Goddess
The Wall, Denon
The Depths
The apartment was pitifully small, fit only for a single occupant. Dim lighting obscured the claustrophobic corners, but failed to make it seem more vast than it was. It only looked darker and grimier.
Ayreon stepped inside, his shoes sinking into a pink shag carpet covered in black oily stains. There was very little furniture, and all of it was obviously scavenged from castoffs and garage sales, covered in years’ worth of wear and tear. But the placement of each article was odd. A big dining table was set up in the middle of the living room, accompanied by an ottoman instead of chairs or a sofa; a bookshelf stood in the kitchen, upon which were displayed a wide array of spices still sealed in plastic wrap, and a lamp meant to be placed on a table was instead sitting on the floor. In other words, it looked like the place had been furnished by a robot who didn’t fully understand how human beings lived.
Before he could properly investigate the residence, Ayreon’s hearing filtered out the background noise of heavy machinery, picking out fast approaching footsteps in the corridor. He quickly looked around for a hiding place, reluctantly choosing the closet. The door opened mere milliseconds after he shut himself away, finding it mercifully devoid of both clothing and hangers.
Through the voyeuristic panels of the closet door, he saw a droid enter the apartment. Clad in a loose gray gown, it was feminine in design and coding, but lacked the realism of an HRD like himself. The stylized machine-woman was made of colored metals—wine, eggshell, plum, aquamarine—and covered in wires, including a mane of tubing which crowned her head in lieu of hair. Something about her disturbed him, or at least gave him pause. Whether it was the vestigial sexuality of the hourglass figure and the long eyelashes which framed her unblinking blue-within-blue eyes, or the fact that she bothered to wear clothing, he couldn’t pinpoint any particular reason for such a reaction.
As she walked past him toward the kitchen, his eye was drawn toward a second figure still standing by the front door. A man wearing a leather jacket, an ion pistol in his hand, watched as the droid rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets, most of which were totally empty.
“Hey,” he snapped. “Enough of this chit. You know exactly where it is.”
The droid paused, then crouched down to access a cabinet to the left of the filthy sink. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small package.
“Put it on the counter,” the man ordered. “Now move over to that closet and stay there.”
The droid did as she was told, backing away toward the closet door behind which Ayreon stood. He didn’t have time to puzzle over this stroke of bad luck, however. Pulling out his needler, he flung the door open, took aim at the very surprised man, and pulled the trigger. The thug went down, rendered unconscious by a tranquilizer dart in his neck.
Startled, the droid seized his ion blaster and pointed it at the intruder. “Wait!” Ayreon exclaimed, holding his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”
She clearly had a well-developed sense of self-preservation. Thankfully, she hesitated. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“My name is Ayreon,” he replied. “Are you Andromache?”
Rather than answering, she asked another question. “What do you want? Why were you in the closet?”
“The closet was a quick hiding place. I’m here to help you. Messala has put a bounty on your head. If you don’t get offworld soon, you’ll be dealing with much worse than this.” He nodded toward the snoring thug. "What was he doing here, anyway?"
"I owe his boss money. It isn't easy getting steady employment when you're built for one purpose and one purpose only." She scrutinized him. “How do you know about Messala?”
“My associate and I are investigating him. You may be potential evidence—but don't worry, we aren't going to deactivate you. If anything, we just need your testimony.” He paused, hearing noise in the corridor again. “Now isn’t a good time for questions. We need to leave now.”
Andromache grabbed the package from the counter before following him out of the apartment. At his questioning glance, she replied, "It's just credits. All that I have left." It was obvious that she didn’t trust him, but at least she was complying. For now.
Ayreon opened up a comm channel to his associate, Bithia. “We’re on our way. Is everything ready?”
“Negative!” Her response was uttered in agitated low tones. “Do not return to the ship. Location has been compromised. Find other transportation. I’ll catch up with you later!”
The line went dead. Taking it in stride, Ayreon glanced at Andromache. “It looks like things are about to get a little hectic. Stick close to me.”
Furch Lund
|
Cassus Akovin
|
Kranak Vizsla
| Open
The Depths
The apartment was pitifully small, fit only for a single occupant. Dim lighting obscured the claustrophobic corners, but failed to make it seem more vast than it was. It only looked darker and grimier.
Ayreon stepped inside, his shoes sinking into a pink shag carpet covered in black oily stains. There was very little furniture, and all of it was obviously scavenged from castoffs and garage sales, covered in years’ worth of wear and tear. But the placement of each article was odd. A big dining table was set up in the middle of the living room, accompanied by an ottoman instead of chairs or a sofa; a bookshelf stood in the kitchen, upon which were displayed a wide array of spices still sealed in plastic wrap, and a lamp meant to be placed on a table was instead sitting on the floor. In other words, it looked like the place had been furnished by a robot who didn’t fully understand how human beings lived.
Before he could properly investigate the residence, Ayreon’s hearing filtered out the background noise of heavy machinery, picking out fast approaching footsteps in the corridor. He quickly looked around for a hiding place, reluctantly choosing the closet. The door opened mere milliseconds after he shut himself away, finding it mercifully devoid of both clothing and hangers.
Through the voyeuristic panels of the closet door, he saw a droid enter the apartment. Clad in a loose gray gown, it was feminine in design and coding, but lacked the realism of an HRD like himself. The stylized machine-woman was made of colored metals—wine, eggshell, plum, aquamarine—and covered in wires, including a mane of tubing which crowned her head in lieu of hair. Something about her disturbed him, or at least gave him pause. Whether it was the vestigial sexuality of the hourglass figure and the long eyelashes which framed her unblinking blue-within-blue eyes, or the fact that she bothered to wear clothing, he couldn’t pinpoint any particular reason for such a reaction.
As she walked past him toward the kitchen, his eye was drawn toward a second figure still standing by the front door. A man wearing a leather jacket, an ion pistol in his hand, watched as the droid rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets, most of which were totally empty.
“Hey,” he snapped. “Enough of this chit. You know exactly where it is.”
The droid paused, then crouched down to access a cabinet to the left of the filthy sink. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small package.
“Put it on the counter,” the man ordered. “Now move over to that closet and stay there.”
The droid did as she was told, backing away toward the closet door behind which Ayreon stood. He didn’t have time to puzzle over this stroke of bad luck, however. Pulling out his needler, he flung the door open, took aim at the very surprised man, and pulled the trigger. The thug went down, rendered unconscious by a tranquilizer dart in his neck.
Startled, the droid seized his ion blaster and pointed it at the intruder. “Wait!” Ayreon exclaimed, holding his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”
She clearly had a well-developed sense of self-preservation. Thankfully, she hesitated. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“My name is Ayreon,” he replied. “Are you Andromache?”
Rather than answering, she asked another question. “What do you want? Why were you in the closet?”
“The closet was a quick hiding place. I’m here to help you. Messala has put a bounty on your head. If you don’t get offworld soon, you’ll be dealing with much worse than this.” He nodded toward the snoring thug. "What was he doing here, anyway?"
"I owe his boss money. It isn't easy getting steady employment when you're built for one purpose and one purpose only." She scrutinized him. “How do you know about Messala?”
“My associate and I are investigating him. You may be potential evidence—but don't worry, we aren't going to deactivate you. If anything, we just need your testimony.” He paused, hearing noise in the corridor again. “Now isn’t a good time for questions. We need to leave now.”
Andromache grabbed the package from the counter before following him out of the apartment. At his questioning glance, she replied, "It's just credits. All that I have left." It was obvious that she didn’t trust him, but at least she was complying. For now.
Ayreon opened up a comm channel to his associate, Bithia. “We’re on our way. Is everything ready?”
“Negative!” Her response was uttered in agitated low tones. “Do not return to the ship. Location has been compromised. Find other transportation. I’ll catch up with you later!”
The line went dead. Taking it in stride, Ayreon glanced at Andromache. “It looks like things are about to get a little hectic. Stick close to me.”



Here is the link to the bounty listing. While this thread is aimed at Darkwire characters due to the setting, it's open for anyone to join. This will be an exciting action-oriented thread, but I ask that writers refrain from doing anything that might derail the main story. Don't come crashing through a wall frothing at the mouth with a nuclear bomb strapped to your back. Thanks and have fun!