V M [Crawl #0002] The Stolen Weapon

[Arbiter]

Crawl #0002 - The Stolen Weapon​

Party Members: Corvus Oleth; Porphyrus Parch
Former Party Members: Valeria von Markham
(After suffering a grievous wound in a shootout, Valeria has left the run to receive medical care.)

Party Meter: 100%
(Meter reset to 100% after Quest #1 due to the change in party members.)
Total Coin: 0
(300 Coin split between Corvus and Valeria for Quest #1.)
Quests Completed: 1

Quest #1 - Rumors

Word Count – 5,000 words (2,500 per party member)
Content – Hushed conversations throughout Markov suggest someone has infiltrated the Cytokine Arms research and development facility, making off with the blueprints and prototype of a new weapon. Word on the street is Cytokine is discreetly offering a handsome reward to whoever can facilitate their return. In Markov, find someone who can confirm the rumors and point you in the right direction, whatever your true motives concerning the stolen property.
Reward – 300 Coin​

 

[Orion]

Corvus ducked under the shadow of the doorway, stepping to the side as a frowning patron hurried past him. He scanned the room through the haze of cigarette smoke. The bar was smack in the centre of the establishment, a four sided counter with soiled stools resting beneath the counter lip. An old twangy guitar crackled over aged speakers. Other than the barkeeper running a rag around the inside of a glass mug, the bar was empty.

Saddling up to the counter, Corvus sat on a stool and stuck his elbows on the worn wooden finish. “Hiding in the shadows isn’t as easy as it used to be.”

The bartender froze but kept his eyes on the mug in his hands. “There’s always ways around it, if people want it bad enough.”

“Some say the right words will help you find the right person.”

The bartender placed the mug behind the counter and walked over to Corvus. Splaying his fingers, he propped himself up and stared into Oleth’s eyes. “You’re new. I don’t often see new people. How did you learn the passcode?”

“People can be very helpful when the state of their teeth is on the line,” Corvus said, staring right back. “Besides, from what I understand, this is the way you get new clients anyway. And I know you can help me.”

“Is that right?” the barkeeper said. “While you were extracting this information, did you also learn about my fee?”

Corvus slid a small rectangular chip across the bar. “Yes. Credits are all here.” At least, that’s what Corvus believed when his ‘co-operative’ informant handed it to him.

The barkeeper took the chip, plugged it into a handheld tablet and stared at the screen. A pleasant bleep emanated from the device. “OK. So what is it you want to know?”

“There’s been a rumour floating around that Cytokine was robbed,” Corvus said. “Someone took off with a secret weapon prototype. It could be dangerous, having an untested piece of tech like that in the wrong hands.”

“Yes, I’m sure your interest in this is purely altruistic,” the bartender said.

“I don’t know what that word means,” Corvus said. “But I’m more interested in the potential reward for it. Or if the weapon takes my fancy, maybe it would be better in my hands. And so I’ve heard you might be able to confirm this story, and you might also know where I can start my search.”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” the barkeeper said, “but sometimes rumours are truer than people might think. Plus, if something like that went missing, I would think maybe the Pilot’s Union compound would be the place to go. No real reason, of course. Just a hunch.”

Corvus hadn’t been planet side for very long – maybe a week, tops. He had spent much of that time drinking, celebrating his new found liberation after more than a decade, and much of those nights blurred together in a drunken haze. Yet once he recovered, he found himself inexplicably restless. Having worked every day of his life in either slavery or indentured servitude, he was conditioned to be productive, to be active. With no one to call the shots, Oleth wasn’t sure exactly what he should do.

When he finally decided that a life of bounty hunting and chasing valuables would be the most exciting and action-packed decision he could make, he hit the trail and soon followed the whispers on the streets of Markov to this bar. Yet even in that short amount of time, Corvus knew who both Cytokine Arms and the Pilot’s Union were.

“Are the Pilot’s Union trying to sabotage Cytokine?” Corvus asked.

“Who knows? You paid your credits, I gave you your answers,” the bartender said. “Now go. Our business has concluded.”

Oleth left the bar. He had a solid lead.

 

[Lucien Lockwood]

Her fingers twirled the lengths of wire together, a roll of electrical tape hanging from her mouth. Fifteen feet below, Feron closely watched as his newly acquired owner dangled by her legs upside down off the catwalk of hangar bay nine. One of the external panels that supplied power to the fog lights on a medium class scout mech had shorted after taking a hit from a wild zoid. Tearing a piece of tape loose she swirled it around the connected wires before taking out a zippo from a pocket on the bag hanging from her torso. Hovering the flame over the tape for just a moment she shrank the material causing it to conform to the metal. Flipping the lighter out, she put it between her teeth and took a wire cap from her pocket. Screwing it on gently she pressed the coiled power wires back into place and closed the panel door.

“Alright, switch it on.” She said through her teeth.

Feron perked up and got to his feet. Looking at the woman dangling above him a holographic display appeared before his snout. Lines of code ran along the screen at blinding speed as the auxiliary startup script ran its pre-flight dependency check. Almost immediately the giant headlamps used for penetrating the dense fog around the south-western sector of the barrier began to blink on one by one. Everything was fine for a few seconds until the panel blew open and showered the pilot in sparks. A mechanical bark alerted nearby crew as the Organoid remotely cut the power to the docked mobile suit.

“Was afraid that might happen.” Valeria said, wiping the char from her face.

“Markham! Office! Now!” A voice broke out over the intercom system of the hangar she was working in.

With a sigh the redhead placed the roll of tape in her bag and secured the tools she had taken from her belt. “Feron, kill the auxiliary unit and mark it in our work notes. Needs a new relay in junction box L37 inside panel 36. Damage must have broken it.”

With a bark the giant mechanical wolf alerted his companion that the notations had been made. Flexing her abs, the woman lifted herself back up to the catwalk and climbed back onto the platform. Securing her work tools, she headed over to the lift and proceeded to take it down to the main floor. Feron bounded over to her, wagging his segmented tail, her pistol in his mouth. Taking the weapon and belt that she had obtained at a discount from the shop manager here in the hangar, Valeria looped it around her waist and secured it. Taking the weapon out she popped open the cylinder to confirm six rounds were still loaded. Flicking her wrist, she closed it, holstered the weapon, and made her way to the office of the Head Mechanic.

***​

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Valeria asked as she opened the door to her boss’s office.

He looked visibly annoyed, but upon seeing a man dressed like a lawyer sitting in the chair across from him she knew it wasn’t with her.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Her boss said, exiting his own office.

The redhead was glad she had told Feron to wait outside. It was another shark from Interferon A.I. trying to snatch up her companion for study.

“I figured after the last time you’d get my message that you can’t have him.” She said flatly, crossing her arms.

“We heard you last time. Our man is still recovering from the injuries. Which we still expect full reimbursement-“

“I’m making the payments aren’t!?” She spat, becoming increasingly annoyed with his level of calmness.

“Yes. The company appreciates your contribution. However, I’m here to offer you a new deal.” The businessman said.

“No deals.” Markham said, turning for the door.

“We’ll erase your debt and forget your prized dog ever existed.” He quickly interjected.

The Pilot took her hand off the door handle and turned around slowly, eyeing the man before her who had already retrieved a contract from his briefcase.

“We’ve lost a set of blueprints and we need them found. If you help us with this we’ll clear your debts and look elsewhere for the knowledge scanning Feron would give us. In laymen’s terms, we’ll leave you alone.”

Valeria sighed and leaned up against the door to her boss’ office, crunching the blinds behind her.

“Fine. I don’t suppose to leave me much choice. Forward everything you have to my comms address and I’ll start after my shift is over.”

Taking hold of the pen the man held in one hand she flipped through each page once before signing her name on the dotted line. To be rid of the debt to Cytokine Arms and the constant harassment about Feron would be a wonderful change in her life. Plus, she could start saving for a nicer apartment like she had been before her dire wolf sized companion ripped the arm from an agent of the company when he got too pushy.

Cevanti life at its core.

853 words

 

[Orion]

Corvus crept up to the massive hangar doors, pressing his back flat against it. The drizzle of rain clouded his vision from a distance, and he hoped it did the same for anyone else looking at him. He shimmied to where the two huge doors met and dug his fingers into the groove. Gritting his teeth, Corvus pulled, his organic arm trembling. The doors parted enough for a sliver of light to shine into the light shower outside. With another exertion, the gap grew large enough for Oleth to squeeze through.

The hanger’s lights cast a dark shadow behind him. Gigantic mechs were harnessed in place around a long catwalk that lined the walls. Various components were missing or exposed; one had an arm removed while another’s side panel had been opened to expose a mess of frayed wiring. Technicians plonked about on the catwalk, their footsteps and dropped tools clanging and echoing.

Corvus lowered himself to his haunches and scuttled away from the doors and towards the corner of the room. A stack of barrels and wielding equipment provided a safe vantage place. He knelt behind the cover and peeked out. No one appeared to have seen him.

He took the moment of refuge to work out his next step and promptly realised he had no idea what it would be. All the informant told him was to look through the Pilot Union’s compound, but this was the ninth hangar he had broken into and nothing had led him to discovering anything about the missing weapon prototype. What exactly was he searching for? Dammit, it’s not like he was a detective or a sleuth of any kind. There was something here to help his quest, but what the hell was it? And where was it?

The gentle clink of metal feet snapped Corvus from his introversion. He drew his assault rifle hanging on his back and aimed it at the sound. A silver snout came into view around the barrels.

Oleth jumped to his feet and backed away as a robotic wolf rounded the corner, exposing its steel teeth. Its neon blue eyes glowed as it growled menacingly, stepping slowly forward as if searching for the perfect moment to pounce.

Corvus steadied his grip on his firearm. Facing predatory horrors that wanted to slaughter him and consume his flesh was literally an everyday occurrence on both Kraw and Inverxe, so staring down a mechanised wolf didn’t strike panic into his heart like it would a normal person. Yet if it came to defending himself, his assault rifle’s 10 millimetre slugs would raise an awful racket and force him to flee. If he didn’t put down the threat, though, he wouldn’t be fleeing from anything.

The two stood off – the wolf still padding gradually forward while Corvus’ index finger paused over the trigger, ready to slam down on it.

“Feron!”

A woman dropped from the catwalk, landing in a crouch. A forest of red hair swayed in a ponytail as she stood, her eyes locked on the mechanical wolf. She followed its neon blue gaze and started as her vision landed on Corvus. Her hand snapped to the pistol on her waist and she drew.

“Who are you?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Well, shit, Corvus thought to himself. Guess the jig is up.

“Not looking to turn myself into robot wolf meat,” Oleth said. “You mind getting your pet to heel?”

 

[Lucien Lockwood]

Valeria contorted her lips, thinking for a moment, before fluidly letting the hammer down on her pistol. Letting weapon rotate forward on her finger she took hold of the revolver and slid it into the holster that was fastened to her left side, the butt of the gun facing forward. Placing her left hand to her lips she whistled and Feron sat down immediately, his segmented tail wagging. Whoever had designed the giant dire wolf organoid had taken steps to assure his appearance was as close to the real thing as possible. However, because robots lacked saliva, when Feron panted it served another purpose. Tiny vents along the segments in his neck opened and closed, expelling small jets of blue flame as he sat there. The excess heat forced Corvus to take a step backward.

“Careful. The plasma venting is his version of drooling. When he gets into combat mode his reactor goes into overdrive. If the energy isn’t used, he pants, expelling the excess heat.”

Valeria took a hair tie from within the bag looped around her torso and began redoing her hair into a bun.

“Mind if I ask why you’re breaking into Pilots Union hangars?” She asked.

“How’d you know?” Oleth replied, he had been sure no one was able to detect him.

“Feron tracked your movements. We’ve been waiting for you. You don’t ask about Cytokine Arms in a bar and not make it onto someone’s radar.”

Corvus relaxed a little and slung his own weapon. She knew a lot already. So, either she had a direct source or…was she a bounty hunter?

“You’ve been on the planet a week and you’re already gathered the attention of Cytokine Arms. Gotta say. That’s a new record. I assume you’ve heard about the theft of those weapon blueprints and you’re looking to see if the Pilots Union, the people who pay my rent, stole them?”

The mercenary just stared at the redhead, who had now approached him and was currently standing next to her faithful robot dog. Upon getting a closer look, through her minimal levels of makeup there were scars on her jaw line, on her cheek, and littering the right side of her neck like tiny little scrapes in a glass window. They were hardly visible, but if you were looking you could see them. Best guess is that some sort of fragmented explosion hit her at some point. Her right arm was completely cybernetic and a solid matte black color with various yellow branding written along various maintenance points.

“Yes.” Corvus replied, as he took in the woman’s appearance.

“Well I guess that makes us partners. The assholes at Cyto Arms have offered me a debt clearing contract to find the plans. I assume you’re Corvus then?”

The soldier nodded.

“Right. So, I’ve been on a maintenance rotation since my last sortie took my arm. I haven’t been outside the walls in over a year. The fact that I haven’t heard a thing is what bothers me.”

Corvus nodded. “So, you think someone made it look like the Pilots Union?”

“The only people in town with reason enough to do that…” She paused for a moment, eyeing the man across from her.

“With reason enough to want Aria T’Loak to favor them, is the Trade-Baron for The Guild. Being an off-worlder, you probably don’t know about the rivalry The Guild and the Pilots Union have.”

Oleth shook his head. This woman knew her stuff and she was giving him a crash course in Cevanti politics to boot.

“We should head to my apartment. It’s about 20 minutes away by rail car. We can talk there.” Valeria beckoned for her new partner to follow, making her way to the door.

Feron bounded ahead of them, barking joyfully.

 

[Glefaelk]

Porphyrus Parch sat with his weight thrown back, the chair balancing on its hind legs. The fingers of one hand drummed a frantic, discordant rhythm on the cool chrome of the tabletop. A single shaft of sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, dust motes dancing in its wake. Night had given way to dawn.

Every so often, Parch’s drunken gaze drifted away from the flask in his other hand to settle, for perhaps the thousandth time, on the unremarkable briefcase at the other end of the table. How long did he have, he wondered—how long till Cytokine copped wise to the ploy? How long till a battalion of goons busted down his door and dragged him off to prison, or worse?

Parch heaved a resigned sigh, the front legs of the chair clunking hard on the linoleum as he stood. Hopefully they’d wait till he got out of the shower, at least. Indignity had got him into this mess. He sorely hoped he wouldn’t go out the same way. Grabbing the briefcase, he staggered into the bathroom and cranked the shower handle. A gout of brownish water emerged with a hiss.

Eighteen years, Parch reminded himself. For eighteen years, he had toiled in obscurity in the depths of Cytokine Arms’ underground labs. In his bleary stupor, a butchered version of an old joke came to mind. You become the company’s foremost expert on chemical warfare, but do they call you Parch the Chemical Warfare Expert? No. You spend the better part of two decades developing the most fearsome weapons on Cevanti, but do they call you Parch the Weapons-Maker? No. But you fall for one foreign spy, let slip one crucial detail, and they’ll sure as hell call you Parch the Traitor.

A wry grin twisted Parch’s lips. Well, who has the last laugh now? he mused. It wasn’t Cytokine Arms stepping into the shower, with the most advanced chemical weapon in the history of Cevanti sitting in a briefcase on the back of the toilet in its dingy apartment. It was Parch—too often ignored, routinely underestimated Porphyrus Parch. And once he met with his buyer and exchanged it for a drive packed to the brim with credits, perhaps they would call him Parch the Millionaire.

The plan, to Parch’s credit—or, more accurately, to Belladonna’s credit, as she had masterminded the theft—had been executed flawlessly. It was a level of intrigue far exceeding anything Parch had experienced in his rather uneventful life, something straight out of the heist flicks he had devoured as a younger man. Belladonna’s whiz kid hacker friend, triggering the emergency alert system in the lower labs and disabling Cytokine Arms’ surveillance system. Parch, hands trembling, sweating profusely, slipping the blueprints and prototype into his briefcase and blending in with the evacuating throng. And then, a few hours later, when the theft had been discovered, an encrypted call to the head of Cytokine security, describing a mysterious figure departing through a side exit during the chaos, carrying a strange device and a sheaf of papers—a figure in the customary garb of the Pilots Union.

It wouldn’t hold up under close scrutiny, Parch knew. Corporate espionage wasn’t a new concept in Markov, even amongst the autonomous, internal divisions of Cytokine Industries itself. No thief in their right mind would try to steal from Cytokine Arms wearing the discernable markings of its organization. Not unless they were trying to incite a civil war, stoking the already scarcely contained animosity between Markov’s many factions and pockets of resistance. No, the phony tip would be worked out soon enough. Parch just hoped it would be enough time to fence the weapon, and for he and Belladonna to blast off this forsaken rock, never to return.

Ten minutes later, the virologist emerged dripping and invigorated from the shower, the sharpness returned to his thoughts. He moved about the apartment with renewed purpose, donning the usual slacks and button-down and dragging a comb through what hair remained on the sides of his head. Now, more than ever, he had to keep up appearances.

When all was sorted, he slipped into his Cytokine lab coat and headed out for the meeting with Belladonna, carrying the briefcase that would soon change his life forever.

 

[Orion]

Leaking water dripped on Corvus’ forehead as they reached Valeria’s apartment. The grimy carpet was stiff from neglect. The walls had patches of mould where it intersected with the roof. A cough from an unidentified source echoed down the hallway. Apparently, mechanics in the employ of the Pilot’s Union didn’t make all that much scratch.

Valeria raised a keycard to a convex half-orb situated against the door. The half-orb flashed green and the door slid open in a jarring movement. She paused as Feron darted inside and she followed. Corvus looked down the hallway one more time and entered.

The apartment consisted of a three-seater couch, a television, a cramped kitchen and a hallway that seemed to lead off to her sleeping quarters. Valeria reached into a rickety cupboard and took out two mugs with one hand, threading her fingers through the handles, and a glass jar of instant coffee with the other hand. She placed them on the plain kitchen counter and flicked the switch on the hot water jug.

“Coffees will be a moment,” Valeria said, leaning on the counter. “Won’t be too long.”

Corvus nodded and sat down on the couch. The padding had worn away, and despite the firm meeting of his spine with a tough surface, the groove left undoubtedly by Valeria was snug and offered some comfort. Feron leapt onto the couch and sat, staring at Oleth as if there was something between his teeth. Either that, or the mechanical wolf was imagining Corvus’ thick throat between his own metal teeth.

“So,” Corvus said, leaning over the back of the couch, “you owe some people some money, huh?”

Valeria frowned. “What?”

“You said before that Cytokine Arms gave you this assignment to clear away some debt,” Corvus said, laying his forearms on the back of the couch and propping his chin on them. “Was it to pay for that arm?”

“That’s very direct from someone I only met half an hour ago breaking in to my workplace,” Valeria said as the hot water jug whistled.

Corvus shrugged. “There isn’t much point in keeping secrets or walking on eggshells where I’m from.”

“And where’s that?” she asked, pouring hot water into the mugs as writhing fingers of steam billowed forth.

“I spent four years on Kraw protecting expedition parties, and another... nine years I think? ... shooting at anything that moved on Inverxe for the miners. When you’re in life-and-death situations daily, you just say what’s on your mind. You might not get another chance.”

“Right,” Valeria said, handing Corvus his cup of coffee. “Well, we’re not on either of those planets, and finding the weapon prototype shouldn’t be nearly that dangerous. So maybe I’ll talk if I can better trust you.”

Corvus sipped his freshly brewed beverage and half smirked. “I guess I can’t argue against that. I’m an open book, though. Ask me anything. I don’t care.”

Valeria motioned at Feron, who padded to the centre cushion of the sofa. Valeria sat at the end that her robotic companion had vacated. “All right. Why are you chasing the weapon prototype?”

Corvus smiled wide. “For adventure! I’m used to adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m used to being in mortal danger, with enemies all around me. I’ve been a slave most of my life, but now that I’m free, I find that all I want to do is exactly what I used to do. Except now, I choose the job and I get the money!”

“So you’re an indentured bodyguard-turned-bounty hunter?” Valeria asked. “You’re doing it for the thrill and the reward?”

“Yeah!” Corvus exclaimed. “Though I think I need to work on my sleuthing skills. If I didn’t run into you, I might still be digging around Pilot Union hangers looking for something I wouldn’t have even recognised.” He chuckled to himself. “Guns can’t solve all my problems.”

“You’re in luck today,” Valeria said. “I’ve been given a location where we should find this weapon prototype. All we have to do is go and get it.”

Corvus’ eyes perked up. He threw his head back and poured the rest of the coffee down his throat. “In that case, what are we waiting for? Let’s get going!”

703 words.

 

[Lucien Lockwood]

Valeria grinned before taking a sip of her coffee. Adrenalin junkies were always after the next big adventure or event that would give them the rush they needed. She was the same way in a cockpit and she missed it dearly. Her boss had promised to get her into the simulator next week to see how her reaction time was now that the prosthetic had completely healed. First, she had to handle this mess.

“Alright. There is a small ammo lab in the next district over that houses a depot in the back. Apparently that depot is a research and development section in disguise.” She said while picking up her tactical vest from next to the couch.

Unclasping the bandolier from the back she dropped the plate carrier to the floor with a thud and removed the belt of shells for her pistol. Her pistol’s holster already carried twelve rounds, but the added belt which she fed around her waist carried another twenty-four.

“If anyone asks, you’re a mercenary working for the Pilot’s Union.” Valeria said, removing an ID card from her bra and handing it to her gung ho comrade.

“Don’t ask me how, but they forged your credentials. Even if the city guard swipes that ID you’ll show up.”

Corvus nodded and slid the piece of plastic into one of many pockets on his vest.

“Lead the way. You know this city better than me.” He said, checking his rifle as Valeria did her pistol.

“C’mon boy.” Markham said, whistling once.

Feron bounded from his position on the couch and to the door. The mechanical dire wolf which stood at waist level to Valeria exited first, followed by Corvus. Valeria swiped her keycard as the door shut and the lock blinked red twice. As her apartment door shut it metal rods snapped into place and it was secured.

***​

It had been a trap. Upon arriving at laboratory, Valeria and Corvus had come under fire by hired hitmen wearing Pilots Union colors. They were currently behind a dumpster with one of the lackeys Feron had managed to grab and drag over. His razor-sharp teeth and mechanic jaws bit down surgical precision as Corvus opened fire with his assault fire, suppressing the bandits into their own cover.

Valeria could hear the bone start to break in the bandit’s arm as she cocked the hammer on her pistol and placed it to her forehead.

“Name of your employer or you’ll end up with a fancy arm like mine.” Markham asked.

The woman at her feet spit at the dog who increased the pressure of his grip minutely, making her scream in pain as the bone was slowly crushed.

“Don’t make me ask again.” The redhead pilot said.

“Go to hell, bitch!”

Valeria didn’t even have a choice in the matter. Feron clamped down and shattered the bone and severed her arm. With a sigh she pulled the trigger and splattered the woman’s brains all over the grimy brick wall.

“Well this is just wonderful. Feron says the City Guard has been called in response to gunfire. We need to get out of here.”

Barking twice to his master, Valeria spun around and cocked her pistol. As two thugs came around through the alley behind them she fired twice, fanning the hammer to squeeze off two rounds in rapid succession.

“They’re pushing for us, Corv-“

Her sentence stopped as a stray round pinged off a nearby rusted hover car and dug its way into the woman’s chest. The mercenary ejected a magazine from his rifle as sirens from the patrol ships echoed in the distance.

“Go.” Valeria said, huddling behind the dumpster, blood running down her mouth. “Feron managed to remotely hack the plans. Go turn them in. I’ll deal with the guard. You’re too new. He’ll guide you to safety.”

Corvus took the bloody device from the woman, who was desperately trying to prop herself up against the wall. Her pistol had fallen between her legs, her human hand covering the wound in her chest.

“GO!”

Feron barked and nudged Oleth to run before taking off down a nearby alley way. The mercenary took off after the dire wolf, looking back only once. The City Guard arrived, immediately opening fire on the Guild Personnel who had stayed in the area.

“We have wounded!” One of the guards yelled.

“Get a medevac unit inbound. Corporal, can you keep her alive?” The Sergeant asked.

“I can certainly try.”

“Name—Valeria von Markham. Union Pilot. Been on leave for over a year due to physical injury.” The Sergeant said aloud.

Fresh blood ran down Markham’s chin as the Kingdom guard applied fresh pressure to her wound. Her vision began to fade.

“Stay with me, darling.” The corporal said.

“Stay with me!”

Everything went black.

801 Words - Corvus has what he thinks are the plans - Valeria will be taken to the hospital under Kingdom guard. You two are free to continue.

The City Guard on Cevanti are similar to Minority Report's police--