Chapter Text
The Siren's Call draws many unique individuals together, from vastly different walks of life. The grizzled Captain of the UES Safe Travels had collected a motley and varied crew, some more welcome than others. Regardless, every passenger had been furnished with their own private lodging, the fourteen, no, fifteen, since he found that Bandit, members aboard the ship an unusually large group for what is supposed to be a small scouting vessel, sent to the newly-charted Petrichor V on a rescue mission to determine what became of the questionably fated UES Contact Light.
What a bunch of corporate coverup.
The Safe Travels? For a rescue mission? As one of the few surviving captains of the old colony ships, he knew all the designations by memory – and the Safe Travels was not a rescue ship. The Captain briefly sighed, tugging down on his hat as he turned to leave the bridge to take a walk through the ship, trusting his Pilot's intuition to keep them on track to their charted destination.
"We're right on track, sir. Why don't you go down to the mess hall and get yourself something to eat?" Pilot offers some comforting words.
A grunt was given in return, before answering. "I was pulled out of retirement for this one. This better be worth it. Only one person escaped and survived from the Contact Light."
"I know. Contact Light's Pilot was my brother."
"Condolences. The survivor is here onboard. You'll get your revenge."
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A soldier clad in a yellow environment suit and globe helmet snapped his head to attention from his seat upon the bench in his quarters. Petrichor. The smell of dirt after a rain shower. Commando was far from a man who preferred to engage in deep thought, but the hell he had experienced had forced him to think upon his choices, and truly consider the nature of the world he fought tooth and nail to survive and escape. So why in the name of anything even remotely sane would he be returning to this nightmare fucking rock in space? Providence, he had deigned to name that man, that terror, that force of nature, yet wholly unnatural bulwark of that godforsaken planet. That monster had slaughtered the entire crew of the Contact Light single-handedly.
Commando examined the Irradiant Pearl between his fingers, a souvenir from his first tour of Petrichor V. Providence has a brother, one so powerful, that he was a blight to the planet even from his prison on the planet's moon. His name is Mithrix.
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A swordsman in blue sat alone in his quarters. He was a Mercenary, a gun for hire. He chuckled at the irony of the name. He couldn't use a gun if it was to save the universe. Always felt too easy, too simple. He abhorred killing, to take a life was to become a monster. So nobody bats an eye when a monster takes another trophy. Best that he do it instead of everybody else, with his existing massive pile of bodies. His silence is interrupted by his door opening. Mercenary's hand twitches, instinctively moving for his sword, before a monk steps inside, clad in green and gold. His hand drops to the side. It's only Seeker. Seeking what, he once inquired. She never gave a straight reply.
"I brought you lunch, since you insist on cooping yourself up in here." Seeker huffs softly, chiding the swordsman with a friendly tone. She's often told that her armored breastplate clashed with her baggy pants. She didn't mind, as she found the dissonance pleasing. She sits beside him, before setting the tray in Mercenary's lap, having left a lotus flower next to the food.
"... Thank you." Mercenary grunts begrudgingly. He never lets anybody be this close to him, so why is she any different? Furthermore, what is a monk doing here on a highly dangerous supposed "rescue" mission? Alas, it isn't his information to pry. Still, he hopes to keep ahead of her, do the killing himself, and spare her the pain of combat.
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In the Safe Travels' mess hall, two men sit beside each other at the bar. The man in a fluffy coat and wide-brimmed hat regarded the policeman beside him with wary caution. Eventually, said Enforcer turns his head to look at his company.
"... You stole my keycard to get aboard this vessel."
"That I did."
"Begrudgingly, I have to compliment you for doing so. I'm not so easily duped, Bandit."
"Thank you. Suppose I ought to give you a wide berth as to not end up in the brig?"
"Not my choice. Cap'n likes you, so keep your gloved mitts out of trouble, and you won't get any grief from me, got it?"
"I'm not making a promise I don't plan to keep."
Enforcer grunts, getting up from his seat and moving to leave. As he steps away, he completely shoulder-checks Bandit using his riot shield, a smirk hidden beneath his helmet as he departs.
"... Suppose I earned that. Still, that card was a pain in the ass to get my hands on. Ended up swapping the real deal with an unlimited ball pit pass. Worthwhile."
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Readjusting the purple beret sitting atop their head, they watch their daughter fiddle with the power converter on her railgun. They snicker, rolling their eyes. "So many moving parts, just to fire your lasers. You cheat with your homing rounds, dear."
Railgunner looks up at her parent from her tinkering, scoffing. "This baby can fire off a laser that could punch through an entire apartment building."
"Well, if you miss, you're dead weight for the next ten seconds. Actually, even if you do hit, you're still dead weight. Don't think your toys can outperform reliability." Sniper hefts the large caliber sniper rifle from their shoulder, inspecting the weapon. "You may have tech smarter than me, but I've yet to meet somebody who can outsmart a bullet."
"Renna, does your sniper have a built-in weak spot finder?"
Sniper snorts, raising an eyebrow beneath the helmet. "You forget about Zuna." The small spotter drone in question proceeds to fly into the side of Railgunner's helmet, bouncing off harmlessly, as if trying to prove a point.
Railgunner sighs, looking to win this argument with her parent. "Can you hit a group of enemies?"
"I use explosive rounds regularly."
"... Isn't that a war crime?"
Any and all warmth or familiarity drops from Sniper's voice as they respond. "We aren't fighting humans. It certainly isn't. Besides, this isn't a war. It's only a war crime if it's war time."
"... Yes, renna."
"That's my girl." Sniper chuckles softly, hugging their daughter from behind.
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"Money drags some real different people to the same place, don't it?"
The woman in a red environment suit doesn't reply initially. They twirl a bounty chit between their fingers. A ruthless automaton given life, a blight at the center of a storm.
"... Suppose it does." She turns to look at the man in the beat-up, well-worn tan enviro suit, a heat-proof helmet visor and a large pickaxe strapped to his back.
"Who's the hit?" Miner inquires.
"It's called the False Son. 40mil creds."
Miner whistles, impressed. "Was told this planet was loaded with untapped valuable minerals. A veritable gold mine, if you will."
Huntress just nods simply. She knew her task and what she was doing. She was going to become a seeker of the storm.
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A lot of people would say that loading cargo is a dull job. Loader could not disagree more. Other jobs don’t supply their employees with a fully articulate titanium exoskeleton capable of lifting 250 tons. Other jobs don’t let you use your exoskeleton for your own entertainment, much less outfit it with custom-built grappling hooks powered by a winch capable of hauling up to 100 tons. Other jobs don’t involve being approached by a legend among the UES work force, and asked to embark on a classified mission to the Uncharted Territories. Other jobs don’t involve fighting exotic and strange alien creatures, and exploring mystical ruins on another planet. A lot of people would say that loading cargo is a dull job. Loader is not a lot of people.
Wandering around the cargo bay, she shifted a large crate out of her way, revealing a woman in a baggy orange parka, huddled alongside several massive rucksacks full of... scrap metal and other assorted objects the Drifter had scavenged. Loader chuckled for a moment. "You know, I would tell you that passengers aren't allowed in the cargo bay, but you're good company, Drifty." With that, the hulking woman took a seat on the floor beside Drifter, dropping a handful of forks, and what appears to be a maintenance panel cover into the other woman's lap. "It's not much, but I found a few more odds and ends for your collection."
Drifter giggles heartily, depositing her newly gotten gains in one of her sacks. "Thank you, thank you. You're a good time yourself, Loads." She found herself gently leaning on her friend's shoulder as they continued to banter together.
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An oddity. A High Court passenger equipped with standard ENV suit. Due to UES relations with the High Court and its donors, both the ENV suit itself and the individual's carry-on have had security checks waived. The ENV Suit, worn by the Artificers of the High Court, is an engineering marvel - able to calibrate to the conditions of any environment. The technology behind the ENV Suit, like all other High Court technology, is still undisclosed. Frustratingly so, for the UES. The House Beyond represents the most ambitious of the High Court's followers, spearheading Zone 5 deep space travel. With the advantage of their unique environment suit, the House Beyond have gone deeper in space than any other House in the High Court by an order of magnitude.
She relaxes on the large bed in her quarters, tossing orbs of electricity and fire back and forth between her gauntleted hands, acting as if one misstep couldn't start an entire mechanical disaster across the ship if she let one of these balls of fire or lighting out of control. Power must be used to explore, to guide, to learn, to document. All is for the journey to come.
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Cybernetic enhancements were all the rage these days, especially since they were made available for public use. Initially, only military and commercial projects could license the procedures necessary to install cybernetic implants. But those days were long gone, and the concept of “the new human” was taking the galaxy by storm.
Of course, with any movement, there was backlash. What of the sanctity of the human body? What about taking pride in your biology? Such arguments were normally laughed off. “Get with the times,” people would say. But one man among many stood out, gaining public attention and starting a counter movement of anti-cybernetics. The man postulated that mankind was walking on a tight rope – when do the cybernetics end, and where does the human begin? Will mankind end up as a machine species, or will we use our new tech to only better ourselves - without losing sight of what makes us human? The words of this man echoed across the galaxy, leaving a trail of revolution in its wake.
A passenger had boarded with a modified CronTech cybernetic enhancement suit. Attached 'projectile launchers' have been welded in places and could not be removed by security personnel. He agreed to keep them shut down for the duration of the flight. Individual also checked 4 large anti-ballistic crates into the loading bay, which showed heavy machinery in the preliminary security x-rays. Crates marked as containing 'deactivated security turrets', 'anti-personnel hardware', and a 'large experimental fission array'. Once more, the question of the UES Safe Travels' mission as a rescue is brought to mind. A rescue where all of this gear would be requested? Unlikely, Engineer mused. Not that he would ever go anywhere without his beloved turrets regardless.
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A flashing red light appears on the navboard on the panel above the Pilot's head. He smacks the button, and the alert goes away. Pressing a call button to activate the intercom, Captain and Commando are called up to the bridge. Pilot leans back with a sigh, looking out at the blue-green orb in space they were approaching, and the shattered moon hovering ever closer, a looming threat.
The soldier in yellow and Captain in white stepped onto the bridge, the automatic doors sliding shut with a hiss behind them. Captain stares out at the planet, letting out a sharp exhale. "Petrichor V. We're here."
Commando lets out a sharp hiss, clenching his fists tightly for a moment. "... Welcome to hell."