Private The Prefsbelt Predicament

[Prefsbelt Commander]

THE PREFSBELT PREDICAMENT

NOVA AVALONIA
The Kuat-Entralla Complex
Time: 1543
Davik Haize | Rin Tohran | Damien Dooku | Morrow

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Nova Avalonia was a shadow of its former self. The city which was once a bustling transport and logistics hub barely stirred. The armies of soldiers and civil servants who maintained the streets and swept them long gone. Leaving the crude facade of civility. Fine townhouses and tenements which once housed visiting dignitaries and viceroys now the only salavation for refugees and the destitute.

The denizens faired no better either. They all looked malnourished and exhausted. Even the guards in their tattered uniforms oozed malaise, the air of exhaustion and defeat hung over the city like a damp mist. There was a grogginess where every step seemed a labour and every eye dreary, starring warily at the newcomers.

The Kuat Entralla Complex as a hive of activity. Shuttles and cargo freighters took off from what had once been stowage yards, guards from the Prefsbelt Authotity meandered about in loose formation. From the office towers which formerly housed the corporate machinery and bureaucracy, conspicuous rifle and repeater blaster barrels strayed out of both open and shattered windows. Like the bristles of a cacti. The upper floors and executive suite however were derelict. There was visibly some severe structural damage which occurred to the upper third of the four towers which dominated the Complex.

The entrance to the complex was walled off, with the barrier being pockmarked with craters from grenades and blaster scorch marks. As well as the mild disfigurement of graffiti across the walls. Some tags. Some profane messages damning Prefsbelt Command and Rausgeber. But the most common genre was clearly genitals. As the quartet approached the complex, a squad of guards swaggered towards them. Rifles at the ready, “If youre here for distribution of rations, your best bet is to try the dispensary.”

Upon explaining they were here as mercenaries the leader of the group, a Corporal delegated one of his privates. The soldier discarded the bottle of cheap liquor he was sipping on with the crunch of a can beneath his matted combat boot. The scruffy sentry lead the group inside the fence and toward the nearest tower. inside of the security wall, dozens of soldiers meandered. Some were stacking pallets, others were counting and taking inventory. But most were smoking and drinking, escaping the discomfort of the heat in tents.

The interior of the tower they were escorted into was at least air conditioned but dilapidated. The receptionists desk had been turned into a makeshift E Webb emplacement, and thee were blaster and scorch marks across the floor. Banners beating the insignia of the Prefsbelt Reclamation Authority flowed from the upper tiers of the atrium. Following the private to the suite of elevators, the three hunters were greeted to a view from the elevator of the broader complex. The Authority housed most of its shuttle fleet here, and there were rows of tents which acted as accomodations for the Nova Avalonia garrison.

Upon arriving on the eighth level the interlopers were escorted through the ruins of what had once been a cubicled Hell. The terminals and work stations were bow totally empty, furnishings burned out and used as kindling for fires or requisitioned for barricades. What replaced the vast workspaces were now crates and crates of ordnance and armaments while quartermasters worked to catalogue them.

The group were lead into a corner office which had ‘Head of Human Resources’ etched into it but has since crudely been scratched out. The private rapt his knuckles twice on the dood before a crisp “Enter!” Was barked from the resident within. The private then opened the door which hissed open.

Sitting at a large desk and with six tablets was a tired looking man. He had deep rings underneath his eyes, and unkempt hair. The man rose from his table and assessed the trio of mercenaries. “New contractors sir. Arrived just today.” The private reported, clicking his heels together and saluting.

“You are relieved private.” The older man declared, before gesturing to a stack of seats stacked in the corner of his office, “Please gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable.” He began to put away some of the tablets on his desk, sliding them into drawers and replacing one of them with a cigar box. “I am Major Ravi Prasad, head of the Reclamation Authority’s mercenary relations office.”

He then took a seat back down, “I take it you four are interested in a job?”