Libra walked briskly through the congested streets of New Belzan's market square. The city was hardly anything special in Libra's opinion. It was a hectic scene of unregulated, chaotic urban sprawls; large clusters of tall towers crammed together, giant, filth-spewing factories mixed in among dilapidated residential buildings.

With no regard to traffic, hoverbikes and crafts swooped down from all directions. With no rhyme or reason to the city, it felt so easy to get lost, to be swept up by the tumultuous atmosphere of New Belzan.

Libra preferred to be out in the wildlands with Cyne, delving deep into ancient factories or hunting down ferocious beasts. But he had an appointment to keep, and she didn't want to burden him by tagging along. And so she volunteered to buy the groceries for the day. She had already taken care of the food, and all they needed now was some good wine to carry them over to the next day.

Libra hadn't heard stories of any other cities in New Belzan. There were a few outlying villages near city borders, but this was truly the last beacon of civilization on this planet. Or so it was assumed, no one liked venturing too far from the city limits so that put quite the stifle on exploration.

Stopping at a wine merchant's booth, Libra tossed the shop-keep a silver chip and pointed at a bottle of white, opaque liquid.

"Special occasion? You don't usually spend so much on wine," the shop-keep noted, wrapping the bottle in parchment paper.

"Well…" Libra muttered hesitantly, dropping her gaze to the floor. "It's something like that.

"Oho! A romantic outing, perhaps?" the shop-keep said with a chuckle.

"Nothing of that sort, but it is a special occasion."

Slipping back into the crowd, Libra made her way down the street, clutching the pouch on her waist. There were plenty of pickpockets mixed in the crowd who had no qualms with "borrowing" her chips.

Passing by the statue of Lars Belzan, the intrepid founder of New Belzan, she couldn't help but shake her head at the twenty meter tall man made of artificial marble. Real marble was expensive, usually reserved for the personal busts of influential businessmen or senators off-world.

The statue was covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime – a reminder that one day the unchecked pollution from the factories would drive the city into an uninhabitable wasteland.

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"Yo, Libra? What'cha doing up here?"

Libra turned to face the speaker, it was Antacid.

Antacid was a portly man of great weight, in simpler terms, he was fat. Which was impressive considering how hard it was for food to come by in the city.

Years ago, when Cyne had brought Libra into the city, a brawl had broken out between them and Antacid's gang; but they were on better terms now, for time had a way of mellowing out even the most severe of grudges.

"You're off guard duty? Thought you were taking the noon shifts from now on. Oh wait, don't tell me you're skipping out on duty, you little scamp," Libra teased, giving his meaty shoulder a light punch.

"It ain't like that, promise. Cerrol told me I could have the day off, don't know why, but he said I could, in fact, the old coot laid off half the damn guard, no idea why, but he's the captain," Antacid jabbered on, holding his hands out as an offer to carry her groceries.

"Thanks, you're a real life-saver," she chirped, gladly handing the bags of canned meats and wine off to Antacid.

"So where to?" Antacid asked, lifting the bags up with ease.

"Coldrows Munitions, I hear he has the best swords this side of the planet," she replied, skipping ahead.

"But this is the only side of the planet– Wait up, you're going too fast," Antacid protested, struggling to keep up with her pace.

"Time to flatten that gut of yours," she chortled, ignoring the string of curses from the blustering man.

By the time they made it in front of Coldwell's shop, Antacid was keeling on the ground. "Could've… slowed down… for me," Antacid forced out, struggling to catch his breath.

"You look thinner already, now come one, let's go," Libra said, pushing him through the front entrance.

Jessop Coldwell, owner of Coldwell munitions, greeted them from behind his counter.

"Looking for something?" Jessop asked with a cordial smile.

"A sword, and preferably something very flashy," Libra told the shop-keep, staring at the rows of neatly assorted blades and rifles stacked up on his shelves.

"A flashy blade eh? I think I know just the type for you," he said. "Right this way."

While Antacid was busy admiring the newest line of plasma-rifles, Jessop led Libra to the back of the store. While Jessop was busy picking out a selection of light rapiers, Libra's eyes began to wander the shop, until her gazes finally settled on a bright red sword, with a peculiar design.

"Mister Jessop, what on earth is that abomination?" Libra asked, her interest in the red sword piqued.

"Oh it's nothing but an old prototype from Altek, they had this ridiculous idea of combining a sword and a plasma gun. Now right this way I have-"

Libra raised her hand, interrupting him mid sentence. "I want it, I want it now," she said with glazed eyes.

"Madam, the sword has several shortcomings, the range is limited on the gun and the blade doesn't cut as well compared to-"

Libra shook her head, wagging her finger at him. "It's not for me, it's for a friend."

"Well then you should reconsider-"

"Nope, don't need to hear it. I know he's just going to love this!"