Cold Trails - Printable Version

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Cold Trails - deific - 09-08-2020

Cold Trails

Chapter 1: Pilot.

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RE: Cold Trails - deific - 09-08-2020

The vast expanse of space seemed much less a frightening endeavor to explore ever since humanity pioneered the stars. It was all thanks to the age of exploration, to the settling of boots into foreign muck and the construction of massive space stations along the perimeters of potentially terrifying gas giants. Humanity tested its limits and pushed its boundaries to feel out where that final capacity may lay, though it had not been found yet. Massive empires and federations formed both militarily and from the need of cohesive trade and industry. A dotted spider web that stretched its sticky fingers toward whatever was within its grasp, yearning to expand and exploit. Such was man's fate; to live, and by living, to consume. Sometimes humanity found more than it was looking for.

A ship was pulled out of phase space once it entered the planet's gravity well, a low wake booming outward upon its arrival, rippling throughout the immediate vicinity of the cosmos. Internal diagnostic and calibrations simultaneously pushed the vessel into supercruise, thrusters flaring as a finer control took over maneuvering. The two inhabitants in the small frigate lurched forward, a shock and awe pushing them into the here and now. Demagol Sento was the first to rise, still groggy and weary from their journey which had felt like weeks. Aching joints stretched out, popping and cracking as the man looked over his body for signs of atrophy. Everything seemed to be fine for the time being, no significant muscle degradation.

"Fuckin' shit," Demagol groaned aloud, rubbing a coarse palm over a sore shoulder blade. "I knew that we shouldn't have traveled this far in one go. I feel like I got my ass kicked." Fingers combed black hair straight back along his head, a few stray strands stubbornly curling back down against his brow line.

"You knew, huh? You fuckin' knew?" Rang a familiar voice that Demagol wasn't ready to listen to yet. Zerimar, his co-pilot, had reentered the realm of consciousness with him. "Even when I said we should take that pit-stop around the halfway mark? You know? Refit? Refuel? Maybe dice our time up a little bit so I don't feel like my intestines are getting yanked out of my ass when we decide to shoot from the hip and do it in one go? Yeah?" Zerimar Oskilan was every bit as crude as Demagol and then some, having been his partner for the past year and a half or so.

"Oh shut the fuck up," Was Demagol's immediate retort. "We're on a strict time table and you know it. If we had set down for a pit-stop then you probably would have fuckin' wandered off like you always do. A dog without a god damn leash you are sometimes." Tired hands began to work over the dash and display of the ship's interface, ensuring that all systems were running nominally. "Everything's ship-shape, it seems."

"Of course it fuckin' is, it's my ship!" Zerimar was standing now, arching his back in a desperate attempt to pop those compressed vertebrae of his. "And don't get me started on you, ya fuckin' mule. Stubborn as all hell and never wanting to just step back and have some fun. A proper stick in the mud you fuckin' are." Settling into his pilot seat, Zerimar was keen to meet Demagol at every inch of their awakening petty squabble. "Oh, and pardon my belabored mewling so you can bitch instead, yeah? Get fucked."

"This isn't about whose is what, you arrogant dick. You're not my fuckin' keeper and we share this ship now." Muttered Demagol, sincerely unready to engage the day's fury with Zerimar chewing on his nerve endings the whole way. "Just one day can you wake up and not break my balls over everything under the sun?"

"The fuck it isn't? I remember when I found a certain somebody stranded on an undocumented planet, which mind you, is pretty fuckin' impressive considering how far humanity has spread at this point. A certain somebody who careened his ship into the surface and totaled it beyond repair. Some batshit-crazy hooligan who had been living with the wildlife for god-knows how long, muttering nonsense about psionic bullshit." Zerimar pressed on, temporarily taking control of the vessel so he could direct the path of their supercruise. "A right fuckin' loony you were. You know that, right? Prattling on and on about shit that doesn't make sense."

"It made fuckin' sense at the time, okay? Last I remember was getting shot out of space by some dickhead pirates and rocking my head against the glass of my cockpit. Probably concussed the shit out of myself. Considering I burned into the planet's atmosphere at terminal velocity, it's a fuckin' miracle that I survived to begin with." Demagol wasn't sure who exactly he was trying to convince, Zerimar or himself. Everything from that period of time seemed like a blur, like something was intentionally scraping away those memories as an act of some makeshift defense mechanism. "I don't even remember how long I was there."

"Too fuckin' long, I tell ya'." Zerimar adjusted the pitch and yaw of their ship, momentarily tossing about their unsettled, gurgling, spacesick stomachs. "You're a different breed, Demagol. All you've ever cared about since I met you was the mission at hand. I knew the Astral Phoenix- or whatever the fuck your code name is, was a hardass.." He paused for a second, punching in the coordinates for the planetary station they would be arriving at. "But I figured you'd give a shit about more than just the mission, these bounties we've been taking."

"I feel like I did at one point, I just don't remember. Something's blacking it out. All I know is that bounty hunting has always worked for me. It levels me out and provides me with a purpose. That shit I don't remember might be important, but I don't know. That trail's gone cold."

Zerimar formally dipped their trajectory toward the inner reaches of the gravity well, nearing the shuttle station in question. "You need to find yourself a fuckin' woman, man."

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RE: Cold Trails - deific - 11-16-2020


It was the space stations that allowed for humanity to expand so far, to observe and rest once lightspeed engines had been fully optimized. They were marvels, massive hunks of steel attached to various planets in orbit, armed with defense stations that kept asteroids and pirates at bay. Grandiose as some were, it often was a relief to finally make it to the destination. The space station's docking assistance sequence took hold, bringing Demagol and Zerimar's ship into port in a controlling manner. Massive steel panels shifted aside, revealing an opening that the ship was to be carried through. Motion detectors automatically closed the panels back up, initiating atmospheric stabilizers thereafter. While the vessel coasted its path toward the docking bay, Demagol and Zerimar went over their mission brief thus far.

"Where the hell are we again?" Asked Zerimar as he dropped the ship's speed so that it could safely touch down on their landing pad within the docking bay. "And who is our point of contact?"

"We're currently orbiting uhh.. Grezik. Medium-sized desert planet with a close metropolis." A ping clawed at the deepest recesses of Demagol's mind, which forced upon him a momentary pause until he forced his way past it. "Jeran Ulhan. Some sort of important guy for the local syndicate. Says that they'd be willing to put up big credit numbers if we do their job."

The sound of automated recordings echoed throughout the docking bay, which was remarkably busy. Even far out in the fringes of explored space there was enterprise. Explorers yearned to find semblances of other civilizations, trade goods, and potential for further growth. This often lead to tense relations between rivaling factions who were determined to expand their dominion. Grezik was no anomaly in this case.

"And what's the job? Are we supposed to be some sort of mercenary local muscle?" Zerimar was admittedly curious.

"It's one of your favorite types of missions, my friend."

"Oh- OH! So we're on a manhunt of sorts, no? What're the conditions?" Excitement was evident on the man's face.

"As far as I understand, yes, it's a manhunt. Capture. Alive." An audible chuckle resounded from Demagol as he finalized their docking sequence and dropped down the ramp for their ship. He stood up and powered their vessel down. "Let's get going. I'm tracking that our point of contact should be here to meet us on station- they didn't want to initiate negotiations planet side."

Almost childish with his giddiness, Zerimar was quick to accompany his partner as he murmured miniature plans to himself concerning the upcoming mission. The duo exited their spacecraft and made their way to the general reception area for the space station. Once there, they were met by a robotic, automated AI designed for navigation aid.

"Greetings Traveler, how may I assist you?" Rang the robot's voice.

"We need directions to Communal Hub, Sector B. We have someone we're meeting here." Demagol took the lead, considering Zerimar was still wrapped up in his little subconscious fantasy of potential schemes. Its response was impressively quick.

"Through corridor 1. Left. Right. Left. Pass through the market. Corridor 17 on the left will see you to your destination." The directions were listed off like a typewriter with no remedial pauses in between. "Would you like me to upload these to your local database?"

A dismissive handwave gesture was paired with Demagol's response, "No thank you, my memory suits me well enough these days." With Zerimar busy in his own head, Demagol wouldn't have to endure his belligerent quips for the next 10 to 15 minutes. "Let's go, Zerimar. I'm not sure how long our contact has been waiting."

They passed through the corridor and took the appropriate turns, Demagol sincerely thankful that he wasn't blowing smoke up anybody's ass when he said he could remember. Details to certain things in his head were murky, but he found that if he concentrated on the task at hand, he could stay afloat. Something was lingering in the depths of his conscious like a presence. A mark, a resonance that stayed just barely out of reach. Trapped in his thoughts, it was Zerimar who broke Demagol out of his subconscious trance.

"Don't like these markets, Demagol. Never know what these fuckin' people are up to, ya know?" The bustling center was filled with people from all measures of backgrounds, from commoners to wealthy, businessmen to soldiers and mercenaries. Shop stalls littered the place with both material payment and digital. For some, space was the perfect opportunity to make money. A man could find just about anything that he wanted in these places, but could also find everything that he didn't want as part of the bargain. Several holographic advertisements covered the walls and hung in the air, for goods, for transport, for people. "They're still selling bodies out here, huh? Fuckin' hell."

"Don't get it twisted, Zerimar. We sell our bodies too, just in a different way. Just keep your head on straight and watch your pockets. People like to lift from them in busy places like this." Demagol led the two of them past the market with scrutinizing eyes. Corridor 17 laid ahead and they passed through it.

"Here we are," Remarked Demagol as they entered the Communal Hub. A little quieter than their last location, but not by much. There were several bars, lounges, private rooms and rest areas throughout it. Locations like it were the main reason humans could keep on going. Sure, ones ship may be fueled up, but if the body and mind weren't in the proper condition, the journey could end in disaster.

"So how the fuck do we know we're meeting up with the right guy in the first place? Does he have a welcome sign held above his head or something? How are we gonna recognize him and make contact?" Zerimar rattled off the questions one after another and all Demagol could do was turn his head toward him and sigh.

"Calm your ass, man. These syndicate guys are pretty proud of themselves. They'll have a crest. Don't forget they're looking out for us too. Red crest with a sand dragon."

And like a specter, he appeared. Average male height. High faded black hair; well kept. Brown, almost black eyes. Professional looking, even. "Astral Phoenix and Comet Viper, a pleasure." The syndicate contact practically manifested out of thin air in front of them, hand extended for a greeting shake.

"Fuckin' Horzan balls! Where the fuck?!" Zerimar lurched back, caught by surprise. On the other hand, Demagol remained calm and took the man's hand in his, shaking it. "We're here to do business, Mr. Ulhan. Where are we conducting contract negotiations?"

"Follow me," The new man beckoned. "I've booked us time in a private room to discuss the finer points of this job. Don't want prying eyes, now do we?"

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RE: Cold Trails - deific - 11-27-2020


The meeting room was a welcome bastion of solace when compared to the practically booming mess of music and people in the common area. Demagol and Zerimar sat in the lounge roundabout on one side as Mr. Ulhan positioned himself on the opposite end. A certain level of impatience was written upon Zerimar's countenance, almost evident as his fingertips busily drummed along the surface of the center table.

"So this job, Mr. Ulhan. What should my partner and I be expecting?" Demagol read the room and took the approach that would give them their necessary answers as quick as possible. "I'm pretty unfamiliar with this place."

"Unfamiliar? No, Phoenix. You're a lot more familiar with this place than you're letting off." The man immediately remarked as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling a cloud of smoke across the table after he took a hit. "How could you forget?"

Zerimar raised one of his hands and made a gesture of rapping his knuckles against his temple. "He cracked his head pretty fuckin' good sometime ago. Got his memories all jumbled up. Anyway, the fuck are you talkin' about? Quit being cryptic."

Mr. Ulhan took another inhale from his cigarette and let the smoke bask in his lungs for a few stagnant moments before pushing out the excess through his nose. "What I mean is that Phoenix here has done a job on this planet before. Not only that, but worked for my.. expansive syndicate before."

These words put an immediate chill in the air, like there was a desperate secretary rummaging through files throughout Demagol's hard drive of a brain. An incessant need to understand what was happening. Truth be told, there was no familiarity at face value for him. "I'm not fuckin' buying it. Quit pulling my chain and give us the details of this contract already." That usual calm demeanor that Demagol displayed was waning away. There it was, a pensive glare.

A subtle chuckle was all Mr. Ulhan could give in momentary response. A resolute nod followed thereafter and he produced a folder with several documents held inside. He slid it across the table as he began, "You'll find the finer details of the contract in there. I'll verbally give you the rough draft of what to expect down there on Grezik."

Demagol brought the folder between himself and Zerimar and opened it, spreading the documents out so that they could look at all of them at once. "So it is a manhunt of sorts. And we're to take this person in alive?" Cobalt eyes peered upward from the papers and locked themselves upon Mr. Ulhan.

"That is correct, Phoenix. Individual's name is Deino. He's a defector from our faction who has gone and joined our opposition as an informant. A security fracture. This is harming the integrity of our local operations and we'd like to have it cleaned up by an outside source."

"Why an outside source? He was your fuckin' dude, right?" Zerimar questioned, brows furrowing as he looked over the contract details. "Seems you've lost face, doesn't make sense for you to have someone else do your dirty work for you in this instance. Why need us?"

"The answer is simple, Viper. Because right now we, the Szari Syndicate and the Galmectus Form are in a ceasefire. We have a standing truce. Were we to march directly into their territory in such force, then we would be violating that truce and it would be a cause for all-out war over the local region. That's not cost-beneficial for us at the moment, both in people and money."

"Nah, nah. See, that doesn't make any fuckin' sense either. That guy deserting you should have been grounds enough for you to declare cause of war through subterfuge, but for some fuckin' reason you're holding your tongue on that. I don't buy your reasoning either. I don't like this- we shouldn't take this job, Demagol."

Mr. Ulhan interrupted before Demagol could formulate a response. "It's not that fucking simple you pisshead bounty hunter. Had your friend an intact memory then he would know that he owes the Szari for a couple mortal fuck-ups he made with us in the past." The man neared the end of his cigarette as he read the room. "Oh yeah, 'ol Phoenix here costed the syndicate hundreds of thousands of credits. Shit, maybe even up to the millions with how much we could have made from that person." There was no longer an atmosphere for negotiation in the private room and Ulhan made that plain and clear. "You're going to hunt this man. You're going to capture him. You're going to bring him back to us alive. We don't care how much damage is done to the local region because it won't be getting traced back to us. Just make sure that Deino comes back in one piece. Then maybe, just fuckin' maybe, the Szari will consider the debt paid."

Demagol weighed his options while gritting his teeth. He damned the fact that he couldn't remember what he had done, but he also doubted that something like this would manifest for no reason, out of chance. A gamble like that would be far too unlikely. There had to be some sort of validity behind the claim and he aimed to find out the truth. The papers were collected up as Demagol cleared his throat. "Alright, we'll do it. I don't fuckin' like it, but we'll do it. And Mr. Ulhan," Demagol leaned forward and ensured that eye contact was made. "I assure you that when our business is concluded, the Szari and I will be square."

"Very well. Good luck on your hunt." Was all that Ulhan gave in response as he stubbed out the remains of his finished cigarette and disposed of it in the respective tray. A barely noticeable nod was made in departure as he left the two bounty hunters in the room alone. The stillness clung to the air for a few moments, like tumultuous tension that was waiting to violently snap.

"I cannot make this clear enough, Demagol. I don't think we should do this job. We should just get on our ship and get the fuck out of here. Fuck a manhunt. Fuck a grudge- this indebted, cryptic bullshit. These guys are hiding something. They're gonna try to pull one over on us and I'm not about to get fuckin' smoked because of your past drama."

"Then stay on the fuckin' ship when we touch down on Grezik! I need to smooth this shit out. If I can figure out what the fuck I was doing before I concussed the absolute shit out of myself, then maybe I can move past that bullshit." Demagol scooped up the folder and its documents and beckoned Zerimar to follow him as he exited the room. "I know it's inconvenient as shit and I know these guys are sketchy. They're gonna try something and we're gonna be ready for it."

Demagol and Zerimar left the communal hub and made their way back to their ship. Curiosity tugged upon Zerimar's strings as they stepped up the ramp and into the spacecraft. "So what do you know about these Galmectus Form fucks?"

"Honestly? I don't know shit about them. They must be a new faction that's moving in to take some of the local pie. However, they must be the real deal if the Szari don't want to just take them head-on." The ship's ramp lifted and the spacecraft sealed up, coming to life as the launch sequence procedure calibrated their departure path from the space station. "With that in mind, we have to take into account the likely possibility that our target has heavy security around him. If he just recently deserted, then the Galmectus are gonna want to squeeze as much confidential information out of him as soon as possible. This ain't gonna be a sneak-and-grab, it's probably going to get loud."

"Ain't that what you're good at?" Zerimar perked a brow at Demagol as he rummaged through his equipment. "I deal with poison and tranqs while you handle the explosives?" Vials in hand, the Viper flicked his fingertip along a couple to coax the solutions to swish about. "Remember what the dickhead said, we're allowed to do as we please when it comes to engagements and destroying property. Anything they own they'll probably just cash in on insurance, and if they don't own it? They can't be traced, so not liable. So it's a win/win for them."

The ship's auto-departure sequence took them out of the docking bay and back into the openness of space. A pre-recorded path directed them down within Grezik's gravity well to the local metropolis. At first glance, it seemed to be a bustling center for tourism and travel. But when one got close they could see the harsh reality behind the canvas. A dystopia. A grunge-filled cesspit for crime and nefarious organizations where gangs could operate freely and all local law enforcement was paid off.

"I suppose you're right." Came Demagol's eventual response as he too went through his equipment. Let's make sure that we're good on PPE within an hour. These guys want a show? We'll fuckin' give 'em one."

Somewhere out in that city was the man they were looking for. The past crept closer from the recesses of Demagol's skull. Beckoning. Clammy digits clawing forth to pull away the veil. No matter how the mission went, Demagol was sure that he would find the answers he was looking for after this year and a half of static. His sanity depended on it.

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RE: Cold Trails - deific - 12-01-2020


The most important phase of them all, the preparation phase. Demagol and Zerimar spent the next hour making sure that all of their equipment was up to the task. One of the main reasons that the duo worked so well together was because of their proficiencies in separate categories. When it came to environmental manipulation and destruction, shock and awe and pure distraction, that was Demagol's specialty. With his own work station, the man was constantly working on and innovating his personal inventions. For humanity to progress so far technologically that they could explore and colonize stars and planets, surely weaponry was not left out in this equation. He rummaged through his potential options and laid them out on his workshop table.

"What do you think, kinetic or thermal?" Demagol asked, palms braced on the edge of his table. "Always the hardest part before a mission starts."

A chuckle resounded from the other side of the room as Zerimar lifted up a long gun, adjusting the parameters of its zero. "I'd say go with thermal with this one. We're venturing into unfamiliar territory and if shit goes haywire we don't want our shots to get traced." Zerimar attached a modular cannister to the side of his rifle and shifted the mechanism open, slotting in additional ammunition of various purposes. "Explosives though? Always go kinetic. Much better booms." Zerimar's specialty laid in traps and capture, being able to pluck targets off from afar or incapacitate them without killing them. He preferred to be a quiet and predatory professional more than being an explosive show off.

"You provide a very valid point." Zerimar nodded and rapped his knuckles on the top of his table before making his decision. "A mix of equipment it is." The thermal rifle that Demagol picked up was one of his most prized possessions. Similar to how older styled weapons could rotate through different selector switches, this modernization took it to the next level. Originally designed as being an accurate weapon for point-targets, the barrel was more than interchangeable, it could reconfigure itself completely for different firing necessities. A few personal tweaks and innovations with fast-acting nanites meant that he could be extremely versatile, barrel lengths could be changed on the fly and so could the number of barrels themselves, so long as they stayed within the proper dimensions. Demagol finalized preparing his rifle and slid it over his shoulder and onto his back, where a sensor magnetized it to him.

The accessories were what came next. A variety of kit attachments and throwables helped Demagol remain adaptable to the many potential situations at hand. Demolitions were his favorite, be they related to timed fuses or remote detonations. With his expertise, Demagol had aided both existing governments and their insurgencies in tearing one another down. All that mattered in that case was who paid more; morality had nothing to do with it. Everything simply went smoother if emotions were made separate. It was what kept Demagol alive throughout some of his most dangerous missions.

Finalized with his long gun, Zerimar got a head-start with fitting his armor over the compression suit he wore. His kit in particular was designed for stealth, subterfuge. Lightweight, he could bound about with relative ease while remaining reasonably protected by thermal and kinetic damage. The main area it lacked in was explosive, as the alloys of his armor didn't fare well against pressured waves. What he lacked in protection, he made up for with speed and security. "You about ready?"

"Yeah, just about." Demagol went to his own kit and began to attach it. A little more bulky than Zerimar's, the alloys provided a much sturdier carapace around Demagol's body and made up for the lack of speed with a pair of built-in thrusters which were mounted on his back. They strayed away from the traditional ideology of jetpacks and instead served a means to apply bursts of speed to close distances and make otherwise impossible leaps. A sturdy soldier, Demagol could become very hard to move if he so wished. Once complete with his armor, Demagol called out over his shoulder as he turned toward their bay door. "All good. We should be landing here in a couple minutes."

"So we have the general area of where we need to be looking, who the guy should be aligned with, and our constraints or the lack thereof." Zerimar's helmet and visor display expanded and encased his head completely as he pressed a button on his collar. "Do we have thermal traces on this guy?"

"Nope, we fuckin' don't." Came Demagol's response with an exasperated sigh. His own helmet and display expanded forth from the compartments of his suit as well. Internal encrypted communications allowed for the duo to stay in touch with one another no matter the distance, unless a dampener was being used against their frequency. "Half of the job here is gonna be finding the guy in the first place. We can do facial recognition scanning, but we also don't want to draw too much attention toward ourselves before we find our target. I hate this part of the mission."

"Whereas I love it," Retorted Zerimar, who was smiling beneath his visor. "The hunt, you know? Whether it's for beasts or people, makes no difference to me. It can be tedious, but so very rewarding at the same time."

"You treat women with the same mindset?"

"Hey, fuck you. At least I pretend they exist."

"What are you trying to say? I'm not a damn robot."

"I dunno, man. Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna start shitting sparks and shit the bed on me."

"Just get a warranty, that should smooth things out."

The two continued their banter until the spacecraft touched down and their bay door opened up. Stepping into the new world and atmosphere, they immediately began to scrutinize their surroundings. Every detail was important, even if they weren't in the desired sector to carry out the mission at hand. Grezik's port was every bit as busy as the station which hovered above in space. All manners of things took place with a variety of people to expect. But this was different. Now they were in a completely new mindset.

Professionalism was key.

"Split up. We still have a bit of distance before we reach our mission location, but separate reconnaissance should provide us with at least a little bit of reliable intel." Demagol directed Zerimar with a couple pointing gestures.

"Good point," Zerimar nodded. "I'll try to stick to the high ground, myself. I can scope around a lot better with my recognition software and long gun." As the duo separated, Zerimar gave the basic GOTWA. "I'll be heading to the third quadrant of the city by myself. Should be gone for about an hour or two. Let's figure out a place to meet up and dish out details after an hour and a half or so."

Demagol kept up with what Zerimar was saying and added onto it. "Keep our nets up. Radio silence should only be engaged when in necessary scenarios. If under duress, code word will be Awkward. Actions on contact?"

"Fight in place if you can swing it, dip the fuck out if you can't. We'll reinforce the other immediately."

"Always. Retrieval will be made, no matter the cost."

"Good shit. Let's go."

The mission had begun and the duo would soon find out what Grezik had in store for them. There was no turning back now.

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RE: Cold Trails - deific - 12-14-2020

Cold Trails

Chapter 2: The Hunt.

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