| KAL’RAPA’M QEZRA |
[Wanted! Dead or Alive! Reward Offered!] Usually found on the border of the Slums. Either way you get him, the pay is 7,550 Credits. Likely has an armed guard detail. High profile. Meet in the Transport Unit Storage’s second floor near the Translator Factory in (00:08:41). APPROVED AND ENDORSED BY OVERSEER ZALZAIPALTRACANTRINO, THIS ADVERTISEMENT IS LEGAL. This must’ve been posted recently.
“Hey, Squiggles, looks like I already got my work cut out for me, right?” I asked. Squiggles looked at me, and, with a tinge of satisfaction on his face, nodded. It was something he’d picked up from me, actually, and I was proud to see him use it. He used to be a jackass, and now here he is carting around two Humans and a Space Racoon, no Gaoian, with a “smile”. Evolution is real, and this is proof of it.
“Jack, I’ll use your Advanced Translator to communicate with you. I shall find shelter for these two… insignificant piles of trash. I am unsure as to why you made me bring them.” Okay, no, maybe there was some work to be done, but y’know what? It was there. That was all I needed for now.
“Alright, will do. Just be nice to them, alright?” There was a moment between us, before Squiggles angrily muttered something and began ushering Elisa and Claus down the sidewalk, to a right, and down a shortcut to a parallel street with complexes that were taller than the buildings on the street I was on. Now to find a parking garage. I began to stroll the crosswalk, the sidewalks were absolutely crowded with seas of unrecognizable flavors of Alien. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out my skimpy little headset, clipping it on and, no pun intended, clicking the jack into my MP3 player. Immediately, I was greeted with something from my home. A soft drum track, and a sharp electric guitar filled my ears.
My translator was doing wonders, allowing me to read all the signs on the buildings. Advertisements for advanced prosthetics, and more. It was like the most foreign version of New York, yet all written in my mother tongue. It felt surreal, almost unbelievable.
“I can feel it coming in the air tonight… Oh Lord.” Phil Collins, a reminder of a time that once was, drained out the strange world before me. Lost in the moment, I bumped shoulders with a rather tall Xeno. In fact, it was more like a cyborg. All of its limbs were metal and pneumatics.
“Watch where you’re going, Inferior!” They screamed. It wasn’t too hard of a decision to outright ignore them and continue soaking in the world before me. ‘KRIP’REP’S CARBONATED BEVERAGES! AVAILABLE IN THE NEAREST CONVENIENCE RECEPTICLE FEEL LIKE A DEATHWORLDER!’ shone in bright letters on a hologram above the sidewalk. I began to notice that there were more than eight holograms advertising an Alien that looked like Prick. Remember him? That guy in the ship, the pirate? The one I obliterated after his giraffe friend shot me in the gut? Him. ‘VOTE FOR ZALZAIPALTRACANTRINO!’ in all black with a red background, the Alien appearing to perform a gesture involving crossing all of it’s limbs. It felt extremely authoritarian, as if something was definitely not right about this place and I just hadn’t picked up on it. Now that I recall, there appeared to be “Police” on nearly every street corner, their hovercars painted a deep shade of yellow. I hate this city already.
“…but the pain still grows. Some stranger to you and me!” The thundering of drums echoed in my head, and my eyes cast onto a large complex at the end of the road. It was a colossal building labelled ‘KYAR’EIL GENERAL MANUFACTURING’ in brilliant white holographic text. To the left of it, was an eight story parking garage. I crossed the road, but nobody crossed with me. I was almost ran over when I made it to the finish, and a Police Xeno approached.
“Can’t believe you just crossed when the street was busy. You’re lucky there weren’t many transport units. Letting you off with a warning, next infracture is an execution.” Well butter my tits, these guys did NOT fuck around. My authoritarian vibe was absolutely right on the dot. I should probably avoid the cops best I can. With nothing more than my shotty tucked in its holster, my Vulza-skin jacket, and my translator, I entered the garage.
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It was an elevator, yes, but not like the one’s on Colarai. Back on Colarai, the elevators worked through electromagnetic rails. This one appeared to be mechanical, which ALWAYS has a higher chance of failure. Another reason I despise doing my business on Kyar’eil. I’m Kal’Rapa’m, a Colarien. I was banned from most districts of Colarai because of the narcotics I peddle. That’s right, I sell the best packaged adrenaline on the starmaps, harvested right from the blood of a Vulza. It’s illegal, but it rakes in credits. That’s all I care about.
Kyar’eil General Manufacturers is somewhat of a front. Yeah, they have factories everywhere, but something far more… sinister is going on there. That’s why they’re considered competition for someone like me. They’re suckers for the government of this dump, the Overseer basically gives them free pardons. That’s why they’re such difficult competition at all, and that annoys me, because Kyar’eil also has the best customers. KGM makes whatever you want, prosthetics, kinetic pulse rifles, but their main attraction are their translators. Some of the best around, mind you. Kyar’eil is rather hidden though, it’s a shame nobody else gets to try a KGM translator. Actually, mine’s a KGM Model SPCA-29501E, their flagship model. Taps right into the optical nerve, translates what you’re reading before you can process it. Unbelievable stuff.
Back to what I was saying. They also sell these special pumps that you can nest somewhere in your gut that pumps you full of stimulants whenever your stress level increases. I saw a defected Celzi go absolutely mad on some pedestrians because his stopped working and he experienced withdrawals. That’s what gets me mad, because they’re not at all publically known. It gets covered up as a tragedy caused by an unstable mind, and everyone forgets about it. Moral Dissonance at it’s finest. Another thing I despise about Kyar’eil, the public eye hates me for being less shady than the corporate guys that supply the underground with low rate implants that fill you with drugs that nobody knows where they got from. Fairly certain I have a hit on me, that’s why I stick close to the Slums. Not sure why they’re called the Slums, it’s literally just the uninhabitable part of Kyar’eil. The border between the outskirts and the slums is heavily guarded. I like the sweetspot between the outskirts and the border.
Oh, hey, would you look at that, this slow elevator finally made its way up.
“Kal, are you sure we should be here? There’s a bounty on you. Kyar’eil is a big city, plenty of more than capable of Hunters.” My attention was grabbed in an instant.
“Hunters?” I replied, almost choking down my own tongue. The very name brought me terror, I was there when the Hunters invaded this terrible planet. They didn’t manage to get Kyar’eil, and the Dominion, in a state of panic, outright bombed the planet, causing their retreat. Only this city survived. The rest became an uninhabitable mess of sandstorms and acidic air.
“Not that kind. Bounty Hunters.”
Relief came to me in an instant. I didn’t even hear what he said originally, I just heard Hunter and sprung to life.
“Ah. We’ll be fine, Pakeral.”
We stepped out into the hall, and found ourselves looking at the entrance to the penthouse.
|Some Time Later…|
It was quite the damn walk. My legs hurt like hell, I’m not sure this was worth it. Not to mention I’ve gotta tear this place up and walk back. My hand felt my hip, and my fingers looped around the trigger to my shotgun, pulling it from the waistband. It was the night cycle on this planet, it seemed. This would have to be quick, and I absolutely mean that. Wearily, I trudged toward the building, clipping my MP3 player on my hip. Time to jam. I know there’s probably cameras somewhere, so I got a “mask” from those shady employers back in the parking garage. It’s actually a Dragon mask. Also, newsflash, they’re called Vulzas. Speaking of those employers, talking to them was surreal, almost like it wasn’t even happening. Nobody was actually there in the parking garage, just another holoposter with a file to download on my translator. There was no distinguishable way that they spoke. Okay, you know how when someone talks, they have a certain way of pronunciation, tones, and pitch? That wasn’t present. I could understand it, but it was truly beyond my grasp. Not to mention I responded by thinking. Literally. The internal voice in my head managed to communicate with someone about fulfilling a bounty in space.
Shit’s about to hit the fan. I flip-cocked my shotgun, ready to rip and tear once more.
A subtle fade in a of a guitar riff, followed by a synthesizer. “Welcome to your life… There’s no turning back. Even while we sleep, we will find you. Acting on your best behavior. Turn your back on Mother Nature. Everybody wants to rule the world…”