Dell lands the bulky freighter in a fourway intersection, further than either one of them want, yet it’s the only spot where the ship could fit. The ship lands with a heavy thunk that echoes throughout the desolate streets. By contrast the cargo door opens almost too quietly, the ramp extending and landing with a gentle touch. Domitia strides out, checking the streets to see if anybody, or anything, has taken notice of them. She levels her shotgun, pumping the stock as she does so. Visibility is poor due to the fog, so she switches to ion, looking for any power signatures that may indicate weapons. After checking, then rechecking the approaches up and down the street she figures anything that had taken notice of them would’ve shown up by now.
“Clear,” Domitia says, waving her arm, as she lowers her weapon.
Dell hops off the ramp midway down and lands on Domitia’s shoulder. He gets comfortable as he checks the foggy streets, “Damn, place is even creepier up close.”
“You could say that.” Domitia motions, “Craft is this way, you should stay put. I’ll recover the asset.”
“Think I’ll tag along this time,” Dell says, readying his SMG.
The Bellator looks at her partner, “Place is dangerous Dell, not sure that’d be a good idea.”
“And it’s a crashed starship, chances are it’s going to be a tight squeeze. You’ll need me to get in there.” Dell counters.
Domitia can’t deny that; for all the strength she has, two weaknesses she can’t deny are tight corridors and low ceilings. Still, there is a bit of a risk of having Dell out here. If the rumors are true, then there could still be security drones patrolling the streets. Yet all jobs have their risks, and if the payout is to be believed, it’ll be worth it. Even if Domitia still doesn’t trust Mr. Hayes, they’re in the city, and a brisk walk away from the ship; might as well finish the job.
“Fair enough, stay close.” Domitia says.
“Don’t have to tell me that.”
Domitia has seen her fair share of battlefields. Cities that empty out due to conflict aren’t uncommon, but at least in those war torn metropolises there’s a sense that the place had been lived in. Here there isn’t even the faintest sense of that - the buildings are stark grey, completely without personality. It doesn’t help that they’re all the same cookie cutter construction, built to the same two-story height with wide windows meant for displays or lighting, now only showing the empty shells that the buildings are.
What’s more is the distinct lack of wildlife as well, which gives Domitia even more pause. Places often abandoned will be retaken by nature, at some point or another. Even on planets stripped of their atmosphere, the cosmic winds will erode and pull such structures, giving some impression that time has passed. Yet here the empty, fog choked streets give the impression that Domitia and Dell have stepped into a timeless void. The vague suggestions of ammonia fueled fires in the distance are the only reminder that something besides them is here.
That’s when she sees it.
Movement. The briefest disturbance of the fog catches Domitia’s enhanced senses. She spins around, weapon at the ready, the bandoleer of fist sized shotgun slugs bouncing against her chest plate as she does. Dell’s barely able to hold on as she looks, trying to track whatever she just saw.
“The fuck--” Dell is cut off by Domitia hushing him.
She cycles through thermal and ion, trying to see if she can spy something, anything. Even the faintest trace of heat or ion radiation. Yet there’s nothing.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Dom!” Dell whispers, “What. The fuck. Are you doing?!”
“Saw movement.” Domitia answers simply.
“And?” Dell asks as if waiting for further explanation.
Domitia takes a moment, before relaxing her posture, “It’s gone, whatever it is.”
“Are... you sure the optics are working alright?”
Domitia pulls her visor back, allowing her to communicate with Dell in a quieter voice, “I know what I saw.”
“Fine,” Dell raises his hands, “I believe ya, just... little warning for the guy on your shoulder next time.”
“Mhm,” Domitia replies, “Let’s try and keep the noise down, think the fog might help conceal us.”
“Right... says the giant woman in the heavy armor.”
Domitia narrows her eyes at Dell, the grumlian in return raising his hands in defense, a grin and a small laugh replying to the Bellator’s glare. She reaches to put her visor back down, but before she does something catches her eye. The Bellator makes out the faintest impressions on the concrete. She crouches, Dell tracking her gaze sees the patterns on the ground. Three dots in a triangular formation. Dell vocalizes what they’re both thinking.
“Footprint?” He asks, still unsure.
“Seems like it,” Domitia says, “Has to be heavy.”
“Or powerful enough to pierce the concrete.” Dell counters.
“Hmm,” Domitia rises up, “Let’s get this over with. Sooner we get this done, less of a chance of running into that thing.”
The two carry on down the road, the shape of the Stormrunner becoming clearer as they get closer. The low growls of steel buckling and the whining fires of oxygen generators burning gives some much-needed ambience to a soulless city. As the bounty hunters approach the crash site, Domitia spies movement again and readies herself.
This time a pair of figures emerge from a shell of a building to their right, weapons at the ready. Dell rolls off Domitia’s shoulder, clinging to her back, positioning his SMG just over Domitia’s shoulder, ready to lay down suppressive fire. The two figures are in dark blue scavenger’s jumpsuits, with tool belts holding ion charges and body armor sewn into the suit. Both of them are using Ion Break Actions, and the hum from the weapons tells Domitia that the safeties are off. The konii raises a hand, his brown fur edged with a hint of grey, then lowers it, the muzzle of his rifle following the same direction. Domitia does the same, Dell raising his SMG up and off target. The human, youthful blue eyes twitching with trepidation, lowers his gun only slightly, Domitia cringing as he keeps his finger around the trigger.
“Okay... be quiet,” The konii whispers to the two bounty hunters, “They’ll hear you.”
Domitia raises her visor to speak to them, “Drones?”
“They’re drawn to noise,” The scavenger says, he then points with his thumb back at the ship, “This is our gig, we ain’t sharing.”
“Yeah, fuck off aug!” The younger man says, pointing his gun back at Domitia and Dell.
“Kade,” The konii glares at the younger human, “Shut the fuck up, let me handle this.”
“Listen friend,” Dell pulls himself up a bit, allowing him to make eye contact with the konii, “We ain’t here for the whole thing, just some mail for our client. That’s all.”
The konii shakes his head, his graying ears swaying as he does, “Sorry, don’t know you bud. ‘Sides, why should I care?”
“Does it look like we’re going to steal everything on that ship?” Dell motions behind him, “See anyone else? Even then, me and my beast of a partner could deal with you two. We don’t want trouble, just the mail.”
The konii takes a sigh, “I’ll run it up the chain. Jobs like this require--”
An ion discharge cuts the konii off as his leg takes a blast. The konii doubles over, biting his hand and screaming into it. Domitia and Dell both look over to the human, who is now dealing with the guilt and panic one finds when they discover the value of trigger discipline.