Post by Cato on Jun 30, 2023 15:10:13 GMT -5
FIRESALE
| Cato's PL: 110,000 |
| Cato's PL: 110,000 |
The sound of a familiar ray gun arm blaster sounded, crackling through the morning air atop the sound of a bell tolling six for morning.
It was too early for a fight, but that's exactly what the Mercenary Outpost had on its hands. It took mere moments after the sound of the first blast before the streets had been overrun with activity. At least a half-dozen off duty Saiyans had found themselves in a friendly brawl with a half-dozen off duty Saiyans from a different outfit, a conflict brought to blades and blasts by a dispute over who had captured the most territory and earned the most honours in the last war with the Tuffles.
While most honest folk in the town would just be waking up, or else still trying to catch sleep, the late night and early morning belonged to the kind of crowd that took the local bars to closing--and sometimes past closing. A high power level was good reason to keep a bar running later than local regulations, and local regulations never mattered much in a place so rife with hunters, mercenaries, smugglers, and thieves.
Disputes seemed to breed disputes in a place like this, and the Saiyans fighting amongst themselves encouraged a small shoot-out outside of a tavern across town, this one between a small group of Tuffles. Former security forces themselves now turned mercenary, it was anyone's guess what would have brought them to conflict with each-other. Certainly nothing as petty as arguments over old war stories, one would assume...
... until one of them shouted something about an unpaid bar tab.
Cato pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat on a balcony overlooking the chaos. The Saiyans were no surprise, the Tuffles a little more so, but within ten minutes they had been joined by mercenaries of every kind. Aliens she had never encountered before, Herans, one or two people she could have sworn were Earthlings--though, they could have just been Saiyans whose tails had been cut off--and even a trio of Saiba-men who, aside from not seeming to understand what was going on and why, were extremely happy to start their day with chaos and bloodshed.
A year ago, she might have joined in the disorder and used it as an excuse to make some sort of name for herself. But that was a long time ago now, and she had more important things to worry about--namely, that the site of blackish-blue prison tattoos customarily sported by convicts from the Ice Pit could be seen among the crowd, with at least three or four of the soldiers she had recruited from Ticoga more than happy to relish the chance to crack a few heads together.
She hopped down from the balcony, fully intending to retrieve them from out of the mess of activity, when a blast ricocheted off of the side of her arm. She whirled around, hand going to her sword, only to find that the would-be assailant she figured she would be contending with was nothing more than a severely inebriated Saiyan recruit who seemed to be aiming for one of the Saiba-men, only to miss by such a wide margin it's a wonder his blast didn't fly off into space.
She cursed under her breath and moved on, shoving her way through Saiyans and Tuffles, Herans and ... more Saiyans, until she finally arrived at one of the former convicts.
"Zonera," she snapped. "Smarten up. You were barely given a commission here. Do you think they won't think twice about sending you back to Arcose if they think you've not put that life behind you?"
It was a bit of a lie.
No one on Plant, least of all the Saiyan's standing army, would care that one of their soldiers was arrested for a little harmless piracy in the distant stars. Extradition to Arcose was certainly out of the question. But, they did need to prove themselves if they wanted to be treated like anything more than convict soldiers. The last thing they needed was to be branded another disposable group for unusually dangerous missions. Not if they wanted to live long enough to regret their tattoos.
"You need to round up the others, and we can lay low until this--"
It was too early for a fight, but that's exactly what the Mercenary Outpost had on its hands. It took mere moments after the sound of the first blast before the streets had been overrun with activity. At least a half-dozen off duty Saiyans had found themselves in a friendly brawl with a half-dozen off duty Saiyans from a different outfit, a conflict brought to blades and blasts by a dispute over who had captured the most territory and earned the most honours in the last war with the Tuffles.
While most honest folk in the town would just be waking up, or else still trying to catch sleep, the late night and early morning belonged to the kind of crowd that took the local bars to closing--and sometimes past closing. A high power level was good reason to keep a bar running later than local regulations, and local regulations never mattered much in a place so rife with hunters, mercenaries, smugglers, and thieves.
Disputes seemed to breed disputes in a place like this, and the Saiyans fighting amongst themselves encouraged a small shoot-out outside of a tavern across town, this one between a small group of Tuffles. Former security forces themselves now turned mercenary, it was anyone's guess what would have brought them to conflict with each-other. Certainly nothing as petty as arguments over old war stories, one would assume...
... until one of them shouted something about an unpaid bar tab.
Cato pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat on a balcony overlooking the chaos. The Saiyans were no surprise, the Tuffles a little more so, but within ten minutes they had been joined by mercenaries of every kind. Aliens she had never encountered before, Herans, one or two people she could have sworn were Earthlings--though, they could have just been Saiyans whose tails had been cut off--and even a trio of Saiba-men who, aside from not seeming to understand what was going on and why, were extremely happy to start their day with chaos and bloodshed.
A year ago, she might have joined in the disorder and used it as an excuse to make some sort of name for herself. But that was a long time ago now, and she had more important things to worry about--namely, that the site of blackish-blue prison tattoos customarily sported by convicts from the Ice Pit could be seen among the crowd, with at least three or four of the soldiers she had recruited from Ticoga more than happy to relish the chance to crack a few heads together.
She hopped down from the balcony, fully intending to retrieve them from out of the mess of activity, when a blast ricocheted off of the side of her arm. She whirled around, hand going to her sword, only to find that the would-be assailant she figured she would be contending with was nothing more than a severely inebriated Saiyan recruit who seemed to be aiming for one of the Saiba-men, only to miss by such a wide margin it's a wonder his blast didn't fly off into space.
She cursed under her breath and moved on, shoving her way through Saiyans and Tuffles, Herans and ... more Saiyans, until she finally arrived at one of the former convicts.
"Zonera," she snapped. "Smarten up. You were barely given a commission here. Do you think they won't think twice about sending you back to Arcose if they think you've not put that life behind you?"
It was a bit of a lie.
No one on Plant, least of all the Saiyan's standing army, would care that one of their soldiers was arrested for a little harmless piracy in the distant stars. Extradition to Arcose was certainly out of the question. But, they did need to prove themselves if they wanted to be treated like anything more than convict soldiers. The last thing they needed was to be branded another disposable group for unusually dangerous missions. Not if they wanted to live long enough to regret their tattoos.
"You need to round up the others, and we can lay low until this--"
Before she had a chance to say any more, and before Jicama--an older warrior with typical black hair, streaked with red dye--was able to make her reply, something caught both of their attention. Someone else, she hoped not one of her men, had set one of the local bars ablaze. It went from a little fire flickering in the corner of her eye to a fiery blaze, lighting up the town in a brilliant shade of orange.
Then, one of the Saiba-men decided to self-destruct to prove a point, causing one of the local storage depots to turn into a cloud of debris, smoke, and... yes, more fire, in a matter of seconds.
Everything was going to hell, and fast.
TWC: 837