January 27th, 2416 Council Space Disaikar The right tune. The right tune... Ah, there it was. She pressed her finger on the selection, and it began to play. The smooth, electric tunes began to fill her ears. It was something to calm the nerves before the shit hit the fan here, although her hands still trembled softly in anticipation; perhaps even fear. She hadn't done anything like this in years. The last time she actually accepted a bounty was when she was in the Nevada System; those many years ago. That was when Earth was still fresh in her mind, when her rage, her warrior spirit was still alive and well. Her targets, alien or human, were no match for a young, violent veteran of one of the greatest conflicts in human history. Yet, what about now? Could she just walk in there and commit the act? She was getting older... Hell, her thirty fourth birthday was coming up in two months. She'd killed people as recently as a month ago, but, it was different. That was self-defense. Reaction. Could she go in there and kill this man? Especially someone as skilled as he? The money was drying up though, and work in Antares was slowing down. She'd read the dossier over many times. Nigel Uriarch, a low-end weapons dealer in the fringes of what had been Antares, now operating in Council Space. His only serious crime was selling weapons to the terrorists that had attacked that research facility on the news a week or so ago, where James had worked, and the Council wanted him dead for it. Well, dead or alive, but alive was a hassle. It was three thousand for his head, and that was enough. Thankfully security wasn't tight here; just a few gangsters from the nearby slums a few miles east being payed little more than what might account for minimum wage. She counted three earlier, and they were doing rounds around the two story log cabins outer perimeter. Small wooden fence around the perimeter, and a barn out back where Uriarch kept his weapons. She lowered her binoculars, and brushed some of her dirty, dark brown hair to the side. Movement from the house had ended hours ago, and she was growing weary just sitting here in the dirt. She stashed her binoculars on her belt, right beside her PDA, which still played that sweet, sweet tune of the night. No more waiting and watching; it was time to move. With a deep breath, she quietly clambered to her feet and began to approach the household; making her way up from the base of the purple, grassy hill on this far away, semi-civilized rock. She racked the slide back on her nine millimeter handgun; the metal cold and almost moist in the dark. humid night. She was quiet; sliding carefully through the well-kept lawn, through the loose gravel. She didn't want to attract any attention quite yet.
Helmet on. Check. Weapon loaded. Check. Heads up display. Check. Everything was good to go. The carnage could begin. Her boots dug tightly into the flowery pink grass; enveloping her as she settled beside the little, bare wooden fence that surrounded the houses perimeter. Her fingers were trembling, and she struggled to snap the silencer onto her pistol. She bit her lip tightly. The anticipation was driving her insane. She set the weapon down in the grass and quickly pulled up her heads up display. Track two, track two... Yes. The music began to fill the confines of her helmet, and she couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief as the slick, electric beats began to fill her mind; began to consume her body and fill her veins. Too old to kill? Too late to get back in the game? What had she even been thinking? What bullshit that was. She could take the whole planet on, if she wanted to. Her gloved hand wrapped around the pistols frame; her index finger settling just beside the trigger, and she took a peek over the side of the fence. Three slumdog gangsters from Disaikars main settlement were standing by. Two were smoking joints and have a chat; about what, she didn't care or want to know. The last one was actually doing his job, and peering out into the distance in her direction. His sub-plasma gun was at his side. Time to move. She stood, weapon raised. The shock on the gangsters face was almost enjoyable. Two muffled cracks later, and he dropped to the well-kept lawn; his brains and blood splattering the beautiful, otherwordly grass. "Oh fuck," the voice of one of the other gangsters rose. One of her shots had missed and had slammed into the side of the house. God fucking damn it. She slipped over the fence and slowly approached the house; breathing hard as she fired shot after shot at the dazed, confused, untrained gangsters. One grabbed this throat; gagging on his own blood and teeth as one round tore through his larynx, the other smashing into his cheek and shattering his jaw. Six rounds left. The last gangster finally managed to yank his weapon up; the fear and surprise clear as day on his face. He managed to let off a string of shots at her with his sub-plasma weapon. They whizzed by and slammed into the trees behind her; setting their vibrant green trunks and wondrous flowery leaves ablaze with their superheated energy. She feels fear in her gut. She fires twice; both miss. She drops to her knee, preparing for a better shot just as the gangster begins to reload. He wasn't thinking about his situation; he was too focused on putting a new charge in his weapon that he didn't even feel the last two rounds blow his brains and his ribcage out his back. He slumps against the house; exhaling one last time as he slides to the ground. He leaves a trail of blood behind on the wall. A heavy exhale escapes her; fogging up her helmets visor as the battle goes quiet around her. Just as foggy as her mind was. With fear. With anger. Was she really doing this for the money? She inspected her pistol; pulling the slide back and inspecting its innards. One round left, and she could still hear the last gangster gagging on his own blood and bones over the crackling fire growing behind her. She released the slide, and began to approach the house. She told herself it was for the money, maybe. Maybe, it was something more. Some deep rooted hatred of herself? Of what happened to Ziggy? To Terra, and Earth and Michael and the Gardens and Katune and her life? She stood over the dying man. He writhed around on the floor; blood bubbling out of his mouth and his throat. His terrified eyes snapped to her, and she looked back, although he couldn't see her own. Maybe she just wanted to hurt these people so that they would feel her pain. Feel her misery. Yeah, that seemed right. She raises her pistol and points it at him. He pleads silently for his life. He was feeling her misery alright. A soft crack fills the air. The dying man goes quiet.
