as always. Price is the usual." he said, glancing to the workers and the ship itself before looking to the group behind Valk. "Nice disguises. Think they'll work?" he asked, folding his arms.

Valk shrugged. "I hope so. Rather not have to shoot my way off this station because some idiot got too nosey." she stated, before turning slightly and walking towards the exit at the end of the hangar. "Take care of yourself, Brand. Remember, you ever finally break down for a new set of legs, you know how to get in touch with me." Brand simply chuckled, watching Valk walk away before waving at the group following behind her. Aesha waved back, along with Zadra, as the group put distance between themselves and the Mordred.

The walk across the hangar lasted a few minutes in part due to the large scale of the hangar, and the group soon found themselves emerging into a massive circular room. Dozens of people were wandering about, wandering about minding their own business. Some were venturing further into the station, while others were returning to their own hangars or were moving between them. A few were even heading towards the cargo sector of the station, which was below inside the central spire. Valk and company, however, were going up. Above was the residential sector, where various types rented small living quarters or apartments for personal use while on the station, as well as the market sector. Further up, inside the central spire, was administration.

Some of Shadespear's security guards were wandering around as well, eyeing the various passing pedestrians. Most of them were clad in reinforced combat armor, seemingly of corporate make and purchased second-hand, and wielding various types of weaponry. Valk pointed one out, as the group continued through the large circular hall. "Don't do anything to attract their attention unless you have to. They may look like your average guard, but they're pirates just like us. They're also the type to just shoot you and toss you out the airlock, instead of detaining you."

Aesha chuckled. "Saw them do it once. Some guy from the Red Falcons was acting like a jackass, so they put three kinetic rounds in his chest. Tossed his corpse into a metal box, welded it shut, and shoved it out into the black." she remarked, glancing to the others.

They soon arrived at one of the handful of central lifts, crowding in and hitting the button for the market sector. The ride was short, the doors closing shut with a hiss and the lift jerking as it rocketed upwards at high speed. When it arrived, the doors opened back up, and the group made their way out into the massive marketplace. There were hundreds more people here, moving between the various shops, bars, and restaurants that were scattered all over the sector. Numerous species could be picked out. Humans, Upyri, Kanads, a handful of Ayr, some Sanghvi, Khergians, Kercans, Namur, Kaxans, Torgg, Sereks, Aracaans; If you could think of it, there was a good chance that one was probably wandering around here. Most of them rough looking pirates or mercenaries, with outlaws sprinkled in among them.

Music could be heard over the voices and activity throughout the sector. It seemed like ambient music, played over the speakers like one would find at a shopping mall in a more civilized part of the galaxy. There were also news reports on some of the screens that hung over the shops, giving out information on what was going on in the east and south. Only a few were paying attention to it, however, as most were simply to preoccupied with their own business to care.

"Busy day today, eh?" said Aesha, glancing to Valk as she stepped up next to her. "Apparently." remarked the captain, studying those that were wandering close by. She then looked to the group behind her. "Well, if you're planning on buying anything, get to it. You'll find something here, that's for sure." she stated, before looking to Zadra and Eve. "You two, let's head to the Quicksilver. If any of the rest of you wanna join me, go for it."

A moment later, Valkyrie, Eve, and Zadra departed through the crowd, leaving the group to make their way around the market sector.

 

[Viper Actual]

As Nathalie followed closely she silently observed the crowds, environments and- more importantly- the armed security. She had tangled with them before. Rough as they were she knew that their training varied and their loyalty was very easily bought. As one of the guards passed her by Nat glanced at Vance. It's like Freeport but much more crowded.

Once the party had arrived at the marketplace Nathalie remained motionless briefly while listening to Valkyrie. When the decision fell on the crew where to go Nat approached Damien. "I have a source here," she said with a hushed voice. "Been a while since I saw him but if he doesn't shoot me on sight there's a chance he'll be able to source us intel on arms and munitions sales from here."

Tilting her head slightly Nathalie continued; "I figure it's a start when it comes to tracking down Anora and her associates."

"Care to join me?" She asked, smirking underneath her mask.

 

[Frankafurter]

Katja follows the group with a slightly awestruck look on her face, though half of it was still masked by her scarf. She's never seen an orbital station this large before, hell, the only orbital station she was ever "on" was the Procyon Shipyard when she boarded the Ardent Pilgrim. After Valk mentions the security and that they're free to go explore the market, she brings her brain back down to the cautious state it was in when they got off the ship. She knew this was a dangerous place and she knew she had to be extremely careful given her 'out of time' situation. She decides to look around for an decent space suit to survive in space, she has a feeling she might need one at some point and while the reavers had equipment, it was pretty roughed up and she wants to make sure the suit she wears won't fail.

She uses the little signs that are multilingual to locate a store that deals in spacer gear, heading inside and looking around at the various suits and such, trying to find one that looks protective but also not too bulky so it doesn't interfere with her fitting into the mech. She finds one that looks well used but also well maintained, she looks it over and scrutinizes it for any sort of rips or tears in the fabric. The shopkeep hovers up behind her, a male Khergian, "You like suit, yes? Old design, very reliable, good deal. Zrad check all suits sold here, make sure good condition. Good suit mean return customer, return customer mean bigger wallet, bigger wallet mean Zrad prosper. Very good business, yes."

Katja startles slightly, despite Zrad's rather prodigious stature, he managed to walk up on her unnoticed. She turns around and looks up at him, utterly dwarfed by the Khergian, "Uh, yeah, it's a nice suit, reminds me of some of the older space suits back home." She breaks eye contact to look at the price tag, she has no idea what a fair price would be, but given the stipend that Valk gave her, it's easily within her current means of purchasing power without breaking the bank. She looks back to Zrad, "Uh, is the suit adjustable? It seems a little big for someone my size." Zrad smiles, "Yes, suit fit, Zrad retired armorer, will make sure suit fit well to ensure customer live. Live customer mean return with more money for nicer suit." Zrad smiles again, "You new customer, I give good introductory price, just remember Zrad when you get rich and famous." He lets out a hearty laugh and claps Katja on the shoulder, practically knocking her down.

Katja staggers and nods nervously, "Yeah, rich and famous, uh, I'll take this suit. You said you'll fit it to me right?" Zrad nods a few times, "Yes, Zrad will fit suit to you, make it like second skin." Katja nods and steps aside for him to lift the suit off the display stand, she follows him to the back room where there's a workshop and he gestures to her, "Suit fit over what you wear, no need to undress, good for date night in space after long walk in vacuum." He laughs and begins to open the suit up as Katja sheds the loose objects on her so it doesn't get in the way of the fitting. The fitting takes a fair few minutes but once it's done, the suit does actually feel like a second skin to her, Zrad does good work it seems. She keeps the suit on and dons the helmet, now she has an even better disguise, and she doesn't look suspicious because now she just looks like a random spacer. She pays Zrad, who kept to his word of a good price, the labor cost of the fitting being omitted for the first suit thus she only has to pay for the suit itself. There's still a modest amount of credits left in her account if she decides to buy anything else. She thanks Zrad and shakes hands with him, well, more like he shakes her whole arm because of how much larger he is. She departs, feeling happy that her first encounter wasn't an entirely terrible one. The main reason she's here though, is to find a implant specialist who may have knowledge of complex implants. She starts using the signs to try and locate a "chop shop" for augmentations, implants, and other sorts of sundries.

 

[Infab]

Damien glanced to Nathalie as she spoke, cocking an eyebrow. "I think everyone has some sort of connection on Shadespear." he muttered. He glanced to Lauren, who returned a glare, before looking back to Nathalie and nodding. "Sure, I'll come with you."

Lauren, meanwhile, shifted her attention to Vixaya. "Well, a great time to kick off your individualization. Look around. See if there's anything you like." she said, motioning a hand towards the center of the marketplace. Aesha, meanwhile, nudged Olivia and Shelby. "Time to play our parts, and peruse some wares." she said, flashing both a grin before walking into the crowd herself.

Drav left the cluster without a word, heading towards a rather large weapons shop nearby. The building was covered in armored blast shutters, with steel bars and reinforced glass in the windows. A sign hung crooked above the double door entrance, reading 'THE BLAST PIT' in red neon.

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

A little tap from a dull-colored cybernetic hand presses itself gently on Drav's arm; letting her know that Typhon will be accompanying her to the gun store. There's nothing new he really needs in terms of weaponry, his submachine gun is serving him well enough, but he isn't going to let one of their own walk off alone. They're still not safe, not even deep in pirate territory, and the bounties on all their heads are very tempting...

Typhon walks besides her and leans in a little close. "I will keep watch. Just in case."

 

[Infab]

"I will keep watch. Just in case."

Drav glance down, along her large arm as she held the massive weapons crate in her hands. "Appreciated." she responded, her voice muffled slightly by the helmet she was wearing. She motioned towards the doors to the Blast Pit, which Typhon opened quickly to allow her to enter with the crate.

Inside the shop, weapons of various kinds and makes lined every inch of every shelf and table across the expansive shop. Even the walls were covered in a selection of weapons. A Namur stood on the other side of a wall of cracked glass, with various bullet impacts and scorch marks scattered across the long wall. A door at the end was made of a slab of thick metal, with a retinal scanner fitted to the wall next to it.

It seemed all the ammunition sat on the other side of the glass wall, which meant all the weapons in the shop on their side were empty. Unloaded for safety. There were a few other patrons wandering around the store, inspecting some of the guns. A few humans, a young Kercan, and Kaxan.

Drav strolled through the room, down two aisles of weapons, and soon arrived at the glass wall. After Drav set the crate down, she reached up and slapped her hand against the glass twice. The Namur glanced back, eyeing Drav as she straightened up. "What do you want?" they asked, their voice sounding rather rough. a tinge of annoyance marking their tone.

Drav spoke plainly. "Here to sell weapon parts. Maybe buy something too." she said, pointing a single finger down at the crate. The Namur turned about and approached the counter on the other side of the glass, before glancing down. "Ah. One moment."

The Namur turned slightly, before yelling out quite loudly. "WYATT, WE HAVE A TRADER HERE." shouted the Namur, before cutting Drav and Typhon a look. A noise came from further back in the store, on the other side of another thick metal door. Above it, a sign hung that said 'Firing Range - Owner's Office' in big black stenciled letters. A minute passed, and the door swung open to reveal a wild eyed, middle-aged human man. His face appeared to be baddly scarred, burn marks travelling from the side his mouth town the side of jaw and down his neck. As if he had caught a bolt of plasma to the face. His arms were also heavily scarred, covered in cuts and gunshot wounds which were easily visible thanks to his dull colored t-shirt. His right hand also seemed to be fake, a skin colored cybernetic hand in place of the organic one.

"What'cha sellin'?" he asked, his voice sounding like he had swallowed gravel. He slipped a cigar into his mouth, on the burned side, as he waited for their reply. Drav pointed to the crate again. "Weapon parts."

 

[ANIMAL MOTHER]

As Drav does whatever business she's doing with this Wyatt person, Typhon briefly scans around to see what kind of weaponry they have for sale on the walls, in the display cases, and hanging above his head. He might as well check anyway while he's still here. Maybe if he's lucky, they'll have a Bagheri AKC here, and not one of the watered-down export versions the Kingdom often sells to the Crimus and the Federation.

 

[K0mori]

"Well, a great time to kick off your individualization. Look around. See if there's anything you like."

Vixaya nodded without looking up. "Yakka," she replied, dully, before heading into the market. Lauren had used that word again: individualization. Vixaya pretended again to know what she was talking about as she entered the crowded, neon-lit trading center. Just as before, the little kanad had no difficulty breezing through the crowd without touching anyone, as if she had a sixth sense for approaching legs, dodging them artfully. However, as easily as she traversed public spaces, Vixaya had no way of applying this skill beyond aimless wandering. She didn't have a fortune to spend, nor was she particularly inclined to buy anything. She already had more possessions than she was used to having. What more could a person want?

As it would turn out, there were plenty of interesting and exotic trinkets and tools in the windows and advertised on holoscreens, some of which were obvious in their purpose, while others left her perplexed or even embarrassed as she made assumptions about what she was looking at. It didn't help that many of the signs and markings were in western languages, especially the human trade language, English. If she focused on one long enough, her translator could interface with the smart lenses in her skull and display a translation, but this was distracting and took too long; she had to keep moving or else others would run into her. Lauren had a point, Vixaya had to learn more than just Kanad if she wanted to survive outside of Kosok space.

After a while, but not very long, her thoughts began to drift, and Vixaya found herself thinking about the others and wondering what sort of gadgets and weaponry they would be bringing back to the ship. [It must be so easy for them to find something they like,]" she thought, when she was totally arrested by the appearance of a mannequin in a display window, its outfit reminding her of the goth fashion Shelby had been wearing. And, in the brief moment she was stopped, of course a passerby bumped into her, nearly knocking Vixaya off her feet. "Oh, shit," the armored human man grunted as he looked down on her before chuckling. "Where are your parents, kid?"

Vixaya looked on him, confused, before picking herself up. Her translator hadn't picked his words up at all. She just shook her head and walked quickly into the store. Almost immediately, it was clear that the establishment was meant for a mature clientele- a fetish shop. Immediately, eyes were upon her, and only those familiar with kanads and how truly small they could sometimes be went back to their own business. Blushing, she fixed her eyes on the floor and walked into a corner of the store where she would be out of the line of sight of most other patrons. She wasn't sure why, but her instinct told her it would be better to pretend to know what she was there for, instead of just running away.

Regaining her senses a moment later, she took a deep breath and looked back at the mannequin she had been staring at before. Suddenly, the figure seemed to be wearing nothing but its underwear, until Vixaya realized that it was cloaked in a sort of clear plastic smart fabric. A few seconds later, the clothing switched modes, darkening across its surfaces until it was an opaque, shimmering black again. Forgetting her earlier embarrassment, she curiously approached the racks where the matching cropped jacket and skirt were hanging. She considered the novelty, and how it didn't necessarily have to be used in such a provocative way.

"Do you like it?" a voice spoke to her. Vixaya glanced back at the female salesperson as the translation echoed quietly in her ear, struck by the brightly-dyed hair on the woman's head.

She nodded in reply. "Y-yes, is good," Vixaya replied. "Have... have kanad... size?" she stammered out, trying to remember the correct words in English.

The employee cracked a sort of pitiful smile, the same sort of look the armored man outside had given. "You mean like, child-sized? That'd be kinda fucked up, if you think about it," she explained. Again, Vixaya listened to the translation, and found herself lacking a response. She knew that disappointment was in order, but she of course felt nothing but indifference. But the employee nonetheless took the smallest size of the coat off the rack and held it next to the kanad. "You know, the jacket's long enough on you that you probably don't even need the skirt. It's halfway to your knees already."

"But... arms..." Vixaya replied, flatly, as she jostled the long sleeves of the jacket.

"Tsh. We can make it work, come on," the saleswoman said, leading Vixaya over to one of the counters in the store. "Believe me, when you sell clothing in a place like this, you've got to know how to make alterations on the fly. And luckily, fabric like this is micro-modular. You can cut it into all kinds of shapes and it'll still do its thing."

---
​

Somehow, the transaction had gone smoothly even though Vixaya was avoiding using her translator to speak to the best of her abilities, and her new jacket had been transformed from a baggy, ill-fitting article into something which resembled a black vinyl trench coat. Its ability to turn translucent was now connected to her tablet, but she would keep it in its opaque mode. She was wearing her simple black dress beneath it anyway.

Her more traditional Kosok-looking coat was neatly folded into a plastic bag hanging from her wrist as she ventured further into the market, emboldened by her success. But why did it seem like a success? She had done shopping at Diamond Cove without it feeling like a challenge. That's when she realized that she really had been challenged- rather than simply trying to fulfil a duty, to blend in as she was told, this time she had been asked to buy something she wanted, something that would serve no purpose but to make her happy.

Was she happy? Could buying a jacket make her happy? [No. I still don't feel different,]" she thought. But a moment later, she considered that happiness was never the goal, not yet. Lauren had simply told her to find something to want, and then obtain it, and that alone was a small victory. Perhaps she could discover other "wants," and by fulfilling enough of them, she could find a sense of pleasure. She had no idea if it would work, but it seemed to work for others, so it was worth a try. "[At least there's nothing stopping me from trying anymore,]" she reasoned.

She began to enter more stores, searching for something else that would make her stop and stare like the jacket had. And finally, finally, she found something which truly interested her.

It had been a secondhand "custom" weapons shop that had captured her interest, as its display cases and walls were decorated with all manner of one-of-a-kind guns and blades in a variety of shapes and sizes. This was one aspect of western culture that Vixaya had yet to fully grasp. While she and her comrades had always been expected to adapt to the weapons they were given, these pirates and mercenaries out west adapted their trade tools to better suit themselves. And while Vixaya was extremely proficient with her ZVI-415, she had already realized that upgrades to the weapon were now possible, now that she had left Kosokom behind.

But it wasn't an upgrade that had truly sparked her imagination, or even another gun. Instead, sitting in one of the display cases, were a pair of cutter claws- a type of weapon Vixaya wasn't even aware existed before she entered the shop. Like razor-sharp gauntlets, the claws fit over the user's hands. But unlike an ordinary pair of gloves, the claws were equipped with batteries which could superheat the high-temperature alloy at the fingertips and allow the wearer to slice through certain metals, while protecting their fingers through the use of insulation. The trigger for this feature was fully-programmable.

Best of all, however, Vixaya soon learned that the claws didn't just look small, they actually were small. "[Do me a favor and don't leave my shop without those,]" an ayr spoke to her telepathically. He was leaning in the corner of his own shop window, looking at Vixaya disdainfully. "[You kanads rarely come in here, you sell me insane weaponry that nobody wants and won't fit an adult's hands, and of course I'm dumb enough to think I can turn a profit on it. Those have been in my case for two years now. I want them gone.]"

"[Where did they come from?]" Vixaya asked.

The ayr crossed his arms. "[There was a kanad pirate captain out here named Yokaya Vor'Pangn, captain of her own crew and crazy as any of you goblins ever come. She got herself killed, and her first mate brought these in, barely used.]" He then walked to the cabinet and opened it, pulling the claws out and setting them down on a cloth so that their razor-sharp tips wouldn't scratch the glass. Vixaya could see a bit of dry blood caked into the cracks on one of the hands. "[She had one made for each hand, even though she only ever wore the one for her left,]" the ayr said. "[She had small hands, and you have small hands. Go ahead, try them on.]"

Vixaya hesitated for a moment, noticing that her heartrate had gone up. She stepped to the counter and, carefully, slipped her right hand into one of the claws and flexed it, and it felt comfortable. She stared a moment at the bladed fingertips as they glimmered in the light. "[Alright, now take it off. I don't like that look on your face,]" the ayr communicated. Vixaya wasn't aware of any look on her face, but did feel her muscles relax as she redirected her attention back to the salesman.

"[How much?]" she asked him in her monotone, without taking the glove off. "[I don't have much money.]"

The ayr stared for a moment. "[We'll work something out,]" he replied. "[Whatever it takes so I don't see those claws - or you - in my store ever again.]"

 

[Viper Actual]

"Sure, I'll come with you."

Nat cocked her head and motioned for Damien to follow. "Let's go." She glanced at the others- especially Lauren- before the two of them went their own way.
It would take about ten minutes to reach Nat's contact and during that time she and Damien passed through several sections of the sprawling marketplace. "I'm sorry if I overstepped before," said Nathalie as the two of them made their way past a particularly colorful market stall selling a variety of holovids.

"I didn't mean to intrude, though I figured you'd welcome the advice," she explained. Nathalie nodded at a place in front of them.
Roughly fifteen meters ahead was a two-storey security station surrounded by stalls and a seemingly never-ending crowd of people.

It was a mostly metallic construction with reinforced windows and viewports. Screens and holograms displaying security information and rules on Shadespear lined its surface as well.
"My contact's in there. Barker. He used to be the harbormaster here but now he's a senior security officer. Still holds a lot of leverage and he has a habit of collecting intel on weapon-related shipments to and from the cargo terminals- including those that are listed as something else."

Nathalie paused and looked around. "Problem is that the SSOID liked to use him a lot and I don't know if they still do."

 

[Breadman]

"Right." Amy looked to the crew "I'm going to visit a friend of mine that works around here. Anyone who wants to come along is welcome to it." She looked at a specific members like Vance and Shelby "I suggest those pretending to be civvies to tag along so you can pretend I'm your escort...and so you may find some good toys on sale." Amy waved any to follow her down the roads and busy markets. Moving at a normal pace, she walked through the crowd, avoiding any pushing and shoving in order to draw less attention. Its not like it was very difficult since the crowds were more full of people interested in haggling and browsing wares than pay attention to yet another merc and whoever she's with.

After some time she reached her destination. The building had seen better days. The whole station had seen better days, but this was worse than others. Some windows were cracked and the walls looked like the paint had peeled off, leaving dirt and grime behind. Broken down wrecks littered the 'backyard' of the building. Looked more like a dump than anything else. A large neon sign shows the name of the fine establishment 'MORA'S CHOPSHOP AND SCRAP DEPPO'. The S in scrap was hanging by a prayer, just to complete the picture. Amy took a breath and banged on the door. In a second she heard a voice from inside

"SHOP'S CLOSED! FUCK OFF TILL MONDAY!"

"It's payday if you open up right now." Amy heard movement and then the front door swung open. A woman popped her pale head out with what appeared to be warpaint or sooth on her face, revealing her pink mohawk and a mask adoring the lower part of her head. She gawked at the 'Death vigil representative' in front of her for a second longer before she pushed the door open "Good to see you too. Been a while."

"I have nothing to say to you, Foxgirl." Mora commented as she led her come inside "Not really in the mood of remembering you, but your money can stay."

"You're not worried about...you know." Amy tried to not say those words. It felt like admission that she had done it right now.

"What? The wanton murder?" Mora laughed hard enough to force the mask's airflow to kick in as she started to hack up something. "Please. You're a bitch, but not a stone cold bitch." She paused to regain her composure "Not like your daddy, heh."

"You've only gotten more charming with time, Mora." Amy held out hard against going with her instinct to slam the bitch against the wall and plant her there. "If I wanted to hear your spit, I'd call you on your line. I'm here to do business."

"Mhm." Mora walked behind her counter and sat down in her chair. She kicked her feet up on the counter and pressed a button under the desk. The racks of scrap and vehicle parts gave way as one of the walls moved to reveal an extra room. Inside one could spot the rows of different weapons fitting different sizes and different purposes. "You know the drill. You look. You like. You buy. And you never got it from me."

"I never got that. You're in the middle of pirate space, why not make it public."

"I like to select my dipshit clients, thank you." Mora scoffed at the suggestion "That way I can keep a lower profile better in case the day comes and this place goes down the shitter and the cops come in." She put both hands behind her back as she leaned back "Oh no officer. I was here trying to survive on scrap deals" the weapon dealer made a mock trial for herself, adding a innocent sounding voice.

"Uh-huh." Amy rolled her eyes and looked to the guns "I'm sure you're going to win something with that performance." She said as she entered the weapon's room "Probably a golden handcuff" the hunter muttered to herself as she looked at the inventory. Trying to see if any of the weapons and additional gear could come in handy on their mission. As well as restock on what she already had.

 

[joshuadim]

Vance nodded to Amy's suggestion and walked alongside her as she made her way to the 'friend' she was talking about. It was rather odd to pretend that he was the one being escorted considering how he towered over Amy and was also significantly more conspicuous in size. He did notice a few odd looks here and there, perhaps scouting to see if he was a good target to rob, which kept him on guard as he followed behind his 'bodyguard'. Eventually they arrived at Mora's Chopshop and it was immediately obvious that the two had history between one another. Thankfully, this didn't mean that they were going to raise a ruckus or draw attention to themselves. He simply hung back as the two talk before showing a weapons room with many different things for sale with what was likely illicit guns.

Vance wasn't particularly interested in replacing his trusty sidearm that he had been using all this time, and so he simply waited for Amy to finish looking for what she needed.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Shelby glanced between Amy and Aesha, with the hesitation leading to Amy moving on anyways on her own business with Vance in tow. That solved having to explain that he would rather stick with the others. He didn't know the woman very well - in retrospect, didn't know any of them very well, but his choice would have put him near Aesha no matter what. And Olivia was cool, too, in a sort of weird way. She didn't seem particularly into her costume, though Shelby wasn't about to break his own character to do anything out of place. He was an aloof, perpetually bored and unimpressed tech specialist; underneath the facade he was fascinated at the details of the outlaw market. He'd never seen such unregulated business before on Castilia, outside the slumps and neon alleys.

Amusingly, the joytime shop he spotted Vixaya wandering into a little ways away seemed awfully tame by comparison. He hadn't expected pirates to appear more chaste than the Castilia entertainment scene, though considering this was likely a hobbyist shop and not tied to the insatiable appetite of the Castilian populace, equally drowning and parched for more stimulation, it didn't come as too much of a surprise. The most surprising thing was seeing the lonesome Vixaya have interest in such matters. He had no idea kanads could be like that, and considering how skittish she seemed, he didn't think he'd be talking to her about any of that any time soon.

Music caught his ear - music that was higher-pitched than the ambience, with lyrics and instruments discernible. In the deluge of shops and stalls, Shelby noticed a media seller, cramped into what appeared to be a utility closet that had spilled out onto the street. The selection on display was nothing short of impressive. It was essentially an antique store, for while there were plenty of secondhand, likely third party or stolen tablets and digi-pages, there appeared to be no shortage of older data tabs and physical media items. He could see tabs going back at least a century in design, from thumb sized data drives using flash chips, to crystal palace constructs, to even wafer layers. Many were clearly marked - videos, music, games, tech specs, software. There were even ancient starship control directories and intrasystem computonics going back so far that one of them was using a read-and-write needle drive.

Anything data that could be uploaded was for sale, including bargain bins of tabs that were unmarked. Shelby couldn't help but scoop some out at random to buy. Half were probably virus bombs, the other weird pornography, or combat footage. He'd have to isolate and scrub before exploring them.

What really caught his eye were the tangible magazines. Castilia still had a penchent for the physical, with magazines using a paper-like polymer substitute grown from seaweed and crushed sand, a cross between glass and bio-plastic. Useful for preprogramed pages meant to be reused, and one-offs meant to be sold, consumed, and thrown away. He thumbed through the boxes of magazines, amused to see the dates. Much like the tabs, these were ancient and from all corners of space, some human, plenty not. The next box stack he examined caused him to freeze, a frightened but excited thrill coursing through his body as his eyes met his own in return. Blazing away on the cover of several fashion and entertainment mags was none other than himself - one from just last year, one of the more recent issues in circulation. Here he was in a bathing suit on the beach. Another, modeling for some seasonal Terran fashion that had already passed. The next was.... He was sure a blush had reached his face as he gulped and moved past it, not entirely unsurprised to see one of his premium magazines on sale here. It was difficult to be less regulated than Castilia was in that particular market.

He couldn't avoid the music, either. The mere presence of the shelves stacked from top to bottom with tabs and data foundries with possibly millions if not more songs was too enticing to pass up, and soon he was browsing through his own music. Judging by the limited selection, he was content in the assumption he was a hot sell. A full stack of unsold items of the delightful Shelby du Pont wouldn't do.

Almost forgetting what his disguise was, he picked up a random selection of blood metal, anti-smile, and void scream to purchase alongside everything else. The clerk was clearly stoned and borderline unresponsive, which Shelby was thankful for. Some shop owners watched their customers like surveillance drones and it certainly would have been compromising to be recognized while looking at his own material. Embarrassing was more like it.

He shouldered his plastic bag, then hesitated. "Um, is there a dealer nearby? A good one?" Shelby asked inquisitively of the clerk, voice deadpan. "Rainbow flavors. Edibles, stimmies, plungers. No firebuds or huffers, its bad for the uh... bad for the voice." The clerk mumbled the name of a nearby shop - naturally, there would be stores here for that - and Shelby scuttled away.

 

[Frankafurter]

Katja fails to find any chopshops that aren't outright butchers or ones that might try to take her kidneys on the side. She does find a gun shop though, she pokes around inside, this one staffed by a wirey human who looks like a tweaker, his jittery shifty nature not inspiring much confidence in his wares with Katja. She looks through the SMGs, looking to find a replacement for the one on her hip, settling on an Upyri design (according to the manufacturer rollmark on the receiver.) She picks up the gun and looks it over, the tweaker dealer behind the counter speaking up, "Ye' thas'a good one, one of only a few hundred made, was a testbed for a big bore spitta' with good recoil control. Sadly, never took off in tha' market. It's yours for a fair price, been sittin' in my inventory far too long." Katja looks down at it and turns it over in her hands, examining the rollmark again, 'XM2E1' she checks the caliber, '12x30mm Caseless.' She figures it'll work for the time being and brings it over to the counter, "You got boxes of spare ammo and extra mags for it too?" The dealer nods and sets a ammo cannister, "Got'a a can right here, about a thousand rounds, should keep ya well stocked for a short bit ye'." He sets a small plastic box holding some spare magazines next to the ammo can and uses a digital register to ring up the total. Katja blinks a bit at the price, it was far more costly than the suit, she could afford it, but it'd almost leave her with just some pocket change. She decides it's better to get it, it's better suited for her hands than the SMG she has now which was clearly designed for a larger person than her. This seems to have been designed with concealability in mind so the ergos are a little more slimmed down and shorter. She finishes the purchase and collects her goods, walking out of the shop content that she now has some proper gear to work with.

The problem in her mind now is her implant but then she remembered the briefing again, this Nonara person might know what's up and if the Reavers are dealing with her, then she can't be too sketchy. She checks her commlink for a moment then texts Valk: 'Where is meeting place?' She hopes she gets an answer back in time to actually meet Nonara.

 

[DG-117]

Kalashi was disappointed in this team's so-called "expert"; He was a pretty boy human with nothing besides a passion for pop fashion. He was no help for someone like her as Kalashi's long and metallic body was quite distinct with a striking silhouette that any Bounty Hunter worth their salt could pick up on. Punk jackets and midnight highlighters weren't going to cut it. No, like the rest of these mongrels, it seemed that the only effective results were going to come from her hands alone on this one.

Thus, Kalashi quickly decided to take a simple yet effective solution to disguises. She went and grabbed a few long disregarded Zosskin exoskin-suit from Mordred's supply closets along with a few cans of flex-foam. Zosskin's gangly bipedal bodies were close enough for Kalashi to blend in as one, albeit she would appear to be a bit malformed compared to others. Hopefully, the camo cloak with a raggedy robe over it would help cover any oddities in her exoskin's appearance.

After an hour of some rudimentary snitching of the suits, Kalashi took and got them to fit loosely over her body's frame. Then with the flex-foam, she was able to pad it out thoroughly and appear to be something organic to the causal onlookers of Shadespear. Something common to that filthy place.

As the Mordred made its final approach to the station, Kalashi let out a long breath, taking a few seconds to breathe slowly as thoughts of her past there blinked into her mind.

Of the compatriots she had met there, the spent times she had with them there... Of the friends she hanged with on her free time...

She stretched her arm out instinctively...

Only to soon realize that Vicc, like the rest of them, was now gone... Long gone in this endless sea of blood and stars with nothing left of them. Nothing but these cruel, cruel thoughts that plagued her so...

Kalashi somberly stood there, alone in the Mordred's supply room, in the dark with only a single dim, flickering light shining upon her as she stood alone...

The rumbling of the Mordred's as it docked with the station's port did little to break her trance as she looked at her metal hands, the dark steel glinting brightly within the dark.

Everything was silent in those few moments, the mess of the vessel's hull creaking and moaning as it anchored to the station. These loud, thundering sounds were drowned out to Kalashi as she found herself consumed in her own head of what she had lost, from her honor, her body, and now everyone she once had thought to call a friend was gone.

All taken from her by a cruel and uncaring universe.

Kalashi shuddered as the dimming light abruptly went off. Darkness now surrounding her caused the Kanad to recoil in fear, eyes widened and her body ready to fight as her synthetic violently heart raced back and forth. Her glaze looking all over the room, her hand already instinctively had drawn her handgun before she eventually realized that she was alone with no one in that room besides herself.

Then, a striking realization soon dawned upon her ...

For her knew that it was an eventuality that her own existence was in the glaze... The last thing she had left to cling to.

And one can only fight the cosmic order for so long before...

Suddenly, the room's lights flashed brightly, lighting up the whole room in a matter of seconds as the Mordred had finalized docking with the station. The ship returns to full status as orders to debark were repeated through the vessel intercom, echoing throughout its long, grimly corridors.

Kalashi soon came back into the present, letting out a long sigh before looking down at her OBN. Gently easing her finger off the trigger and hurriedly holstering it under the cloaks dapped over the exoskin.

Then, Kalashi grabs her case of Tox from her satchel, gently opening it up and hover fingers over the neon-colored vitals. Looking over each one carefully before deciding to go with a dark blue one, a lesser dosage than the others, just something to keep her off the edge and at ease.

She then lifts a large helmet from a nearby table. Looking into the cloudy, opaque dome-visor that makes up most of it. She flips it over and wipes off the dry, dead Zosskin Mesoglea from the insides of the helmet before she dons it. Kalashi then steadily paces down the hallway down towards the rest of the group at the hanger, adjusting her robes and tightening her helmet before finally arriving. She simply stands coldly among them, occasionally nodding repeatedly at Valk's words.

Kalashi initially keeps to the back of the group, not wanting to draw too much attention; Kalashi had been through nearly all of the everyday scenes and sights around here over a dozen times before. Simply making a casual glance every now and then whenever someone or something was getting too loud and too close to her. However, she knew by now what and what not to do around these parts.

However, she is soon drawn towards the group's center as they pass through the central lifts. Her eyes holding onto that of the young Kanad girl, looking to be one of the child soldiers employed by the terrorist traitors back in the bloody insurrection back in the Kosokom. The scars of that terrible conflict were clear in both her cold yet fearful eyes and always at guard body expression, drawing more and more of Kalashi's intermediate attention as she watched her from afar.

Yet, she continued to keep her distance as a voice in Kalashi's head told her it was dangerous. Able to put aside such curiosities in favor of the job.

That was another thing she thought to herself, this job. Kalashi faith in both the Reavers and their leader, Valkyrie, was tenuous, to say the least. Much lower was Kalashi's confidence in getting her reputation repaired by these vandals of all people. But then again, opportunities for herself were poor already, and the news has already stated that Kalashi was now a part of these pirates so she might as well try to see what life is like on the other side? She pondered as she entered the market square.

Besides, a job is a job, Kalashi reflected as she stood there with the rest of them as they stopped in the middle of the street. Her eyes wandering onto some fellow Kanad children playing with one another, the bigger sister teasing the smaller one as they pounced about each other. Always close to their presumed caretakers as the oldest of their living oldline maned a market booth selling what seemed to be quasi-genuine produce hailing back to the Core-worlds of Vira.

The sight brought back her back to the faded memories of her own childhood back in the countryside of Rozhiv. While her father was strict, always keeping Kalashi and her two younger sisters on a tight path with constant, daily studies of history, politics, and other subjects of statesmanship. Kalashi's mother and her grandfather on her mom's side, while hard by human standards, was very affectionate and rose them with a smile always on their face...

As Kalashi mind wandered onto happier times long ago, she suddenly noticed that not only that she missed whatever that Valk said but that the entire group had started to split up.

"Shnka..." Kalashi muttered loudly, gripping her fists tightly as she looked throughout the area. Now quickly trying to figure what the hell was now going on.

Kalashi hastily looked throughout the crowds. Trying to see if anyone of her once nearby associates.

After quite a bit of time brushing through various lowlifes, she managed to catch a glimpse of that same young Kanad girl walking out of an establishment she was all too familiar with. For some particular combinations of narcotics and mental stimulation can reactive some desires of the flesh once muted by her cybernetics and with some... interesting aids and methods, can be fulfilled.

Yet, such alluring thoughts and ideas were mostly pushed aside as Kalashi swiftly and quietly trailed quite a bit behind her, trying to carefully see if she was in any danger. Previous experience has shown that the staff around here....quite capable to say the least, yet it's the clientele that Kalashi was worried about in regards to this Kanad's safety.

One such creature, a dirty human with an obvious stare of lust eyed her. His, yellowish, sickly eyes roamed over her with a horrible grin on his greasy face.

Kalashi slowly caught to him as he quickly eyed her up, getting right close to his side where Kalashi, even without a nose, could smell the stench of this freak from under her mask.

As he takes another step, Kalashi jolts her foot straight into his kneecap in a sideward motion. His leg now contorting far to his side with Kalashi quickly walking away, leaving him crying on the ground in severe pain.

"Shnkander." Kalashi mutters as she leaves the scene.

Kalashi soon finds the store that this Kanad girl had entered while she was dealing with the trash. Kalashi slowly and quietly entered the shop. Looking over the various pieces of gear and weaponry as she carefully listened in on the conversation.

"[How much?]" she asked him in her monotone, without taking the glove off. "[I don't have much money.]"

The Ayr stared for a moment. "[We'll work something out,]" he replied. "[Whatever it takes so I don't see those claws - or you - in my store ever again.]"

Oddly compelled, Kalashi suddenly walks in between them. Looking the shifty Ayr dead in their dead, featureless eyes with a blank stare on her dull-black visor.

"I'll..." Kalashi says, briefly pausing a split-second adjustment to her voice, "I'll pay for it... That and a phased-plasma rifle in the 40-watt range." She said with a slight grin on her face while holding a credit chit to his face.

 

[Infab]

As Typhon looked over the weapons across the store, he soon found three weapons that stood out a bit more than the others. Since Drav was now haggling with the shop owner, he had time enough to look things over and properly inspect them. And perhaps make a purchase.

The first weapon was a pistol, and one that most of the Quadrant knew well. The Mark IV Plasma Pistol, the workhorse pistol of the Upyri Federation. Having served as its sidearm of choice for well over two hundred years, it still saw plenty of use among its Naval forces even while being phased out for new sidearms. This particular pistol seemed to have been customized quite a bit, compared to other Mark IV's that Typhon had seen. A custom leather-bound comfort grip, colored brown. Modified sights, raised slightly for easier target acquisition. A modified plasma battery housing for larger batteries and a quick release switch for rapid battery ejection. The receiver was painted a gunmetal grey, instead of the typical steel look of other Mark IVs. The previous owner must have been either a fan of the Federation's weaponry, or was (more likely) a former Feddie themselves. There was a singular blood stain on the grip, having dried and faded in time, but otherwise the pistol looked very well taken care of.

The second pistol that had caught his eye was a M18 Hell Cannon pistol, produced by the Crimus up north. A large, square-ish revolver that Typhon had seen once or twice. This one was in pristine condition, looking almost brand new, but featured modifications just like the Mark IV. The grip seemed to be reinforced with a new, more sturdy grip that featured a block at the pommel so the lower part of your hand could press against it. The hammer, sharper and with a ring at the back, looked new. The receiver itself was two toned, black and silver, and the cylinder which would hold its specialized ammunition was colored crimson. The barrel featured a muzzle attachment, allowing for improved recoil but a louder bang. Seemingly a name was etched into the side, but it had been filed off. Perhaps its former owner?

Finally, a third weapon nearby stood out as a rather interesting relic. An old, double barreled laser rifle. But the markings where what stood out most. UNGSI. This was a Sol weapon, from long before Sol became a thing. Its previous government had produced these weapons to compliment their kinetic weapons at the time, and the laser rifle they produced was known to have a pretty significant impact when both barrels were used in unison. Upon closer inspection, the weapon was labeled SPEW-230DB. Also known as the 'Blazer'. The problem was...this one looked so beat up that it was close to falling apart. It belonged more in a museum than anything.

"See anything you want?" called out the Namur from the counter, while Drav and the store's owner finished up their discussion over the crate of weapon parts.

​

Damien followed quietly alongside Nathalie, wondering exactly where her associate would be hiding out in this dark, crammed station. Eventually, she spoke up as they walked.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped before," said Nathalie as the two of them made their way past a particularly colorful market stall selling a variety of holovids.

"I didn't mean to intrude, though I figured you'd welcome the advice," she explained.

"Don't worry. You didn't overstep or anything." he replied, glancing to her as they walked. "My mother, sister, and I have a rather strained relationship. And it has been that way since long before my father left us." he responded. As they arrived at their destination, he finished his comments. "...We can talk personal matters later." he said softly, gazing up at the structure.

"My contact's in there. Barker. He used to be the harbormaster here but now he's a senior security officer. Still holds a lot of leverage and he has a habit of collecting intel on weapon-related shipments to and from the cargo terminals- including those that are listed as something else."

Nathalie paused and looked around. "Problem is that the SSOID liked to use him a lot and I don't know if they still do."

"They most likely do. Otherwise he'd be in prison or worse." he responded, without looking to her. He glanced around them, eyeing anyone that was nearby along with any dark corners of the station. Out of direct line of sight. Rooftops were next, especially ones with a direct view of the street and the building itself. "Does SSOID still keep tabs on associates like they used to? I count three good overwatch locations, and two alleyway ambush points. And a choke point just over there."

He pointed out the higher ground positions, first. A scrap shop, what appeared to be a run-of-the-mill fast food place, and a housing unit with two floors. The housing unit had an antenna poking out of the top of it. The two alleys were just a couple of yards meters away, shadows cloaking the entrances. Between a few shops and the station's walls. And the choke point was just opposite of the security office's door, sandwiched between two high walls. A low wall sat on the inside, just in front of the doorway.