Private Special Delivery: A Deadly Game

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Axxila, Outer Rim Territories

Towering smokestacks punctured the skyline of Ralia, releasing plumes of grey that merged with the clouds, while the clamour of bustling streets filled the air with the sound of progress, incessant beeps and the hum of repulsorlift engines rattling in the skylanes above and below. Wherever one looked, the city flowed with relentless activity, a desire never to stop, to never settle. It was remarkable, as it was tiring to look at it. The vibrant pulse of a world constantly on the edge of greatness, or tearing itself apart.

Today, it was a little closer to the latter.

Itzhal Volkihar turned his gaze from the inverted skyline, where dagger-sharp rooftops gleamed in the artificial light, and skyscrapers dangled from the endless horizon of durasteel that covered the ceiling, metallic stalacities frozen in time, ignored by the civilians that walked the streets below. Never once questioning the disaster that could occur if the intertwined mess of repulsorlifts and gravity manipulations faltered, perhaps, though it was the only way they coped? Personally, he couldn't help but feel the relief in his stomach as he entered the cargo hangar; the grime-ridden walls, splattered in an unfortunate shade of crimson, restricted to a more sane grasp of reality.

The tangy, metallic scent of blood hung thickly in the air, clinging to the grates of the air-condition units in the walls, chugging along with slow laberous breaths that caught on the dust clogging their filters; yet, their was no sign of the bodies that must have spilt gallons, only the trail of crimson that sprawled along the floor and walls, marked with metal plates, torn to ribbons by serrated points that could have been archraic vibroblades, or terrible teeth. His boots stepped around a crater, the scraped remains of an armoured torso embedded within, their limbs twisted inwards—at least for those few that remained—there wasn't much of the battered battle droid.

In the centre of the room, an old Correllian model, a medium-sized freighter in an ugly wedge shape, was dropped to a set of three standing legs; sparks fluttered from the noose of cables that hung from the absence of the fourth.

"I hope you've got something for me," Itzhal remarked, his visor panning slowly across the crime scene.

Tags: Athena Faar​

 

[Athena Faar]

​

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar

Athena was raised in the jungles of Haarun Kal. She requested to Protect regions more rural and remote within the expanding empire. So the ecumenopolis of Axxila was unsettling. The bizarre layout of the city-planet didn't help. The place was chaos. But the boss pulled her into this one with him, and Athena complied. The old Aruetti soldier in her knew to follow orders.

There were reports of something terrible happening in one of the older docking complexes, a small one used by smaller cargo vessels. Details were scarce. No one seemed to have seen anything... and lived.

Itzhal had directed Athena to enter the cargo hanger from another entrance, one higher that opened to a metal grate walkway half-way up the high walls that ran along all four walls and overlooked the open bay. Several rooms sat perched on beams along the walkway. The place was old, or maybe poor upkeep just made it appear so.

The dragon rider stepped out onto the walkway, peering down over the rail at the freighter below. She spotted Itzhal, as well as the various dark spattered stains that puddled in the duracrete and metal plate flooring. Then she moved along the walkway to one of the rooms. The door was battered, hanging askew, a large portion marred as if crushed between an arch of teeth. Whether metal or otherwise she couldn't say.

Instinctivly she drew a blaster.

Inside was more blood. A window looking out into the bay was broken. The walls, the floor, several crates and a console of controls were coated in dark blood. There was debris scattered about, and Athena was sure some of it was organic. But there was nothing large enough to identify as such.

Itzhal's voice crackled in his comms. "If you mean wall to wall blood and shredded...everything. Then yes, I got something for you." She replied sardonically.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Axxilia, Outer Rim Territories

The grated cross-sections of the walkway rattled with the firm press of Athena's footsteps, radiating suppressed displeasure with every clack of her treaded boots, drilling deep into the metallic surface, before she continued onwards. Shrouded in a familiar shade of black and red—the ideals of justice and honouring a parent emblazoned upon her armour—a common sight amongst protectors, one that Itzhal himself wore as well, although the exact meaning to him had been adapted over time.

Itzhal's steps were quieter, muffled by the extended stretch of durasteel that served as solid footing for his treaded boots, despite the sleek pools of blood that shimmered under the faded lights, surrounded by metal warped and pitted by the impression of flailing limbs and terrible tears that had rended the surface with deep gashes. Carefully, the Morellian stepped around another slick mark imprinted in the floor, more akin to an oilspill, if not for the way it gleamed crimson under the light. He followed the next mark, a vivid imprint of a person's back, splattered where the impact had first occurred—mere inches from the fourth leg of the Freighter—and gradually losing definition until it became nothing more than a faint smear that ended near his feet.

Encircled by a halo of frayed wires and twisted metal, the gaping hole in the Freighter's hull flickered with vibrant tendrils of livewire crackling between the gaps, exposing the ravaged remnants of the corridor beyond. Ceramic plates designed to soften the metallic frame were crumpled inwards, exposing support struts snapped like small twigs, shattered shards glittering between the sharp cracks of lightning where they littered the floor.

Staring past the hole in the ship, Itzhal watched as Athena disappeared beyond the threshold of one of the doors, half-clamped to what remained of the wall. A few seconds later, he strode towards the landing ramp, losing sight of the doorway above.

Tilted at an angle, the right side of the landing ramp was wedged further into the frame of the door, requiring it to be climbed rather than walked upon as Itzhal mantled his way into what would have been the central loading bay. Dozens of crates lined the sides of the walls, once secured by straps, now snapped and left to hang loose in the dim light cast by a cracked lighting rig above.

"Remarkable as such a discovery may be," Itzhal stated, his voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm, his gaze travelled across the crates and towards the fragmented frame that lingered in the centre of the loading bay, surrounded by splatters of blood. "I was more intending for something directly useful to the case."

With each deliberate step, he drew nearer to the front of the crate, its surface lined with interlocking plates of reinforced metal that formed an enormous security door, fortified by thick rows of dark grey metal bars clamped close. Adjacent to the door, a small control panel sat dormant, its vibrant buttons attached to a dull, unresponsive screen. As he stepped around the corner of the massive structure, a previously unseen rend on the other side of the crate captured his attention.

"I think I've found what was storing the cause of all this."

Tags: Athena Faar​

 

[Athena Faar]

​

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar

Stepping out of the small room, Athena looked over the railing to the bay below, watching Itzhal in his ancient beskar'gam ascend the freighter's loading ramp and disappear inside. She laughed sardonically at Itzhal's response. " Judging by the nature of the damage, it was not a someone, but a something that tore through here."

Athena's helmet turned to look down the elevated walkway. She noted a the evidence leading from the room away down the catwalk, where the grating and railing were dented and bent in places. She tread in that direction. It was curious that they had neither any sign of the cuplrit, and minimal remains of victims.

Two more rooms set along the catwalk ahead, but their doors seemed unbreached. A quick poke of her head inside found nothing of significance and no sign of damage or victims. But along the walkway, the evidence continued. Blood-slick patches on the railing, kinks in rails and supports, and a curious spot of viscous near transparent goo dripping from the grating to the floor below.

The cryptic voice of the 'old man' crackled in her comms. When her boss mentioned finding something, Athena was at the top of the stairs that lead down to the bay floor. At its head was remains of a labor droid, dismembered, its chassis savaged, lying in a pool of oils and hydraulic fluid.

Athena descended the stairs and crossed the floor to the vessel, seeing the same pools of blood, the same damage to the ship that the Morellian had seen. The extent of the damage to the ship may not have been the most gruesome find, but it was the most disturbing.

She too entered the ship, where Athena found Itzhal standing before a large reinforced crate. Its damage was almost shocking, attesting to something savage and powerful was once held within.

"What have we got running around here?" She asked.