[January 350th, GPY 3. Bronio, Ganymede. 0419. UGT.]

[You Have Been Slain: -200 Points.]

[Merit: 485]

Before even the amber scrolls of augmented light began to probe Jordan's awareness from within the sea of darkness, a steady trickling; like a stream of water falling onto a still pond, served as the only stimuli that the small reach of his senses could manage to grab hold of. A sound that was only familiar to a point that it made him vaguely aware of the surroundings of his disembodied mind. One that acted as a quasi alarm clock to stir him from the necrotic dreamland of purgatory and force his clouded concentration towards the glowing words fading in and out of of existence.

[...Hardware Initialized.]

[Manual's Downloaded. 2/2]

Within his cluttered mind, Jordan vaguely came to understand the implications of the now-fading text floating before his returning vision as he stirred to the side and let out a curiously raspy groan that echoed loudly; almost mechanically, off of the walls and back into the cell-sized microphones embedded into the skin of his ears. The dry swallowing of what little saliva there was in Jordan's mouth seemed to fade into a cold numbness as it fell past his throat and continued on through the cold and auspiciously smooth passage into the depths his body; as it trailed seamlessly beneath the relatively small vacuole at the base of his trachea that was emergency nano lung, the reserve of respirocytes responsible for for saving Jordan's life time and time again; the gelid, yet distant feeling continued between his still-biological lungs, lethargically intaking and billowing out a cold and sterile air that was pungently tainted with stenches of burnt wood and eventually passed beneath the curiously loud pump that was lethargically pulsing within his chest, sending noticeably strong pulses of hot natural and artificial blood rushing through his legs and rising through his torso, where it passed through his chin and suddenly chilled to match the numbing cold of his saliva before rushing through Jordan's skull with an apparent spike in temperature.

"Congrats, you're officially a transhuman." An all-too proud and familiar voice called out from the darkness, further stirring Jordan's consciousness from its time in purgatory and towards the porky doctor, grinning wide enough to curl the ends of his wire brush-mustache to its side. "After your latest campaign, at least fifty-percent of your flesh has been augmented."

"Right." Jordan mumbled as he blinked away his grogginess and surveyed his surroundings. As usual, he awoke in Dr. Orpheus' office, doused in a patience gown and feeling somewhat disturbed at Randy presumably grinning in idle observation as he recovered; no doubt ecstatic about the augments and implants he'd installed within Jordan.

After carefully sitting upright in the bed, Jordan focused for a brief second to access his internal systems and quickly began overlooking the wiry outline of his body that had augmented itself into existence above his lap. Aside from the usual items; glowing green within his bowels, was a new implant that flashed intermittently between the usual green and a deep, bright blue around Jordan's heart. After another brief moment of focus, Jordan summoned technical details of part in question and quickly began scanning the words to condense the information into a more manageable summary- Jordan's heart had been regrown from his own stem cells before being upgraded to a biomechanical status via carbon nanotube muscle reinforcements; akin to the ones already spread throughout Jordan's body, but modified for the extensive and repetitive motions that the organ demanded.

Besides the addition of a replaced spleen and repaired spine, the remaining augment flashing before Jordan's eyes came from a skin graft of millimeter-sized scales, installed in the fashion of a gorget around Jordan's neck- Made primarily from chitin, as well as carbon nanotubes, kevlar and traces of other elements or alloys, the tiny scales linearly rose from the base of Jordan's collarbones and wrapped around the trapezius to fall down his back and end in a similar linear fashion as the front just below the nape; and upwards from the noticeable seam of flesh and metal at his floral shoulders to the crevasses of his throat. Giving the entirety of his neck a subtle, scaly texture that acutely matched the dark sand tone of his skin; with the exception of the throat, which retained a gun-metal black hue and was pre-installed with microphones and amplifiers and speakers and voice modulators and; much like Jordan's arms, came installed with a half-dozen or so empty modules for future upgrades.

Randy, evidently noticing Jordan blinking away his query, let out a small chuckle of admiration as he leaned forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees. "I was rooting for you, ya know." His mustache furled into a warm grin.

"Why?" Jordan asked, feeling the cold scales tick and clack across his neck as his gaze slowly turned towards the doctor; observing every nook and cranny of the room as they passed. Through his many visits, Jordan had come to learn that he'd always awoken in one of Randy's many operating rooms. Rooms that were each fashioned the same; if not mirrored in some cases, yet always furnished with the same L-shaped, darkwood desk he'd sit behind and the same rounded fish tank above it that seemed to continue on into the walls.

"You're the only one I've ever seen to repeatedly hunt a Saturnian Knight." Randy's grin regressed in warmth as he chuckled and slipped backwards into a slothful recline in his seat. "Even if you keep dueling the same one, your campaigns are worth watching." Randy paused, as if he wanted to say before before belatedly chuckling to himself in a blatantly greedy manner. "And." He continued, looking back to Jordan as if the conversation had never halted. "You were close last time. You made her cheat."

"Yeah." Jordan sighed through flaring nostrils before biting the innards of his lips from the sudden flashbacks of his latests defeat. The sudden pressure around his body, the star-like light that suddenly penetrated the dim night, the sudden bolt of lighting that was chased by a numbing immobilization replayed in Jordan's mind with a crystal clarity, further feeding the flares of his anger. "Well, stay tuned to the feeds." Gritting his teeth, Jordan turned from the doctor to reach for his clothes; an inaudible signal for the doctor to close his debrief, and looked back over his shoulder to nod. "And thank you for taking care of me, Randy."

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With final scowl, the doctor rolled himself forwards out of his seat and waddled out the room at a rather quick pace, leaving Jordan with ample time and precious solitude to bury his frustrations and simmer his raging mental down to a usable degree.

Emerging into the main waiting room fifteen minutes later, Jordan peered over his shoulder towards the receptionists desk, where a rather petite woman sat in place of the hulking Ganymedean, her wide set of sapphire eyes focused idly on the console before her.

Shrugging away his disappointments, Jordan faced forward and continued walking purposefully through the waiting room as he accessed the local services to request a cab. After stepping a few paces past the first couple rows of seats, Gelos trotted up to Jordan's side and wordlessly followed the Galilean as he turned right through the door and began weaving or pushing through the relatively crowded masses towards the city limits of Bronio.

"So." Gelos patiently sighed after settling into the seat across from Jordan, then waited for the doors to seal shut before he turned his gaze to Jordan's eye. "When's the rematch?"

"I'm going to play the game, Gelos." Jordan growled through clenched teeth before he blinking away the local maps augmented around him and looking up to meet the gaze of his oldest friend. Through the reflection of the glossed surface of Gelos' eyes, Jordan saw a fire burning in the Jovian orange of his own- Purpose; ambition; drive, all spawned by the outcome of his last duel and the bitter acknowledgement of yet another of his mistakes: The weapon; Vel, was not his. He was even crudely warned via notifications and messages that plagued his augmented vision upon its first use, yet he kept it. Trained and fought with it, as if it were his own, until the miniature torpedo inevitably returned to its master.

However. In said acknowledgment, Jordan aptly prepared himself for his current situation. "But first." Jordan continued, just as the cab lurched forward down the highways. "I need a weapon of my own."

If Gelos had any reaction to the scaled skin poking up through the fur of Jordan's collar, it didn't show through the prideful grin he displayed in response to Jordan's intentions.

After a lengthy journey across the habitat, to the hangars and through the void, Jordan egressed from the shuttle and habitually turned aft towards the cargo bays and paused. Turning about, he saw Gelos standing a few meters away; facing adjacent to him towards the E-Ranker's safe zone, the golden tint of his helmet auspiciously hiding the true direction of his gaze.

With a soft groan inside his helmet, Jordan leapt forth towards the complexes of huts and caverns, bubbles and tunnels with Gelos in tow. After a few strides, they fell onto the main avenues and quickly fell into line with the crowd, drifting around, above and under the scattered swarm of migrating Ganymedean's, all wearing some variation of the coverall style vac-suits that their culture favored- Patches and tags, stitched or painted onto the fabric; differing base colors and pocket arrangements; varying builds and appendage implants, weapons and helmet styles.

Once they'd passed the midpoint of the E-Ranker's quadrant to their left, the pair diverted from the mob of leaping humans and briskly hopped over to a high-ceilinged hut standing alone between two apty spaced tunnels, it's large argon sign blooming the dim day with azure light that displayed the establishment's name: Archotech Arms.

Upon entering, Jordan's eyes were met with an expansive warehouse-style interior walled and pocked with alon cases that proudly displayed each major type of melee weapon for sale. Large spotlights along the trussed ceiling rained down bright light onto the display cases, permitting detailed views of the showpieces from any angle, and allowed shadowed regions along the ceiling for both cloth and digital banners to be suspended in for the promotion of deals or sales. To the immediate flanks of the entrance were stairs that led to an expansive complex dung into the ice so that potential patrons could test their equipment before committing to purchase.

Jordan removed his helmet and sucked in a lungful of the cold, odorless air before waddling counter-clockwise across the shop floor; his mag-boots clanking loudly after each step as he curiously scanned the passing weapons. From hammers, battle-axes, spears and swords, the various arms scaled down in size until Jordan came to drift by flails, maces and whips; short-swords, tomahawks, daggers and even iron knuckles.

After making his way around the shop, Jordan backtracked to the dagger section, where he took his time surveying the collection. There were two cases each, for single-handed and dual-wielded daggers in the shop's inventory, and across the four cases, not a single dagger was listed below 10,000 rubies; or ten points. Though they'd be replaced upon his promotion, thus making them expendable, Jordan was wise enough to not buy into cheaply sold goods. If the daggers were to lose their dullness, bend or even break, he'd find himself in a lot more danger than merely losing points.

With that thought on his mind, Jordan looked to the upper limits of his field of view and gazed at the crimson orb glowing at the center of his vision to quickly study the numbers augmented beside it.

[Merit: 485]

Returning to the daggers, Jordan scanned the dual-wielded weapons within range of his budget and quickly reduced the potentials down to two options.

The first pair were 20 centimeter long, machine-fabricated tanto's, made with heat treated 8760 steel and fashioned with synthwood handles. According to the associated text displayed by Jordan's eyes, the alloys that composed the blade yielded exceptionally high toughness but seemed to be lacking in terms of edge retention.

The blades of the other pair were 30 centimeters long and were handcrafted by an amateur artizan living within the lower-levels of Choece. Made from 14c28n steel that'd been heat treated and coated with black oxide, the blades had a gentle, forward curve on them and had deep serrations along the backs of the blades.

With them both being the same price, the deciding factors only came down to the materials of the blade, quality of build and the potential results of their overall design. Factors that made Jordan's final decision one that require no thought. After making his affirmation with the augmented console, the knives were pulled from the case via tiny robotic arms to be pulled into the innards of the rear wall of the case.

After watching the little arms retract into the folds of the wall and receiving a room number, Jordan moved to the lower floors of the establishment and stepped his afforded testing room. While the floors had been lined with leveled metal panels, the thick insulation of the curved walls and domed ceiling followed the almost randomized curvature of the carved ice around them.

At a small chute port near the entrance, Jordan retrieved the daggers and quickly took one in each hand. Over the course of ten minutes, the weight and balance of the blades were rigorously tested; an arduous task in the low gravity of Ganymede, before Jordan went through a few of his drills to test his compatibility with the weapons.

Overall, the synthwood handles of the blade contoured nicely around Jordan's palms, giving a secure feeling to the weapons as Jordan slashed and stabbed at the air. Once satisfied with all factors, Jordan committed to his purchase and stood by the chute to await the weapons holsters.

After emptily watching his points plummet to below 100, Jordan secured his new weapons around the small of his back and led Gelos outside and down the avenue towards the launch pads. Where, like last time, Gelos held fast with a final tap of the knuckles and a 'good luck' over the comms, then watched as Jordan was kicked off the launch pads and into the void towards the campaign zones.