Rook | HLA Gunman

The Shrike had picked up the distress call that morning. It had taken an hour to reach it's position, and when the HLA crew arrived, it was either already too late, or the ship had been abandoned. No one was answering any hails, and so far, no life signs had been detected. There was nothing to do but suit up and head over to check things out manually.

Rook, as he always did, was the first to volunteer to go. If it was a trap, then he'd be damn glad to be the one to sniff it out. And if he got caught in it? Well, better him than the others. So far, the abandoned freighter was as empty as it seemed, the escape pods mostly missing, but some of the cargo was still intact. Rook had yet to see any sign of danger.

Beside him, as they ventured down another corridor, Geck had his hand on his sidearm, but seemed to be anything but focused, yapping about the typical sort of nonsense only Geck was capable of dreaming up.

“A’right, hear me out,” Geck began, gesturing with his free hand. “Ye ever wonder what happens when a Flyu gets a sunburn? Do they turn purple? Shed like a snake? Wonder if Doc would make the sacrifice. Ye know, fer science.”

Pierce's exasperation over their comm link was palpable enough to slice. “Glad your brain is hard at work on the important questions. Would you please focus on not getting killed?"

"Aye, I'm lookin, lass. nothin' here so far but empty halls and nightmare fuel, but ye can't tell me yer not the least bit curious," Geck replied casually folding his arms behind his head.

Rook grunted. “Not really.”

“Oh, come on, both of ye are shuttin' me down now?” Geck sighed dramatically, putting his hand on his chest. “Alright, fine, ye killjoys. Then how 'bout this, ye think they need extra large Q Tips fer their ears? Big as they are?”

"Oh for- I don't know, Geck, do you?" Pierce shot back.

Geck quickly recoiled, grabbing his pointed ears defensively. The same damn ears he'd had grafted on years ago for the sake of an undercover operation, but had never bothered to get rid of. "Ye don't have to be so snappy, Commander Bossypants! And fer the record, no, I don't- Oh, I guess that answers me question, don't it?"

Rook snorted. "You're an idiot," he said.

"Aye, perhaps, but at least I'm a handsome idiot."

"Geck, for the love of your grandmother's rolling pin, focus!" Reed's voice snapped, his tone taking on an edge of authority from impatience.

"Oh, so now we're invokin' me gran's cookware, are we? Fine, I see how it is!"

They finally arrived at a door and Rook's tricorder began pinging signals from the other side, the sound finally enough to jostle Geck from his indignant rambling.

"What's that yer gettin, big man?" he asked, peering over Rook's arm.

"Life signs," Rook replied, brow furrowed.

"Ye mean to say there's actually someone still alive on this rust bucket?"

"Careful, you two," Reed spoke up. "Could be someone needing help, or could be an ambush. Eyes open."

Rook stashed away the tricorder and nodded to his partner. "Behind me," he ordered. Geck backed up a few steps, holding his weapon at the ready while Rook began attempting to force the door.

Rook never thought he'd be standing here again.

D'Raxin's old compound tucked away in the shit infested underbelly of Colony 2321, long since abandoned and left to rot under the rainfall. It was here that, all those years ago, he'd been a prisoner, drugged up and forced to fight and kill for his master's entertainment and profit margins. It was here he had spent the darkest years of his life, lost in the savara induced blood lust and the haze of sedatives. Here that he'd spilled so much blood, human blood, in the name of a sick sport, and here that he'd finally ended it with spilling D'Raxin's blood.

It was surreal, seeing the old cages, all now wide open, the doors half off their hinges, old scars in the walls and floors from whatever struggle had erupted after he'd run away that night.

The story was still fragmented, but from what they'd managed to piece together, the syndicates of 2321 had jumped at the chance to fill the power vacuum D'Raxin had left behind, resulting in a long and bloody conflict. Eventually, the place was picked clean of assets and the old stooges either killed or poached with better employment offers or delusions of grandeur. It was empty now, just an old husk from an old life.

Rook's comm crackled. "Doing alright down there?" Doc's voice asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Rook replied. He wasn't really sure how he felt. The old memories dredged up, the suffering he and so many others had endured... But it all felt distant now.

"Ye had yer victory lap, then, big man?" Geck piped up next. "Ye've come a long way since ye last set foot on this armpit of a Colony, aye?"

"Hmm." Rook had surprised even himself when he'd said he wanted to come back here. Even more when he'd insisted on going in alone at first. The Shrike had been near by, and the thought had just dawned on him out of nowhere. He thought he'd feel anxious or feel the old panic driven instincts start to creep back in. And sure, he did feel a little antsy, but... after the years of nightmares, flashbacks, muscle tremors, and still the occasional craving for savara, after everything D'Raxin had taken from him... was he finally healed?

He took a few steps forward, and his scanner blipped. He looked down at it. How was that possible?

"Reed, Geck," the big man rumbled into his comm, "...someone's here."

"What? How? Damn it, Rook, fall back. Geck, get in there and back him up." Reed ordered.

"Aye, could be anyone in there," Geck agreed. "I'm on me way!"

Rook didn't answer. Retreating would be the smart thing to do here. But something in him made him step forward again. Something resolute that curled in his gut. That signal could be anyone. A gangster, a looter, a stray human... Maybe it was someone dangerous. Or maybe someone needed help. And if it was the latter... no one else was going to suffer in this place. Not as long as he was was around.