Chapter 2 – Shadows and Secrets

Plant: Alpha Scuti 7, City: Azosa

Tienerra exits an alleyway onto a dimly lit main street, the heavy rainfall soaking the ground and amplifying the scent of decay in the air. A dismal scene unfolds before her eyes as multitudes of species shuffle past, their bodies worn and drained from their struggles. Some are mentally exhausted, others seeking solace in chemicals to numb their pain. Among the crowd, low-class citizens move like ghosts, trying to escape the grim reality while being unaware of the heavy atmosphere that surrounds them.

She moves through the street, her steps slow and steady, when a drunken figure stumbles into her path. With a muffled grunt, he crashes to the ground, his body lifeless, as though the city had already drained him of his spirit. Tienerra glances around—aside from the occasional vehicle that zooms past, the street is eerily quiet. Despite the bustle of life, the air feels suffocating, burdened by a weight of despair that even the torrential rain cannot wash away.

After a short walk, Tienerra stops in front of a rundown shop, its faded sign barely readable, but the name still visible: The Forge. She steps inside, the door creaking slightly as she enters. The shop is cluttered with electronics, cyborg parts, and various mechanical pieces scattered haphazardly across the floor. The scent of oil and rust fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of burning wires.

"Hey, old timer, where you at?" Tienerra calls out, her voice echoing faintly in the empty space. From the back room, she hears the sound of clattering metal followed by a gruff voice, "Ah, if it isn't the little Gecko come to visit!"

A large figure emerges from behind the back door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dimly lit shop as he trips over a stray toolbox, sending a loud clatter across the floor. With a low grunt, he steadies himself and strides forward, his massive bear-shaped frame filling the doorway. The distinct hum and whir of cybernetic prosthetics emanate from his body with every step, like the buzz of machinery in a workshop. His right eye, a smooth piece of polished metal, gleams coldly in the shop's faint light, the only sign of life within its mechanical casing. His left hand, now a finely crafted mechanical appendage, clicks and flexes as he moves. A metallic plate runs from his left breast, curving up to his lower jaw—a patchwork of plates and joints that speaks of countless battles fought and survived. His fur, once a deep brown, is now speckled with the silver sheen of cybernetic implants, the blending of flesh and machine a testament to his resilience. He is an Arcturian—a species known for their imposing strength and indomitable will. Despite his heavy form, there's an almost graceful precision in the way he moves, a silent assurance that he has mastered both man and machine. "What brings you to my humble shop today?" Guisgard asks, his voice a low rumble.

Tienerra, already scanning the shop's inventory, steps closer to the counter. "I need a few things, Guis. A fake cybernetic implant to pass security screening in Alion J184, a new data prism with biometric coding, and some cybernetic skin wraps for radiation and virus protection."

Guisgard pauses for a moment, then taps away on his data pad, checking his inventory. "So, you're heading to the Black Market, huh? The beating heart of corruption itself." His voice carries a hint of amusement, though his eyes are locked on the screen. "I'll gather your things."

As he walks around the store, still looking at his pad, Guisgard continues, "I heard the Severed Blade leader is in Alion, watching over something having to do with a group that returned from the abandoned world of Edax Animae."

Tienerra raises an eyebrow, her mind immediately processing the group name Severed Blade. "That so?" she mutters, her voice laced with curiosity and a touch of suspicion. Her gaze follows Guisgard as he moves behind the counter, rummaging through cluttered shelves and drawers. The soft clink of metal and the rustle of plastic fill the air as he pulls out the requested components.

He sets down a collection of items in front of her, each one catching her eye in turn. First, a small, sleek device with a polished chrome surface—the fake cybernetics that she could use to pass security screenings in Alion J184. It's not much, but the subtle design and fine details of the piece hint at its functionality. Next, a roll of cybernetic skin wraps, glistening faintly with a translucent sheen. The skin wraps, delicate and almost organic in appearance, promise to offer protection from the harsh radiation and unseen viruses of the environment. Each wrap folds softly in on itself, like an extension of the body it will eventually cover. Finally, a small packet of vials—chemically sealed and holding unknown substances—rests beside the items. A quick glance at the vial's contents suggests it may be something to counteract any potential harmful exposure on her journey.

As Guisgard continues to sift through his stock, his hands moving with practiced efficiency, Tienerra absorbs the new information. Her mind flickers back to the name Severed Blade, her thoughts momentarily clouded with a mixture of concern and intrigue. Her fingers trace the cool edges of the components laid out before her, each piece speaking of danger and preparation. The quiet murmur of the shop around her feels distant as the weight of her task grows ever closer, yet the hum of Guisgard's movements keeps her grounded.

"There was a group of archaeologists who recently went there, looking for a pilot to take them to a planet in the 'Forbidden Zone,'" Guisgard adds, now holding a fresh data prism. He walks around the counter, presenting it to her.

Guisgard's voice rumbles, heavy with gravity. "There was a group of archaeologists who recently ventured into the Forbidden Zone, seeking a pilot to take them to that planet." He walks around the corner, his boots echoing softly against the shop's floor, his massive frame a presence even in the dimly lit space. He reaches into a shelf, pulling out a new data prism, its surface gleaming faintly under the flickering overhead lights. Tienerra's hand slips from the folds of her cloak, her fingers emerging like a whisper from the shadows. She presents her palm upward, fingers slightly spread, and Guisgard places the cylindrical device onto the countertop.

"Thanks for the warning," Tienerra replies, her voice low and filled with a hint of uncertainty. "Seems the security may be tight when I arrive there."

Guisgard's large hands hover over a nearby counter, his fingers dexterous despite their mechanical nature. He slides the device over Tienerra's middle finger, pressing a few buttons with a soft click. A gentle hum fills the air as he inserts the data prism into the device. The machine springs to life with a series of beeps and flashes, each step glowing on its screen in order: "Preparing", "Sterilizing", "Extracting", "Converting", "Encrypting", and finally, "Completed." Each process seems mechanical and precise, a stark contrast to the tension that hangs in the air.

Tienerra watches the progress intently, her eyes never leaving the device as it finishes. She removes her finger with a quiet click, and Guisgard, satisfied with the results, hands the data prism back to her. His touch lingers for a brief moment, his large, calloused hand pressing the device into hers. As he releases it, his tone softens, the gruffness in his voice giving way to something more genuine. "Tie, I've known you since your master was my close friend. Please, don't do anything to get yourself caught. I know how much you enjoy causing trouble for others."

Tienerra rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips as she pockets the data prism. "Oh, come on. Can't a dragon have some fun?" she teases, her voice light and playful despite the gravity of her mission. "Also, fuzz face, I'm not your little gecko anymore." She adds the rest of the items to the bag hidden beneath her cloak, the weight of her new supplies settling in with an oddly comforting finality.

But then, with a pause, she stops, skin wrap still in hand. The room, already chilled from the damp rain outside, seems to grow colder, as if the weight of her thoughts has dragged the temperature lower. Her voice is quieter now, almost distant. "Hey, Guis? Were you able to locate any information on my parents and brother yet?"

Guisgard straightens slowly, his posture shifting as he senses the shift in her mood. The once carefree atmosphere tightens with the tension of old wounds. He looks at her, a faint but knowing sadness in his eyes. His large hand, still warm from the steady thrum of his cybernetics, settles on her left shoulder, grounding her as the moment hangs between them. "No direct information about your parents or brother, not yet," he says softly, his voice low with empathy. "But I did manage to get some information on a recent Eltec Nyxian attack." His gaze drifts away, as if searching for the right words. "No concrete location, just that someone—or something—has caught the attention of the Eltec Nyxians."

The word "Nyxian" feels like a strike of lightning, jolting through Tienerra's spine. Her scales prickle, rising like a defense mechanism against the sudden rush of fear. Her breathing catches for just a moment, and the cold shivers course up and down her body. She clenches her jaw, regaining her composure as she forces herself to speak, "How recent and where?"

Guisgard's gaze softens, understanding her fear. He knows the terror the Nyxians instill in even the most seasoned warriors. "It was about six galactic night cycles ago," he continues, his voice somber. "Near Edax Animae." He pauses, watching Tienerra's expression harden as she processes the information. "But there's no concrete location. The Nyxians don't leave much behind. Not even the bugs beneath their feet."

The words weigh heavily on her chest, and her thoughts scatter. Even elite frontline soldiers tremble at the thought of the Nyxians. They're merciless, their attacks swift and devastating. Entire worlds reduced to ashes in their wake. She doesn't want to be caught in the crossfire again, but this may be the lead she's been waiting for.

Tienerra takes a deep breath, her wings unfurling slightly as she forces the tension out of her muscles. She reaches for the skin wrap, slowly slipping it into her bag as the cool metal of the clasp clicks shut. "Thanks for the information, Guis. I'll see you around, and if I have a spare moment, I'll get you a souvenir." The words are light, but there's a sense of finality to them.

Guisgard grunts, his voice gruff but affectionate. "Be careful out there, Tie, and for the love of the Gods, don't bring me anymore of those damn cutesy figures. I run a DAMN underground business."

Tienerra smirks softly, lightly tapping Guisgard on his large fur-covered bicep before turning to leave. "I need to keep adding to your collection. I mean, have you thrown them away?" she teases, a smile playing on her lips.

Guisgard mutters under his breath, his tone a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "Damn things just keep piling up cause of you, but no I haven't thrown them out... Damn collection's almost as cursed as this place..." He shakes his head, not fully paying attention as she heads for the door.

As she opens the door to leave, Tienerra pauses for a moment, turning to wave over her shoulder. Her arm lingers in the air, fingers barely twitching as if reluctant to part, before the door swings closed with a soft, echoing chime, leaving the dimly lit shop in silence.