It was damn good to be the victor. One by one, Donovan’s allied Players refused to respawn or log in, and slowly thereafter the forces that Axton had gathered began to disperse as well. With no more prey to play with, there was no further reason to try and stick around on that barren wasteland of a planet, and the ships that had brought the Players and their equipment there began to ferry them off it and into the void of space.
After a few in-game days, there was nothing left on the desolate dustball of a world save for the tunnels that had been carved out and the solitary confinement cells that the oligarch named Donovan and his cronies would respawn in. Axton, Thomas, and Sally were the last to leave as they had taken great strides to recover as much of the salvageable components from the battle as possible. By the time they left, however, the only bits and bobs remaining on the dusty red planet were empty bullet and shell casings and a few less than desirable pieces of shredded or otherwise heavily damaged metal.
Over two in-game weeks after that, the first of the Players who had come along with Donovan began to log in again, only to find themselves trapped and isolated. While the game did not fully emulate hunger and thirst, if you spent too long without either food or drink you would begin to suffer gradually increasing penalties that could, if ignored for long enough, result in permanent debuffs that would take special in-game treatments (or microtransactions) to fix.
It would take these people another few in-game weeks to get help, and almost all of them suffered for it. Ironically, if they stayed logged out then they wouldn’t have had to deal with that issue, but by logging in and respawning they forced the game to treat their avatar as though it was there and waiting, even long after they had logged out in a desperate and futile attempt to avoid the debuffs caused by starvation and thirst.
…
Earlier, Axton, Thomas, and Sally had left the planet that they had fought on, hitching a ride with Daxter and his merry band of misfits after the migrant fleet came back to collect the remaining mercs under Daxter’s employ. Axton had done a damn fine job of keeping these NPCs alive, intact, and as unharmed as possible during the whole of the fight and its aftermath, and for that, he and his buddy had received a significant increase in Reputation with Daxter’s microfaction.
Plus, there was the fact that they had helped The Revelry pull off an astounding Uno Reverse against a force that sought to undermine their authority, and that added an even more massive increase to Reputation with that crime syndicate. Of course, their Reputation with the Andromedan Empire was practically below the surface of the deepest deep-water trench, but neither Axton nor Thomas had any desire to be amicable with those fuckers.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
As much as Axton and Thomas would have loved to go back to Revelry Space, they could not. The aftermath of this incident was still being dealt with by both The Revelry and the Andromedan Empire. On paper, the two had a somewhat working relationship, as The Revelry was only too happy to sell normally illicit and unethical items and objects to the Empire, and the Empire was therefore inclined to look the other way regarding most actions taken by The Revelry.
This, however, was a direct slap in the face, and everyone and their dog knew it. To avoid many more ruffled feathers and to smooth those that had already been ruffled, Axton and co were forced to vacate the area under the crime syndicate’s direct control. An entire section of the galaxy was now essentially a place that could very well result in them getting clapped in irons and sent as offerings of peace to a hated enemy. How long that would last, however, was unknown.
Ideally, once the fires of passion were quenched and the insult forgotten (or swept under the rug, whichever came first), Axton and Thomas and their NPC tag-alongs would be able to enter the area controlled by the pirate empire again. That would take time, but at the very least The Revelry would more than likely not be sending anyone to get them. And so, the nomad fleet made up of nothing but people who hated the Andromedan Empire for one reason or another departed the wild and anarchic space that had given them protection and made its way out into the wider galaxy.
What adventures would await them? What new glories would they claim? What battles would they win and lose? The future was not set in stone, but was, instead, ever-shifting. There were things to do, people to see, fights to be fought, and lot to be taken. Time would tell how things would go, but for now, it was getting late and the Players on board the main ship in the migrant fleet decided that it would be best if they logged off and called it a day.
Besides, the game would be there tomorrow, and they were not expecting much of anything to change that much while they ate, drank, and slept. The real world was calling, and they would need to indulge in reality for a bit before they lost touch with it. Virtual time dilation was a weird thing, and not something to be taken lightly, after all.
…
As the Players rested in reality, the migrant fleet went about its business. Unfortunately, their involvement in Axton’s feud with Donovan had cost them more money than they had expected. They would need a decently quick way to recoup their losses, and as it would happen, Axton’s gift to the Players on his side had triggered an in-game event far, far earlier than it normally would have. As Daxter tried to figure out how to pay for things, the background music of the HoloNet cut off and a commercial began to play in its place.
“Hey there, everyone out there on the HoloNet! This message goes out to the brave, the fearless, and the borderline insane alike! How would you like to win fame, glory, the attention of lovely people, and an absolute fuckton of money? Here at The Pitt, we are offering War Suit pilots the galaxy over the chance to win, or lose, it all in a no-holds-barred series of gladiator matches! Whether it is military surplus, refurbished hardware, or some hideous freak that you somehow managed to piece together, all War Suits are welcome! It doesn’t matter if you’re a wanted man or not, either! All are welcome to fight, win and claim the title of ‘First Champion’! Sign up online for your chance to claim untold riches!”
And with that announcement in his ears, Daxter turned the fleet around and made a beeline for where the money would soon flow.