Half a Bounty. Flickering Lights. Tired eyes. Hasmed's Rebellion. A cop makes a threat.

"Well... Shit." Dell's words echo through the halls of the archology, "Half a tank, that's what we'll have to work with."

"It'll have to do," Domitia grunts.

"I'm about tired of hearing that," Dell groans, "For once, just once, I'd like to hear we have more than enough."

"If we were closer to the core, we wouldn't have these problems," Domitia states.

"Yeah, you're right." Dell grumbles. "Still, we'll need money, real money. That means getting a real job."

"Any ideas?" Domitia asks.

Dell looks around, the empty halls of the archology seem to only highlight how this place is slowly but surely falling apart. The rust in the spaces where wall panels meet, flickering of what few lights they have, and the stale air all seem to give Dell the impression that this place is one bad storm away from dying. In this gazing, he spies something living in these empty halls. The red neon words, *Last Tab* blink above the entrance, he now being able to place where the scent of cooking meat and cheap vapor has been coming from.

"How about a bite to eat first?" Dell proposes.

Domitia shrugs her shoulders, "Eh, I can eat."

"Smells alright, maybe even 'ganic food."

"All food is organic, Dell." Domitia counters.

"Oh, not this shit again," The grumlian groans.

"If you can eat it, it's organic," Domitia states, a small smile following the statement as her amusement grows.

"If it comes out of a vat, it ain't organic." Dell counters, "Is a clone organic, Domitia?"

The bellator turns on her heels, looming over the Gurmlian, "When you get a cloned organ, is it an aug, or is it organic?"

"Neither, it's artificial!" Dell grumbles.

"It's made of living matter, Dell; therefore, it's organic." Domitia counters.

Dell lets out a hiss, "Know what, I kind of hate you."

"Love you too, Dell."

As it turns out, the Last Tab is more of a community center than a bar. Sure, there is a bar with shelves filled with all sorts of liquors and a line of men and women leaning against it, sipping away at cheap booze, but that's not all. A row of holographic tables lines the opposite wall, each one of them playing out a game of Solar Wind - a strategy game where each player tries to escape through a jump point while preventing their opponent from doing the same.

Crowds huddle around the tables, hands clutching company script as they place bets on the games. The spectators wear all sorts of garbs; some still in void suits, helmets held on belt clips, others in jumpsuits, the tops undone and tied around their waists. In contrast, others wear undershirts with denim pants, tattoos swirling down arms and waterfalling down backs. On the other side of the bar, a band is at work with their drums and guitars, making music of some sort. It's upbeat and brassy, with a trumpet butting into the melody occasionally. Dell leans in, trying to understand the language.

"It's Spanish," Domitia answers Dell's unasked question.

"What?"

"Spanish, old Terran tongue."

"Never heard it before... Sounds like they gotta lot to say with very little time."

They find a spot in the corner of the Last Tab, a booth that gives them good sightlines of the entrances. Dell is able to sit comfortably in the booth, while Domitia hunches over the table, the alcove being just a little too short for her. At some point, a wide-set woman with caramel skin arrives at the table. She eyed the two bounty hunters for a moment.

"You were the two badges with the head, right?" She finally asks.

"Word travels fast, it seems," Domitia answers.

"In this tower, it does. What was that all about?"

"We had a job; space pirate got a little too uppity, took him down to a head. Handed it off," Dell answers, "Now we're here."

"And am I going to have to worry about you two causing trouble?" She asks, hand on her hip, "I've worked hard for this place, and I don't need two pendejos coming in and messing it."

Dell raises a hand, placing the other over his heart, "Have my word ma'am, we don't want trouble. Just some grub, smells like something's cooking."

"Carnitas," She answers, "Real pork too. We fatten the pigs up here ourselves."

That got Dell's attention quickly, "Miss--"

"Call me, Mimi, son." She says, "And yes, I'll get you both a plate, cerveza-- Beer?"

"I'll take a soda and grape if you have it," Domitia replies.

"And I'll take a beer."

They settle in, the sound of the band and the roar of the crowds taking their mind off the disappointing hand off. Food arrives in short order, steam rising from the delicious meat, cold drinks sat right beside the plates. The grub is as good as it smells, and the bounty hunters settle into their seats, enjoying the evening.

As they sat in their booth, enjoying their food, Dell caught someone watching him and Domitia. He's a konii with dark fur, one eye darting over him, shifting back to the bar whenever Dell gazes upon him. Looking the spacer over, he doesn't recognize his clothes, standard body glove, with a brown jacket pulled over it. The konii finishes his drink and steps over to the bar. Wordlessly, Dell motions to Domitia, who picks up on the konii approach.

"Say," The spacer steps forward, pointing at both bounty hunters, "Y'all were the ones with the head? Is that right?"

"That was us." Dell begins, "Some two-bit space pirate."

"Really? Anyone I know?"

"Depends on who you are." Domitia comments.

"Me? Oh, I'm just a nobody," He extends his hand, Dell now realizing it's cybernetic, "Ray,"

"Dell," He accepts the hand shake, "What's a nobody doing this far out here?"

"Lots of things. Lots of things gotta move from one star to another," He motions, moving from one point to another with his hands, "Always on the lookout for talent. Dangerous being a man of my... Profession."

"Right," Dell smiles, realizing he's talking to a smuggler, "Well me and my friend are talented, we do got a ship too."

"Really? That so?" Ray asks.

"Pony Freighter," Domitia answers, "*The Providence*."

"Oh, you're flying that? Shit, I could set y'all up with something nice. Nicer than that fossil ya got."

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"Thanks but no thanks." Dell flexes his arm, "Put too many hours on that. Would feel like a sin to throw it away."

"Oh I gotta respect that." Ray pulls up a chair, Mimi presenting him with another drink, "Thanks hon," He turns back to the bounty hunters, the ear rings in his long ears clinking together as he does, "Still, I could always use friends. I got a job going out to Romgon."

"We're familiar," Dell says, "Still got the smell in my boots."

Ray laughs, "Well shit, guess I don't have to prepare your noses then."

"Sadly, no," Domitia says, cringing slightly.

"So, how about it?" Ray asks, "Interested? Hell, I'll pay for your ammonia."

Dell looks over to Domitia, who subtly shakes her head. Dell couldn't help but agree - the smuggling wasn't the biggest deal. Out here, a smuggler was just an ordinary tradesman, but it's the destination. Romgon was nearby, planetoid, habitable, and kind of, but in the opposite direction. They needed a gig going toward civilization rather than away.

"No can do." Dell says," 'Appreciated, but we gotta make our way core ways."

"Slim pickings out here," Domitia admits.

"Ah, shit." Ray snaps his cybernetic hand, causing a spark to leap off his fingers, "Well, worth a shot." He goes to get up, but as he starts to turn back to the bar, he pauses, "Well... There is a job I could interest you in... It's local."

Domitia raises an eyebrow, "Local work?"

"Escort gig, but planetside."

"Planetside?" That gets a chuckle out of Dell, "How? Planets a constant storm."

"Upper atmosphere certainty, further down things are more stable, especially in the canyons and valleys." Ray goes on, "Buddy of mine, Lopez, he runs a crew of cable jockeys; they got a gig in one of the more dangerous parts of the local grid. He's got cash, twenty gs from what I hear; the problem is no one's too keen."

"Any reason why?" Domitia asks.

"Probably the corrosive storms, Dom." Dell cuts in.

"Nah, it's the ghosts."

That statement catches Dell off guard, he finishes off his beer with one last swig before asking, "Ghosts?"

"Something, I don't fucking know, man. The switch station they're going to repair has some fucked up shit happening." Ray says, raising his hands. "Look, I can give you an introduction if you're interested."

Dell looks over to Domitia, who shrugs in response.

"Sure, why not."

____

Ray led the pair from the vibrant and cheerful restaurant and into ill-lit alleyways found deeper in the archology. Perhaps these had been earmarked as backroom offices or storage rooms, but now they serve as housing for the residents of this level. Domitia kept a hand on her pistol and her head on a swivel as she made her way through the narrow halls.

Ray kept at a brisk pace, navigating the hallways with practiced ease - occasionally nodding or giving a brief wave to one of the residents. They were mostly human, with konii and felius sprinkled in here and there. No matter the species, they all had the same tired look in their eyes that comes with living in a world without a day or night.

As they walk, Ray spoke, "Now I'll be honest with you two, Lopez is a touch paranoid. I'd advise introducing yourselves carefully."

"Understandable," Dell says, "Man believes in ghosts, after all, might be playing with less than a whole deck."

"What makes you say he's paranoid?" Domitia asks.

Ray shrugs, "Don't know, but this gig is something he keeps tight to the chest, know what I mean?" He goes on as he accepts a passing high five from a resident, "For instance, he wanted to pay me to do a fly over of the surface. Told him he was nuts, but was convinced something else was out there."

"That so?" Domitia presses.

"Something about another facility, mag-lines that led to 'nowhere,' typical things an overworked and spiteful workman might say."

"Right." Dell looks over at Domitia raising an eyebrow, as if to say 'You sure about this gig?'

Which Domitia answers with a shrug.

"This is it," Ray motions to a door, labeled 'A-1-C'. Ray gives it a knock, "Lopez! Hey! Buddy! Got some folks to see ya."

The door cracks open, bleary brown eyes peering out, "Ray? That you?"

"Got some mercs who're interested in your little side gig."

Those same eyes look past Ray, looking onto Domitia. Admittedly, the bellator isn't the best at reading people, never has been, so when she notices how obviously haunted the man looks, she knows things must be rough. The eyes blink a few times as if to clear something out of them before the door slams, clicks and clacks are heard, and the door opens.

Lopez is a middle aged human male, perhaps on the healthier side of fifty Unity years. His head is cleanly shaved, revealing old war wounds, fading CMC tattoos and neural connection ports. His matted up jumpsuit gives the impression of a man who never really leaves his job behind, and the gun in his hand gives the impression of someone who never left the war behind.

"Woah, easy there, Lopez!" Ray takes a step back upon realizing his buddy has an iron.

"You," Lopez points at Domitia, "Roll up your sleeves."

"Do you one better." Domitia already knows what Ray is looking for, she pulls her jacket off one arm and pulls her undershirt back, displaying the tattoo over her heart, a Queen of Hearts and Three of Hearts. "You wanna see my ports while we're at it?"

"Shit... You--"

"Not in the Corps. Not anymore." Domitia answers before Lopez can question it.

"Sure, wouldn't surprise me if those corpo types would send someone to shut me up." Lopez says.

"Trust me, friend." Dell starts, "If we were here to ice you, we wouldn't knock on the door."

Lopez blinks a few times before motioning with his iron to follow. His apartment is spartan, with a bed in one corner and a couch facing a small screen that rests upon a stack of boxes. A kitchen resides in another corner, the smell of leftovers and dirty dishes causing Domitia's nose to twitch.

Ray steps by the fridge and pulls out a beer, "Trust me, these boys are--"

"Don't have to sell 'em to me Ray," Lopez looks up to Domitia, "You're a bellator. I know that. Question I have is why are you out here?"

"Just trying to stay out of trouble," Domitia answers simply.

Lopez doesn't seem to buy that, "Maybe I should be a bit more clear," He leans forward, partly to grab the beer he had left in front of the couch, as well as to get a better look at the bellator's eyes, "If you're out here, that means you where on Hasmed's side, am I reading that right?"

Domitia doesn't answer.

"Alright." Lopez leans back, thumb rubbing the back of the hammer, "So you where... Lost a lot of good people 'cause of him."

"We all lost people." Domitia says.

"Listen friend," Dell chimes in, "We could sit around and wax on and on about the past, or we can get to the gig. What'll be?"

Lopez seems to mull over those words for a moment, swishing the beer around in his hand as if it helps him think. He then downs the beer as he stands up, tossing it, the bottle landing into the trash can with a crash. Lopez stows his gun in his coveralls and turns toward the couch, pulling up one of the cushions and pulling out one of two duffle bags. He tosses the first one at Domitia's feet.

"Ten grand, upfront cost. I know how the game goes." Lopez replaces the cushion, sitting back down on the couch, "Gig is straightforward. We need escorts, someone with a big gun," He points at Domitia, "You're the big gun."

"We could gather that," Dell chimes in, walking over to the couch, jumping onto it and resting on the arm of it. "I'm more curious about the details. Why are we doing this? What's the goal here?"

Lopez nods, "I'll be straight with you. There's something out there. Something the bosses don't want us knowing about. They've been covering it up for months, maybe years and we don't remember. 'Cause that's part of the problem. Whatever is out there, it steals your memories."

That causes Dell and Domitia to both look at eachother, a chill going up Dell's spine as he tries to process what that even means. Stealing memories? Lopez doesn't seem the type for fancy metaphors, at least from what Dell can gage, so whatever he means by that, it has to be something serious. Something... Unnatural.

"Stealing memories? The fuck does that mean?" Dell asks.

"People go missing. Nothing too unusual about that, Ifrit is a dangerous place." Lopez starts, "The real issue is these disappearances, no one notices they're gone. Like they weren't even there. But I got reels showing they were on the gig with us and I got grieving families begging to know why their son or daughter never came home." He pauses real anger in his eyes as he clenches his fists, "And the fact that I can't even fucking remember them being there at all pisses me the hell off.

"I started digging, ended up noticing things. Grav-lines that go nowhere. Phantom trains. Power being directed to a grid that shouldn't exist. Whatever the fuck took my people, it's connected to that. Feel it in my 'ganic bones. The few I have left anyway."

"So... What. You wanna storm a facility? Rescue your coworkers?"

"They ain't my coworkers, they're my fucking boys." Lopez snaps back at Dell, "When they go on a gig to repair some fucked wiring or do mantiance on an battery farm, I'm responsible, me. Something took them, so it's my responsibility to fix this shit. Plain and simple."

"Then what's the plan?" Domitia asks.

"Straight forward. Powers everything in this world. We find the transformer leading to the facility and we cut it. We just gotta make sure it doesn't trigger any alarm bells while we're doing it."

"Automated defenses? Patrols? What are we looking at?" Domitia asks.

"Just some fucking badges, probably. Ones got it out for me." Lopez raises a finger, "Figure if I bring some big guns they'll back out."

"Fighting security isn't exactly our favorite thing to do," Dell says, looking over at Domitia, who shrugs, "But if the money's good, that's all that matters out in these parts."

"Good." Lopez waves a hand, "Get on out of here. Meet me on sub-level twenty-three in four hours. I need to nap this beer off. Dress appropriately. Weather is going to be bad."

----------

After checking the cash and saying their farewells, Domitia and Dell start the journey back to the Providence to suit up. By this point the station is truly dead, with most noise the two bounty hunters could hear is the howling gale that seems to never end. Domitia holds the money while Dell rides upon the bellators shoulder, mulling things over.

"Guy seems to have a few screws loose." Dell observes.

"All marines are like that," Domitia comments, "More things change, the more they stay the same."

"What he said back there," Dell begins, "Is any of that true? You were on Hasmed's side?" He asks.

"Doesn't matter now." Domitia answers.

"Well, you ain't wrong," Dell starts, "But I gotta know, why did you side with him?"

Domitia is silent.

"If it doesn't matter now, why be quiet about it?" Dell asks.

"Because it was a lifetime ago, Dell," Domitia answers, "I'd much prefer leaving that behind."

Dell feels a pang of discomfort rise up, thoughts of Sonny and the tower come back to mind. He shakes his head, dismissing the doubts, but he can't help but wonder what his partner is hiding. Hasmed was a scary guy, from what Dell could gather, history wasn't his strong suit, but he knew enough about the Bellator Uprising to know it's half the reason people hate bellators.

Before he could continue his line of questioning, he catches sight of one his least favorite things - badges. There were some good cops, some, but these weren't even really cops, but PMCs dressed like them. The blue armored thugs that now block the way into the hanger bay have their visors up, obscuring their faces, save for one. He's human, with fair skin and red hair, piercing green eyes, and a smug grin as he raised his gloved hand.

"Stop there, this hangerbay is closed." He says, almost sneering as he does so.

"Oh, really?" Dell asks, "Damn, I don't care, do you care, Dom?"

"I don't."

"She doesn't care." Dell snaps his finger and motions for the station security thugs to move, "How about you move. Wouldn't want blood all over your pristine uniforms."

"Man I hate your kind."

"My kind?!" Dell taps his chest with fingers, "Can you believe it, a speciesist all the way out here."

"Grumlians? Nah, love them. Especially the females," The cop steps forward, clapping his gloves together, "No. I'm talking more about bounty hunters. Think you're all so fucking special, don't ya?"

"Not particularly," Domitia replies, "Just trying to work. That's all."

"Yeah I heard," The cop leans in, Dell seeing his name tag reads, 'Alta,' "Talked to Lopez, right?"

"Word travels fast around here, huh?" Dell asks.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Alta begins, "Now listen, I'm going to do you two a favor. I'll let you pass. Get on your ship, you can even have the money, and leave. Don't come back."

"That's nice of you," Dell sardonically says.

"I'm a nice guy," Atla matches Dell's tone, "And when I say that, I mean it. Carry on, and there will be consequences."

"Oh, a threat from a cop, how shocking." Dell then mockingly yawns, "Look, we got a job to do, so unless 'consequences' are going to happen now, can y'all fuck off?"

Alta sharply inhales before shrugging, "Warned you two." He turns back around, "Come on boys, we got out door patrols to get ready for." He turns around one last time to give a glare to the both of them, "See you soon."

The pair of bounty hunters pass by the cops and go through the airlock into the hangar bay. As they wait for the otherside to open there is a brief silence as they think over the exchange.

"So... I wasn't quite sold on this gig before," Dell says, "But now - I'm motivated."

"Agreed."