Remnants of the Earth

The longer this woman spoke, the more Deego was confident his daughter picked the right stranger to harangue. She was fearless, as most children were. They didn't bother worrying over who may or may not be annoyed, angry, or downright dangerous for them, and Deego was sure this woman was none of the three. She displayed a wonderful aptitude with children that he didn't know existed. It was a shame that he was a father, but then again, if he knew anything about kids he probably wouldn't have had any.

"You're really good. Really good." He examined Almond for a time as she mushed at his face, his voice changing with how she pressed his cheeks together. She most likely didn't care what kind of coloring things she got. She was largely a happy baby, and wanted nothing more than to drive him insane. The more things she had to occupy herself with the more he might be able to get some work done in the meantime, without risk of her playing with things she wasn't meant to.

He hoped anyway. It was a foolish hope, but a hope all the same.

"You know what, I'll just take both of them. She can mash the rocks when she doesn't wanna play with chalk and scribble with chalk when she doesn't wanna mash rocks. You've been a great help and besides my apartment has been needing some redecorating. I mean, turning one of my walls into a blackboard for her to draw on."

He took Almond's small right arm and waved it around much to the wee bab's delight. She squealed and grinned at her.

"You'd be down to help me paint, won't you. I'm sure Almond would be happy to see the lady that helped her pick out the best art supplies in the store again." And looked over to Micah expectantly. "You wouldn't want to disappoint her."

As if on cue, Almond gave her gigantic doey eyes.

Prologue
+ NAME +Bishop Anton Henrikson
+ ALIAS + Bish, Padre
+ AGE + 28
+ GENDER + Male
+ ORIGIN + Travica
+ SPECIES + Human? Mostly?
+ RESIDENCE + Travica
+ OCCUPATION + Seeker - Shadowman
+ FACE + Golden Blond hair / Orange eyes
+ STATURE + 6’1” / 180 lbs.
+ SEXUALITY + Pansexual, if you find cacti sexy.




__________________IN-DEPTH

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Average height with a wiry lean muscular build, Bishop generally doesn’t give a rat’s ass with how he looks. His gold blond hair is braided back in Viking-esque updo, shaved along the sides and back, usually left to stubble after a few days. It’s swept back, held between two braids on either end and the remaining length of it is kept braided and out of his face. A light pattern of stubble grows along his face, kept unkempt by a severe lack of vanity. He’s rugged and worn out a bit at the ends, but he makes do.

The scars that line his face were earned from missions years ago and a thick burn marks his neck, going down his chest and just underneath his left armpit. A few more scars adorn his fingertips and palms.  His arms and legs are marked with tattoos of various bands and logos.

Voice Claim: Cillian Murphy

PERSONA
“A toast to the ghost that’s inside our bones.”

Equal parts of snarky and surly and quiet and reserved, Bishop doesn’t really care about what people think of him. He’s a black sheep, in an odd roundabout way that’s both self-inflicted and because few people can stand him. He’s prone to socializing in an absolutely non-commiserating “misery loves company” kind of way. He prefers to observe others and react than to simply bowl headfirst into a situation like a bull in a china shop. Mainly because he can both enjoy the chaos and come and go as if a ghost - as if he wasn’t really there.

Always playing the Devil’s Advocate, Bishop enjoys tension, debate and discord, and never wholly agrees with one side or another. But otherwise he’ll absolutely will punch you in the face and curb stomp you if he has a mild enough reason to do so. He’s bristly and bold enough to just do what he wants without worrying too much about the consequences. But ultimately lives with them and moves on. Doesn’t dwell too long on minor regrets, and doesn’t cater to people that do. He worries about himself and that’s usually just about all he can handle.

- Things! -

- Trained to sing opera on a dare and became really fucking good at it. He's a baritone.
- Can totally do the hand-knife thing without cutting himself. The scars on his fingers indicate he’s had lots of practice.
- Master of paper mache royal jewelry. Also dabbles in makeshift baking. He’s never combined the two. Yet.
- Absolutely a barbarian. And proud of it.
- Heavy smoker. Anything that can slowly kill him.
- Loves Hardcore Punk rock and heavy metal. Will absolutely headbang for days. Or throw darts at his ceiling. He’s really good at darts.
- Doesn’t ask for much: a good bottle of hooch and some microwavable pizza pocket rolls will make him content. When he remembers to eat.
- Mild to more than mild bouts of paranoia. Usually needs to go on a trip to bring himself back down.

MAGIC/ABILITIES
Telekinesis: Pffthahahaha, super good yo.
Telepathy: Decently strong.

SONOKINESIS - Can throw sound, or mute an area within a certain radius. Useful for taking about baddies quietly, or distracting them elsewhere. If concentrated enough, he can create an intense infrasound vibration to confuse and disorient others as well, although this is considerably more taxing.

UMBRAKINETIC - Bishop’s talent with manipulating shadows stems into an intense projection side of things. He can create body doubles, exact replicas of others, and are real enough to be capable of manipulating the environment (ie. Retrieving an item, speaking via mimicry, etc). Or manipulate the shadows around him to create illusions on his person, effectively “shapeshifting” in a selected disguise. 


RELATIONSHIPS
Rocco Cyprio Renato de Travica - Best Friendo and best bar crawl buddy.
He’s an asshole! But they seem to understand each other enough to make it work.

Jason Venner - Friend.
Went through candidacy together and occasionally email with 'Sup.'

Pilot Noble Darius Henrikson II - Father - Deceased
Nataline Henrikson - Mother - Deceased

Brandt Ellysi Henrikson - Deceased
His twin, of whom he’s blocked out most of his memories of. The years apart didn’t quite sever the connection they had in childhood. They’d both gone their separate ways into adulthood, and Brandt had gotten involved with a nasty crowd. Despite the years, Bishop can’t forget those familiar eyes, nor the light that left them.

HISTORY
Bishop and Brandt Henrikson were born to a Pilot Noble’s family, the best of everything. His parents separated when they were about 6 years old, each one taking a twin with them and leading completely separate lives. Bishop never heard from his mother or his brother Brandt after that. He was taken into Candyhood at the age of 12 and pulled into the Seeker program just after graduation, returning home to Travica and has been there ever since. His father died not long after and his mother’s body was found in the lower levels of Haviah, with a gunshot in her forehead.

Epilogue
THREADS

Ok so he wasn't actually trying to hit her. Crowe had no intention of actually knocking it against that thick rock-like skull of hers. No doubt forged from years of also being bashed in the head time and again. Gods knew his own head was like that after being in this business. You didn't get your fair share of bruises and not have a thick skull.

That said, she managed to dodge it and Crowe remained there, scowling still and remaining unmoved until she waltzed over like a drunk cat high on catnip and managed to get right up in his face.  Her mouth was moving but stupid kept falling out and it was all starting to sound like right noise.

And she smelled like she hadn't managed to bathe in about a week.

Eugh.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you got a cigarette," he mumbled with a twitching grin. He smirked a little and was overwhelmed with the need to headbutt her. Her chest was touching his and he soon grasped her arms and held her firm while he slapped his lips firmly against hers, kissing her fiercely and biting down on her bottom lip. The kiss was short and sweet and he took his seat again.

"So about that cigarette?"

Soleas felt like he was standing out there with a flower in one hand and his dick in the other for hours - that's how long each minute seemed to last. For all he knew, he was, and staying in Adstreia probably would have been the best way to end this evening instead of lingering outside the door of a would be paramour.  Eugh, now that was a word he never thought would cross his mind. Lots of words did when it came to Viktor Blackmourne, but not that one.

High Class, Expectations, and Excellence, were among them. But paramour felt so strange. Although, not completely out of place. The question tended to come as to whom the term was most applicable. Was Viktor just a nice piece of ass that was convenient because Soleas liked to tease and get under his skin? Or was Soleas an excuse for Viktor to ignore his responsibilties, and have a good time?

It'd be a perfect set up, and would make sense in the grand scheme of things. He was a nobody from the slums and a nobody Pilot that would never make the headlines or have any career to gawk at. No one would remember him and Viktor could move along and get married and live his own life.

Not that that was something Soleas wanted to entertain. Not that it was something he wanted to think about at all. And it didn't at all make his stomach do nervous anxious flip flops while he was waiting for the door to open and Trisha the plant's leaves shake like a...well, leaf.

Soleas almost jumped when the door finally opened and there was Vikki, cool as as can be giving him that pointed look that made a shit-eating grin smear across the Blackbagger's face.

"I-" no need to explain, and just like that he ws invited inside.  Soleas grinned and waltzed right inside and let his chest brust past Viktor's shoulder, that faintest contact making the hemokinetic's heart leap up into his throat. "Well, don't mind if I do." His voice was a chummy pur, all the way into the living room. Where he stared at well - everything.

"Daaaaaaaaamn!" he murmured, his eyes wider than saucers as he had to take a minute to handle Viktor's new set up. "Like you think you remember that you're a Blackmourne. And then you see a decked out flat like this, and then you remember you're also a fucking Pilot. Shit, Vikki, all I had was a coffee table, a cot, and 25 packets of ketchup when I graduated."  He was bullshitting, and he knew Vikki would know he was bullshitting, but he just couldn't help himself as he decided on the perfect place to put Trisha.

"Ah-yes."  And right on the corner, next to the door, in a little place where she'd get lots of light from the window, but not burnt out. "I'm not good with taking care of plants. But like ain't it tradition to bring a housewarming gift for a someone you care about?"

The question expected no answer, none that he wanted to hear from Viktor anyway.  Soleas glanced over at those bright green glow gems. The same ones that regarded him with a scowl once upon a time. And...only seemed troubled now.

Soleas' grin softened, the corners falling just short of it's typical nonchalance and he closed the distance between him and Viktor, wrapping his arms around the slighter man's figure, hugging him gently. "I'm so happy you made it, Vikki. You fucking did," tucking his face into Viktor's shoulder and feeling heat prickle behind his own eyes.

Meeting folks off the internet could be well...in a word, iffy.

Proteus thankfully didn't make a habit of it, but nothing really fazed the limited edition combat droid. Meeting strangers off the internet wasn't going to be even the worse thing he's ever done. And he'd done plenty of that for a few folks that'd been curious and had been looking for a good time. Yet there were so few good times that could be had that didn't involve ye olde slap n tickle that it almost became boring. Proteus liked to mix it up. He was a robot with a lot of time on his hands.

Fuck all, he needed something to do between jobs.

Proteus was in the area, though, with nothing to do. And his phone line had been light enough for the day that he had all day to kill. So when the invitation to come down and make some honeyed candies, he sure as shit wasn't about to pass up that opportunity.

"Confectionately Yours?" he mused, looking at the name of the ship, his blue retinas flicked and glowed as he furrowed his cubic brow and his grin twitched wider. "Okay that's pretty cute. Maybe a little too cute."  He chuckled and opened the door to the sweets shop.

He almost didn't fit through the door way, having to duck as he made his way to the front counter and rested an arm up on the glass, looking at all there was beneath the glass. If he had a rumbling stomach all of it would be absolutely delicious, no doubt.  Well, shit that was too bad.  Maybe later, when they were done.

"Hello, Bumble? You back there?" he murmured and looked out to what he assumed was the door to the kitchen. "Your knight in shining...plate metal has come to your service," he chuckled. Humans liked humor like that.

Eugh, whatever this woman ate before she tried to kill him, did her no service. The bag weighed heavier than a ton of fucking bricks and Ludwig labored with heavy breaths each step he took. God he was getting old. He’d probably have to start working out again like his old military days. It was a good thing he didn’t completely forget his training, and since coming to Cancer there were more and more day just like this.  Sven was making it a bad habit with upsetting the wrong people. And there was going to be a day where Ludwig wouldn’t be there to punch him in the face to make him snap out of it.

It’d be people like the dead Red Shirt in his bag.  And they might actually be successful.

Ludwig scowled at the thought. Of course he knew Sven had been taking care of himself long before Ludwig came into the picture. And for all intents and purposes he’d keep on doing just that. Ludwig owed him nothing, and vice versa. But there was a deep rooted loyalty to the stupid scoundrel. He was his brother, and even if he was stupid, Ludwig would stand wit him to the end of it all. Whether that came from a fiery blaze somewhere in deep space, or evading having your throat slashed or headshot in the middle of the night.

And the aging barber had to admit it was a hell of a lot more fun than sitting around waiting for customers all day.  That sleek streak of excitement kept him looking forward to whatever misadventures he’d fall into with Sven. Even if he was stupid. Even if he had to do whatever it took to save his neck.  Because no matter what Sven would keep having dumb luck, in addition to his taste for trouble. And like a fine warm cognac and a smoke on a languid lazy night, there was no better combination.

That reminder kept Ludwig putting one foot in front of the other. Kept him going.

Speaking of which, Ludwig checked his watch. “Scheisse,” he spat and counted down. Seven minutes before the shift change ended.  Luckily he was tall enough, close enough and his long strides allowed him to cover more ground when he was in a hurry. Ludwig sped walk, avoiding any place that was obviously overly populated. Passing between the clusters of other likewise neerdowells that made the life’s blood of Cancer station.

Ludwig coughed gently and vowed to pour himself a hard stiff drink by the time he got back to the shop. A few more steps and he was in an alley way inter sections, the drop off point just a few more blocks ahead, and he had to double take when he heard footsteps nearby.

“Mr. Luddon! Shit. I’m sorry, you scared the shit out of me.”

Ludwig blinked and jumped at the sound of someone else calling out to him.  He clenched his fists, his hair falling forward into his face until he recognized that familiar voice. “Scheisse right back at you,” he muttered and partly relieved that at least it was someone he knew.  “Ah Trei! Hello…odd place to be baby schlepping though, tis not?”  The star elf’s name rolled with a purr as the barber spoke, tilting his head and stepping a few feet closer to reach out with a hand.

The watch shone in the neon lighting and his eyes widened.

Five minutes. SHIT. “Let’s uhh…take a walk? Yes? Since you area already walking and the little one probably could use the fresh air?”  Or as fresh as it could get on that cesspool.

The climb would have been quick and relatively painless, the prey was acquired and Esca would have made it to the roof no problem if the Fat Orange Blob just minded her own goddamn business. BUTNOOooooooOOooooo o. Of course not. Just when he could have gotten around to fulfilling the damn contract she plopped right on top of him and caged him with her wings, screamed in his face and wrenched the target right from his grasp.

Esca clung to the walls when she tried to readjust and then...

Splat!...  Just like that.

He hissed and would have bit her if she didn't follow the corpse down to the ground and tried to grab it like a dog, pulling it with her teeth, as part of the skull was cracked and she smeared Troy's brains across the ground when she pulled it. He needed that! Esca hissed and lunged for her, pointing his plasma cannon at her and fired a shot at her stupid fat blob head!

He hissed again and lunged for the body, gripping the other half of the corpse that was Ardan Troy and pulling it to claim it as his own.

[M for Violence >>]

Calling it in this night this early was so so very tempting. The neon sign outside the barbershop door and the neon rods of blue, white, and red indicated that indeed the place was open for business, but for all Ludwig could tell he was the last living sentient creature on this level what with all the foot traffic that was clearly present outside his door. Ludwig didn't expect a huge bum rush of people. And the few appointments that made it  were all early birds and Ludwig, admittedly, enjoyed walk ins. The conversation wasn't always great, but it made time fly by and he made money, and made someone look fabulous.


The spontaneity of it all was generally worth it. Ludwig loved surprises. When they were pleasant. And when they paid. A few tried to skimp out on that once. Claim the haircut wasn’t their desire, or critique his technique to death until he couldn’t roll his eyes any further in his skull. Or just plain run out after he was finished.. They, for obvious reasons, didn’t bother coming back. Nor would they attempt it again in other places of business.

Ludwig had a small e-reader in hand and lightly tapped on the buttons on-screen buttons to the next page. He was draped languidly in the first barber’s chair, right leg crossed over his left knee, raven black hair slicked back and sides cleanly shaven. He cut quite the elegant figure in that chair, his black sleek oxfords, slim cut dress pants and white button down with the sleeves rolled up at the elbow. The man didn’t need to wear suspenders, but they were comfortable he enjoyed the little clips he could hang from it.

The ac was on, and he sat right underneath the vent, but he couldn’t help but feel hot and stifled, and even parting his collar a few buttons down did nothing to alleviate the sensation of burning up. Ludwig grunted, swapping legs and flicked the page on his book - some sci-horror nonsense from a small time Aedolian author - it was in interesting read but the climax left a little to be desired.

“And yet I can’t stop reading your books,” he mumbled to himself. The pirated copy obtained from keycodes courtesy of Sven made the addiction a little too easy to service. Sure, he could probably go back to Aedolis and buy it, but going back was probably stupid.  And it was free, so why bother.

The faint chime of the digital doorbell rang once, the door swinging open and Ludwig didn’t bother to look up until the sound of feet came stomping closer to him and impatiently tapping on the hardwood floors.

Ludwig tilted his head, eyed the boots that dared scuff his floor and raised his brows as the slender legs revealed a wildly attractive figure. A woman in uniform - a Red apparently - tilted her head at him and tapped her boot again when she met his gaze, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re still open I’m assuming?” she asked pointedly, pursing his lips.

Whether the impatience was forced or valid, he couldn’t tell. Ludwig still smiled and pushed himself out of the chair, setting his tablet down and whirling it around for her. “Of course,” he grinned and beckoned her to sit. “We are open quite late as well. For those that want to stay sharp even after their work shift. So you’ve come to the right place. Welcome. Please have a seat, err Miss…” Ludwig extended his hand out to her, which she tucked hers in quickly and withdrew before he could even squeeze it to properly shake.

“I’m just here for the works,” she sighed exasperatedly and sat down delicately. With a flick of her head, her hair swished and it was completely unraveled before Ludwig. “Just a trim off the bottom, please. Layered, and washed after. Please. I’ve had a really long day.”

“Ahh, I can do that. Tis a simple task,” he nodded and proceeded to get to work. “Red Shirt, I see? Do you come by this district often?”

“Hm? What, oh yes. Not on this side though. My main beat’s on the far side from here. I don’t usually wander in here. But I needed a cut and thought, what the hell? Live on the wild side. The inside doesn’t look nearly as dreadful as the out,” she sighed, eyes flicking back to glance at him here and there. 

Ludwig felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck and as he snipped away her hair, working delicately and taking his time, he immediately felt uncomfortable. Red shirts didn’t just walk in here out of the blue. And she had a lot of nerve to insult his shop. “Well, what is the saying? Ah yes. Do not judge a book by it’s cover, no? You might be pleasantly hrm, surprised.”  He cleared his throat and began the process of layering it, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Pfffthahaha! Surprised yes. Pleasant? That remains to be seen. Although, I did hear good things about this place. You’re that one fellow they call Luddon right?”

“Aye. Tis true. I am the one occasionally referred to as such. This is my shop, and I am it’s proprietor.” He cleared his throat again. As if it wasn’t obvious.

“Really now? I had a hell of a time finding this place. It’s not really out in the open. It’s no wonder there’s no one else in here besides me,” she snorted callously. “Besides, with the business you do get, I hope they tip well, yeah? Otherwise, you might have to close up shop.”

“Why do you say that? I get pretty busy when I must.”

She didn’t answer, instead delicately uncrossing her legs back and forth. “I mean only that the rent alone for this kind of space is probably quite high. Even if the district itself isn’t all that expensive.  I dally here and there in real estate. Nothing to snort at, but I know my way around it. Probably have to have some kind of side business to make ends meet.”

“…I do pretty well for myself. A man’s got to make a living some how.” he tried to shrug it off, pausing in his cut here and there to focus on not smacking her upside the head.

“So I’ve heard,” she murmured and kept staring at his reflection in the barber station mirror. “You look like the kind of guy that knows his way around the station too. I’m willing to bet you do more than just make a living, Mr. Luddon. In fact some people might even say you don’t trade fair. Might even be a little upset at the deals you’re making. Probably cheated the wrong person. How could you tell?”

Ludwig paused, staring right back at her. “I wouldn’t believe everything one hears,” he cleared his throat impatiently.

“Sometimes, Mr. Luddon. Your past catches up with you. Mr. Hemming sends his regards.” She flashed him a smile before shifting her legs again, but this time she didn’t cross them. Instead she flew up out of her chair and tried to fire the small pistol she had in her grasp.

Ludwig narrowly dodged by a hair, one crisp raven lock flying free and burned off by the bullet. He yelped, falling backwards on his haunches as she wrenched the barber’s cape from her front, the buttons snapping off and aimed her gun at him. He quickly rolled left, scuttling across the floor on his belly and reaching for a pair of scissors he’d dropped in the midst of the scuffle and launched them at her when he ducked behind the chair.  The scissors scathed her wrist, and he scrambled out from cover, a momentary distraction enough to tackle her to the floor.

Her pistol fell from her grasp, yelping along with him as they struggled to reach for the gun. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed and instead he pulled the straight razor from his suspender clip and raised it high, wicking the blade across part of her throat, a gouge into her side before she moved. Red Shirt no longer bothered with the gun, her eyes going saucer wide as she launched her fist at his fast, hitting him hard enough to make his teeth clank down on his tongue and blood squirt from the corner of his mouth.

Ludwig fell backwards, and she scrambled on top of him, unceremoniously stronger than she appeared, slamming another fist into his cheekbone that felt a lot like a fucking metal hammer.  His eyes flashed white, his eyeball just about exploding on the impact, as she tried to wrench the razor from his hand. With a scream, Ludwig smacked his forehead into hers and when she was reared back enough, kicked her chest into the mirror across from him, shattering the glass and throwing everything on the counter to the ground.

The blow only seemed to daze her momentarily, her body slamming hard to the ground. The scissors were right at her finger tips, which she grasped firmly and lunged for him again. The tip was stabbed firmly into his shoulder, and Ludwig’s face was rent red with rage. Blood seeped from the pair as they continued their dance of destruction around the shop. The skin on her knuckles had worn away to metal underneath, and Ludwig could see now why she hit like a freight train.

“Just-fucking-die,” he growled, when she had him on the ground for a second time and had both hands crushing around his throat. His own free hand gripped one wrist and tried to find anything nearby to stall them, meanwhile it felt like his entire skull was about to explode. He reached out and felt the familiar grip of the pistol.  He gripped it as quickly as he could, before his visioned turned black and wedged the barrel underneath her chin before pulling the trigger, blood splattering out the back and onto the ceiling as she slumped back uselessly.

“FUCK!” he growled and caught his breath.  “Fucking fuck! Fuck you Sven! I’m going to skin you!”

Ludwig didn’t know a Mr. Hemming, and he didn’t want to know who they were. But no doubt that whoever sent this would-be assassin they were after Sven - ahem, Smiling Jack - for some bullshit he’d come up with. And like always Ludwig was the one that had to clean up after them. It wouldn’t be the first time - no, and that didn’t make him any less pissed off - and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. He sighed and went about the clean up, rolling the heavy ass Red Shirt, which already had blood on the inside of it from what he could only assume was the previous owner.

Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any better. He couldn’t very well have a body just cooling off in the back. This was still a legitimate business…  And not to mention he’d have to close up the next day to seal up the bullet holes.  Fuck his life.  Ludwig sighed exasperatedly and removed the clothes from the Red Shirt, revealing the places where she was augmented, the surgeon cuts were messy and stitches still sewn into her. “I could have done you better. Real shame,” he sighed.

After a few hours the body was wrapped up and bundled into a duffel bag. The only real duffel bag he had on hand and he cursed quietly to himself as he hoisted the body up over his shoulders and nearly keeled over from the sheer weight of it. A change of clothes had been in order, as well as a make shift bandage. His shoulder would be out of commission for a while, and the shop itself wasn’t completely beyond repair. It sucked.

“Fuck my life,” he whispered, mapping the route in his head where he’d have to dump it too. Avoiding actual Red Shirts and other unsightly people. He sure as shit hoped no one would miss this would be assassin. If they were looking to get Sven Luddon’s head smashed in, they’d have to get in line. The next time he saw that little shit, he was toast.

The pathway to the nearest airlock was dock CNA-32d in the next Sector over. Not too occupied, and if he timed it right, he could catch the Red Shirts between shifts. Yup. Yes, he was just another guy with a giant duffel bag headed to the docks. Just like everyone else. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nope, not at all.

Ludwig carefully carried it out of sight, feeling the hour was just about that ‘night shift’ change in approximately 13 minutes.  Yup, this was gonna be a walk in the proverbial indoor space station kinder’s play park.

Mist >>

Thus far the laser tracker hadn’t failed him. He’d gotten this far and like hell was he about to let the prey get away now.

Esca was little more than a blur against the metal warehouse walls, even his armor blending in as he moved about. His natural cloaking kept him from being nothing more than an anomaly in camera footage, and what security systems were in place were disabled upon his passing. He moved quietly, and his feet leaving no trace as they scraped across concrete and metal grates where his prey had left a cacophonous trail in his wake.

He moved like any other prey, noisily, breathing heavily, sweating and leaving massive amounts of heat signatures on his tracer, the hud of his mask adjusting to the depth of field as he saw that heat signature move around a corner and through a series of crates. The large boxes might have hid him well from view, but it would just take a few swift movements and Esca would be on him like a cat on a mouse.

Mice, however, were never this difficult.

Ardan Troy was a wanted man. Probably took some wee old lady’s shopping goods and made off with it. Or stepped on too many small children in his time on the playground. Or maybe he’d stolen someone’s winnings in a card game, but whatever the case there was a hefty price on his head and it was one that Esca planned to collect on. Bounties were generally easy, particularly when the prey didn’t see him coming.

They rarely ever did. And on Cancer, even with his scales and spines, he blended in with the rest of the rabble here. It was a motley collection of scoundrels, gamblers, mercenaries, pirates, murderers, artists, and other hunters like him out for a quick score. Ardan was good at covering his steps. Mostly, anyway. But a slip up at a casino had caused him to be kicked out, half drunk, with a broken hand, and no one to give a shit about it. Except Esca of course.

With the prey crippled, it’d make his capture that much easier.

The layout of the warehouse was leveled, it was an older structure in the middle of a busy street within the station’s center, and a broken window later had Ardan crawling inside, quickly followed by the Jauxi. It would have been ideal to push him into a trap, net him and drag him out. But the quiet building, save for the guards on staff, would make an ideal amush spot, and his ship wasn’t too far away thankfully.

Esca’s hud blinked with the signature’s movement, he climbed higher onto some shelving, his clawed feet making nothing more than a soft tapping here and there in the darkness of that wide room, and he avoided the laserlight scope of a camera above him. Ardan was moving into the next room, a hallway bordering the movement of a guard. No other casualties were necessary, and Esca’s business was with the prey.

Ardan managed to evade the guard’s patrol, and Esca spied a ventilation shaft not far from him. He made a running jump and dug his claws out into the vent’s outcropping, gripping it and prying the plate right open before crawling through. It was a wide cylindrical tunnel, and a direct route to the next room. 

Esca carefully pushed the grate off at the exit and looked around for the prey, not seeing anything else other than traces of other heat signatures from abnormal materials in the room. It was hot in here. With three guards patrolling the grounds. One on each corridor and one in the center. Two of them however seem preoccupied with a conversation just below him, where he launched himself again from the vent’s outcropping, the power in his legs bursting his forward thrust.

He landed with a soft roll into a box, and the movement was enough to disturb that conversation.  Quietly, Esca cursed while the voices below echoed with subsequent, “What the fuck was that?” and lights began to flash around them.

Well, shit.  Esca, growled softly, a soft purr that echoed just at the base of his throat and he quickly began searching for Ardan’s trace. Little shit wasn’t going to get away.