Prospect, Lansure Township

Jarin Tan's Bar and Grill is the cornerstone that keeps Lansure alive.

That's what most folks will say if you ask about the place. Tan's is the favored spot of the Wreckers, an outlaw gang that has a lot of favors in town. One of those favors means that the sheriff, try as he must, can't touch them so long as they do their dealings in the bar and grill. Drug dealing, prostitution, and other illicit things are technically legal, so long as you stay within the bar.

Jerod, the leader of the gang, knows this well and often flaunts the fact that despite being an outlaw, he always has a table ready for him and his crew in the place. Tonight is poker night, so his gang's table has already been made ready for the card game. The table always has an extra chair open, just in case some smooth brain wants to play some cards and lose all their money right after. Easy way to get more creds in his pocket.

It's a good two or three hours into the night when a grumlian with a pompadour walks in. His hair sticks out like a toak in a fistfight. He shakes the rain out of it and runs a comb through it as he wanders into the bar, eyeing the empty chair at the poker game. With a sly look, Jerod signals to Vicman, his right-hand man, to kick the chair a bit and get the schmuck's attention.

The grumlian saunters over, eyeing up his gang with almost comical naivety, "This seat taken fellas?"

"Not at all, have a seat!" Kur, the konii marksman Jerod picked up a week ago, says.

"You don't look like you're from here," Jerod begins, "Don't see too many of your kind stray far from your asteroids."

"Eh, well, never was the stay at home type," The grumlian says as he dusts his hands off, "What's the buy-in?"

"Hundred creds."

"Small pot, I like it." He tosses a bundle of script on the table, Clay slides a stack of chips towards him, "Five card?"

"Yessir." Jerod answers, "Joker is wild."

"As it should be," The grumlian introduces himself, "Name's Dell by the way."

"Jerod," The gang leader then goes down the table, "And that's Clay, Kur, and Vicmen."

"Vicman, boss." Vicman corrects the outlaw.

Jerod sneers back at Vicman.

"Pleasure meeting y'all." Dell says as he cracks his knuckles. He pulls his goggles off, bright emerald eyes shining out as he looks over his hand, chuckling a bit.

"Something funny?" Kur asks.

"Oh, nothing, just uh," Dell smiles as he throws ten dollars in as an opening bet, "Might wanna have someone reshuffle the deck."

"I shuffle." Jerod says plainly.

"Oh, uh," Dell seems to smile a bit nervously, "No disrespect then, maybe I'm just lucky."

Kur was next, "Call." He tosses his chips in.

Clay fiddles with a chip between his carbon fiber fingers, saying, "Call, raise." He then throws another five-cred chip in.

It gets to Jerod who chuckles, a pair of aces thanks to a joker and a trio of kings. He knew how this would play out; after all, he did shuffle the deck, stacking it in his favor.

"Alright, I'll call, and raise twenty," Jerod says, tossing his chips in.

"Too rich for my blood," Vicman says, folding his hand.

"Not even going to try and exchange some cards?" Dell says, tossing back a two-of-spade.

Jarod tosses Dell a new card. If his count's right it should be a queen of hearts. Jarod studies the grumlian as he shifts the card in his hand, his smile growing.

"Well, uh, shit. Guess I'm all in," Dell says, throwing the rest of his small stack of chips in, "Guess this'll be the quickest game of poker if I'm wrong."

Kur raises an eyebrow, "Right," His eyes shift to Jerod then back to Dell, "Fine. Call."

"Call," Clay said deftly.

"Call, and raise." Jerod tosses another ten creds worth of chips into the pot.

The cards go down. Jerod smiles as he looks over Clay and Kur's hands, pairs and three of a kind, and then frowns upon seeing Dell's hand. A house, Aces high, thanks to a joker.

"Like I said," Dell says, his tail flicking onto the table and dragging the chips to himself, "Guess I'm lucky."

"Right..." Jerod says.

The night goes on and the flow to the game begins to shift. Poker nights usually end with Jerod winning just enough creds to make a profit while not enraging his posse. Yet, the game plays out far differently with Dell at the table. The pot ebbs and flows, and Dell doesn't always win, but Jerod's losing money.

What's more, Dell seems to have a lot more money than he lets on: He buys drinks and food and goes so far as to share that wealth with the crew. His crew. He's also a smooth talker, getting to know the posse and striking up conversation throughout the game. Soon enough, Jerod feels forgotten at his own table and causes his poker face to crack, those cracks webbing outward as the game goes on.

Time carries on and the game slips further and further from Jerod, now realizing that his count of the cards is off. He narrows his eyes at Dell, wondering if this is his ploy to throw the man's dealing off so he can count the deck. The grumlian maintains a lead of only a few creds, clearly he's trying to hide his intentions. But Jerrod can see through his shit.

"Yeesh, pushing my luck tonight boys," Dell says, throwing twenty into the pot. He then pulls his goggles over his eyes, hiding his expression.

"Ah, seems like you are," Kur comments, taking a sip of his beer, "I'll fold." He tosses his hand, holding nothing but junk.

"Hmm," Clay thinks it over, "Level with me, Mr. Caliger--"

"Son, just call me Dell," The grumlian laughs, "Mr. Caliger is my Pa's name."

Clay snorts; it's a genuine laugh, not forced like when Jerod cracks a joke, "Right. You wouldn't lie to me, would ya?"

"I don't lie son," Dell leans forward, "Not to friends anyway." He then laughs.

The table laughs in turn, and Jerod fumes.

"You gonna call, Clay, or you gonna just conversate?" The outlaw barks.

"Seesh, boss, cool your jets." Clay says, "Call."

Jerod looks over his hand, Royal Flush of Clubs. It'll work. It has to work. He's gotta win back some money.

"Call," He then grabs a fist full of chips, "Raise fourty."

"Fuck Jer, you're--"

"Don't call me, Jer, Vicmen," Jerod bites back.

"Fine." Vicman then tosses his cards, "Fold. I'm grabbing a whiskey."

"Put it on my tab, Vicman." Dell makes it clear he's pronouncing his name correctly.

"You sonuva bitch." Jerod slams his fist on the table, "You're doing this on purpose!"

"Doing what, asshole?" Dell fires back, "I'm just here playing cards."

"You're gettin' under my skin, that's what you're doing!"

"Oh, well no disrespect Jer--"

"Don't call me JER it's JER-OD, not JER." The outlaw leans forward, his free hand resting on his pistol.

"Alright, Jer-odd," Dell's brow furrows, "If yer feeling so confident, then show 'em."

Jerod tosses his cards onto the table. "Flush of clubs, you?!"

Dell takes a deep breath and shows his—a full house, aces high. Jerod laughs, finally winning a hand and getting back his money, but that isn't enough.

"Great, now I can cash your ass out."

"Hang on!" Dell says, standing up in his chair, "I still wanna win back--"

"Too bad."

Jerod stands and stomps over to Dell, grabbing the grumlian by the scruff of his neck and dragging him out of the bar. He'll show him what happens to people that fuck with this outlaw. He swings the door open, lifting one arm up to guide where he wants to throw Dell out onto the muddy ground just outside the bar.

Then a giant's hand grabs his arm.

"What--"

Suddenly, the giant pulls Jerod off his feet and sends him flying into the muddy street. He lands on his shoulder, pain searing through his body as he flips over, pulling his Pauper Pistol free, only for a boot to kick it from his grip. That same boot comes crashing onto his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sinking him deeper into the muck. In the low light of the street he can see a titanic woman pinning him down, the imposing barrel of a shotgun looking down at him.

"Fuck..." Dell comes into view, comb running through his hair, "Between the rain and your hand, you fucked up my hair, asshole."

"Sonva bitch!" He fights under the foot, only for it to press in. He feels his ribs scream out in pain.

The door to the bar slams open again. Jerod is just barely able to crane his head past the tall woman to see his gang out on the step of Jarin Tan's, weapons at the ready. He then becomes aware of other figures coming into view. From the alleyways and across the street, men with blue bandanas wrapped around their right arms come out, guns at the ready as well.

"Guys! Come on! Get me out of here!" Jerod calls out.

"Now how about I remind y'all of the agreement," Dell calls out, Jerod seeing the grumlian step between him and his posse. "No shooting, no looting, and no robbin' out on the street. Anything illicit stays in that bar." He looks over to Jerod, his goggles shining in the street light, a smile on his face, "That what you agreed with the Sheriff, ain't it?" Dell glares down at the outlaw; despite his eyes being hidden, the smug smile says it all.

"Don't have to ask him," The low grumble of Sheriff Taylor rakes against Jerod's ears. The lawman squats down beside him, "Howdy son, seems like you're outside your protection. And assaulting a fellow citizen as well."

"Fuck yourself, old man!"

"Already did this morning." Taylor stood, looking at the tall woman, "You gotta be that rough on him? Don't want ya crushin' his rib cage."

"If I wanted to crush his rib cage, I already would've." The woman answers solemnly. "More worried I dislocated his shoulder, might've thrown him too hard."

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"Vicmen! Vicmen!" Jerod looks over to his right-hand man, "Come on! Help your buddy out!"

"It's Vic-Man, asshole." Vicman retorts, before nodding for the gang to go back inside.

Before Jerod can say anything, that massive boot lifts off his chest and kicks him in just the right place to knock him out cold.

--------

The rain falling onto the haul of the Providence sounds so soothing that Dell almost forgets that his neck is still aching. Being a bounty hunter tends to earn you a few "friends", especially out on world's like Prospect. As such, they decide it's probably safer to set camp away from prying eyes. Luckily the landscape offers plenty of hills to set oneself up on.

He sets aside that pain as he looks over Domitia's Ion Lance, trying to wrap his head around it again. Her armor took a beating on Janus, and the lance was probably the hardest hit. Domitia picks up on her partner's pain and nods, signaling that she'll take a look.

"Got you good." Domitia remarks, looking at the back of Dell's neck.

"How bad?" Dell asks.

"Tch, might have to amputate the head, save the body."

That gets a laugh out of both of them.

"Still, that was foolish."

"But it worked," Dell counters.

"Still doesn't make it foolish," Domitia says, rising back up and leaning against the wall.

"Goin' in guns blazing wouldn't have been good either." Dell says, "We needed him alive. Never a guarantee that gun fights end with the target being just wounded. Especially with you throwing your weight around."

Domitia hums before conceding, "Can't deny that. Risk is part of the job, after all."

"Yeah, so is maintenance," Dell slides his goggles back off, rubbing his eyes, "Focuser is completely gone. It needs to be replaced."

"Could a fabricator do it?" Domitia asks.

"Thought about that." Dell holds up the focuser, "Problem is the metal. Ferro-ceramic."

Domitia groans and rolls her eyes, "Great."

"It's what I said," Dell shrugs as he tosses the dead focuser into a tray, "Now I got a buddy who knows a guy, who knows a guy who could get a foot in the door with some RSP boys. Problem is the wait for that is probably a decade at best. Not to mention real dollars too. None of these creds."

"And Dorian Arms isn't likely to give us anything." Domitia says, looking over the disassembled Ion Lance, "Thing's warranty is probably void if I had to guess."

"Got that right, armor itself ain't too bad," Dell, using a screwdriver, points at the Bellator's armor, "Life support is fine, hardlight generator is fine, boosters are in good shape. I even got that replacement arm on."

Without the Ion Lance Domitia needed to free up that arm. Luckily they had a spare set, just in case such a thing ever happened. It stood out from the rest of the set, painted a dark forest green. Domitia frowns looking at it over, humming a bit.

"Might wanna see if we can afford some paint. Get that arm to not look like I pulled it from the dead."

"But... We did."

Domitia gives Dell a look that is meant only for him.

"Right, right." Dell concedes, "What about the hardlight genie, any luck?"

Domitia sighs, "We'll need to replace the capacitor on it soon. Nearly burnt out."

"I'll take a look at it later." Dell says, "Might as well give it a once over. Never know."

"Right."

The Providence had taken a beating sailing in the light of Janus. The Fallen Stars weren't pushovers, and the damage they inflicted only became apparent recently. Auxiliary systems here and there were beginning to spark out. Life support was damaged by Dell's stunt to get the pirates off the ship, and the probe that had embedded itself into the Providence had proven to cause issues long after it was deactivated. Worse yet, the money from these jobs wasn't enough, Dell knew that. They were only making enough to keep the ship fueled, their stomachs full, and ammo mostly stockpiled.

A warning chime gets Dell and Domitia to stand up fully. It's the Providence's radar, alerting its occupants to a reading. The pair hastily run up to the cockpit so they can get a read on it. Dell gets the scope working while Domitia stays at the ready to aid with anything the grumlian needs.

"Something have a lock on us?" Domitia asks.

"Something came within a kilometer, that's the threshold I put it on." Dell says, "We ought to be cloaked, so whatever is here will have to come closer to actually see us."

The window allows for a view of the surrounding landscape, or would if a fog didn't obscure much of their vision. From the gloom appears the shape of a ship, and it's no ordinary civilian craft. The angular lines and smooth edges tell Domitia and Dell it's a ship of higher quality, and the black paint and white trim also tells them its owner spared no expense on it. Then the company logo can be seen as it becomes fully visible. Horizon Colony Solutions.

"Shit, a fucking corpo," Dell remarks.

"Why now," Domitia asks aloud.

"Don't know--" Dell pauses, "They're hailing us."

"Answer it then," Domitia says.

With a click the channel opens, and a smooth, velvety voice says, "Greetings. I do hope I'm not disturbing you. I am looking for the bounty hunters Domitia Sejanus and Dell Caliger. I was told they fly the vessel known as the Providence. Is this correct?"

Dell, feeling some level of confusion with the long-winded exposition, answers, "Yes."

"Good! May I please land? I do wish to speak to you both. Face to face. I've come with an offer."

Dell and Domitia look at each other, both of them coming to the same conclusion; this is either going to go good, or bad, and there is no in between. Corps rarely deal in person, unless they really need something. Whatever that something is, usually isn't healthy for whoever is having to deal with it.

"Yeah," Dell says, looking at Domitia who gives a thumbs up and then points back, signaling she's getting her gun, "Yeah, sure buddy. Set yourself down wherever yer comfortable."

"Gladly." He says before the line goes dead.

Dell rushes back, grabbing his PDW on the way, catching Domitia who's already loading her shotgun.

"Let's be ready, but play it cool," Dell says as he hops onto Domitia's shoulder.

"Read my mind," Domitia says as she hits the switch to lower the Providence's cargo ramp.

The pair of bounty hunters walk down the ramp, finding the ship having already landed. Dell recognizes it as a Voidstream, high-end, although judging by the engines whining a bit as they cool down he picks up that it's a few years out of date. The ramp of the Voidstream lowers and out steps, a slim figure dressed in black. A small drone follows along, producing a hard light shell to shield him from the rain. He comes within twenty paces of Domitia and Dell before speaking.

"I do apologize for any anxiety this might have caused. I understand bounty hunting can be a dangerous affair." He bows slightly, "My name is Frax, Major-domo to Karl Hays. Mr. Hays has a job for you both, and would like to present it to you, in person, if able."

The pair of bounty hunters look at each other before looking back at the butler.

"He can give us a ring if he wants to hire us," Dell says.

"I'm afraid Mr. Hays is rather nostalgic - he would prefer a face-to-face meeting," Frax explains.

"What's the nature of this, 'job'?" Domitia asks.

"Ah, that is not my place to discuss. Mr. Hays is a private man. He does not disclose his business with me unless it would concern me."

"Right." Domitia looks over to Dell, raising an eyebrow, as if to silently ask, 'What do you think?'

Dell gives a solid, 'I don't know' shrug, then saying, "Listen, my Ma always warned me about taking offers from strangers. Especially corpos."

"I understand the trepidation. Which is why Mr. Hays sent this with me." Frax makes a motion with one of his gloved hands.

A drone drifts across to Domitia and Dell, dropping an envelope into the hands of each of the bounty hunters. Inside is a large stack of Unity Dollars, something valuable even far out here on the Fringe. Domitia looks over to Dell, who's busy counting his stack before looking over. She shakes her head at him.

"Can you give us a moment?" Dell asks, nodding to Domitia to go back up the ramp.

"Of course," Frax says, bowing slightly.

The pair of bounty hunters head back up the ship, putting enough distance between the corpo and his drones so they can talk.

"I don't like this." Domitia began, "Comes out of nowhere, offering a job, and is connected to Horizon. Sounds like an invitation to the grave."

"We got paid up front," Dell holds up his stack of cash. "That's a good sign."

"They have money to spare, so what?"

"So they're serious!" Dell points out, "Listen, if they wanted this to be the old hire-then-stab they wouldn't have bothered with real cash. They'd just do a digital transfer and fish it back once we were gone. This," He runs a finger over the stack of bills, "Real cash, right up front. It's good faith."

"It's a corp, Dell," Domitia says. "They never operate on good faith."

"Yeah, well, it ain't like we got a choice. Ship needs repairs, your armor needs repairs, lying low on Prospect is costing us."

Domitia has to concede with Dell on that.

"Listen, we need to be practical. We can't just turn our nose up at a job cause we don't like the messenger." Dell puts on a salesman's tone as he ends with, "If this job pays well enough we could get not just your armor fixed up, we could even get the ship repaired, maybe even upgraded!"

Domitia mulls it over, tapping her foot as she thinks, before finally replying, "Fine. As much as I don't like this, I'll trust your judgment."

Dell chuckles, "That makes one of us," He remarks sarcastically.