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WildStar: Storm
Chapter 1: Always Shoot First
"Buck Hieronomous Smith."
"Is that the alias I'm using? Man, it's hard to keep track of them all."
"You stand accused of rebellion, insurgency-"
"Aren't they the same thing?"
"And gunrunning."
"Now you're just making stuff up."
"You will be apprehended. You will be tried. You shall be sentenced."
"Well, so much for presumption of innocence."
"You're testing me. It won't work."
Buck smirked. It had worked. The Dominion lackey had let him get under his skin just as surely as beads of sweat were covering the exterior of said skin. Cawley was a warm world at the best of times, and at its equator, it was rare for temperatures to get below 35 degrees. So it amused Buck, explorer, mercenary, and whatever term he preferred to use, to see the Cassians all dressed up in their black military uniforms. Sweating like pigs, and with their flushed, oh-so-perfect skin, looking like pigs as well.
"So come on," the head stooge said, keeping his grip on his laser rifle. "Make this easy on yourself, and everyone around you."
From his table, back against the wall, Buck glanced around the cantina. Half of the patrons were keeping their heads down. The other half were keeping their heads down while glancing out of the corner of their eyes, as if to say "go for it."
"Come with you," Buck murmured, returning his gaze to the soldier in front of him. "Just like that? You're kidding, right?"
"Does it look like I'm kidding?"
"No, it looks like you're ugly."
The Cassian opened his mouth. What he would have said, Buck never found out. Because it was at this point that he drew out his pistol and shot the man in the chest, killing him.
"Oops."
Some people screamed. Some people gasped. The four other soldiers raised their weapons. Kicking his table across the floor, Buck downed two of them.
"Fire! Fire!"
To their credit, the two Cassians still on their feet did just that. What they couldn't be given credit for was actually hitting their target. Not as Buck ran to the side avoiding their initial bout of fire while returning his own. One soldier was hit. As he fell, as his rifle kept firing, his comrade fell down as well, spasaming from the laser fire at point blank range.
"Ooh, nasty."
The other Cassians had started getting up by this point. Seeing Buck, they opened fire.
They missed.
What had happened was that their foe had utilized spellsinging, opening a short-range wormhole to get behind them. So he appeared behind one. The one who was promptly knocked out with a blow to the head. The other turned round to fire.
"You suck, you know that?"
In a few seconds, the Cassian was disarmed. The next, he was on the ground. And the second after that, the soldier had two mag pistols pointed at his face and a laser rifle that was out of his reach.
"Now, you see, this is where I can do a few things," Buck smirked. "The first is killed you."
The Cassian's flushed skin went pale.
"Or, I can tell you to crawl back to whatever invertebrate you serve and tell you to tell them to back off."
The Cassian seemed to like that idea.
"But then you might send more after me, so I'll just knock you out and get off-planet. Capiche?"
"Ca…what?"
Buck hit the soldier with the butts of his pistols, knocking him out.
"Glad we agree."
Buck looked around the cantina. The cantina looked back at him. Every face, every slab of stone, even the newscaster on the flickering flatscreen seemed to be looking in his direction.
"Sorry about that," the mercenary said, walking up to the bar. "How much do I owe you?"
"You…you…"
"This should cover it."
Pulling out a sack of coins, Buck tossed it over to its intended recipient. Upon opening it, the bartender's eyes, once filled with dread, now filled up with wonder.
"This is…is…"
"Glad you like it. See ya."
With that, the bounty hunter started walking out.
He exited only after picking up his sarsaparilla.
"What, just happened?!"
"Well, Sir, as I explained-"
"It was a rhetorical question!"
Sweat trickled down the soldier's brow, and Octavius doubted it was due to the heat. His office was climate controlled. The building they were in was air conditioned. The only reason Private Trajan would be sweating would be due to fear. Fear that he had good reason to feel, Octavius thought.
"Five soldiers," the commander mused, leaning forward on his desk. "Three of them dead, including Lieutenant Actium."
"Sir, I-"
"You made me look like a fool," the commander continued. "You failed. The people saw you fail. It's a failure that ultimately comes back to me."
"Sir, you weren't there, he-"
"I don't have to be there!" Octavius yelled, leaning over and grabbing the private by his collar. "Do you understand that?"
Trajan nodded as best he could.
"Good," Octavius said, releasing his grip. "Now get out of my sight."
The commander rested his face in his hands. He didn't look up to see if Trajan saluted, or how fast he walked. Slowly, he unbuttoned his collar with one hand while placing a finger on an intercom with the other.
"Send Master Sergeant Augustus in."
The hand left the intercom, as did the one around his collar. Both hands returned to the sides of his chair, which Octavius spun around to face the window.
There's a storm coming.
Dark clouds were on the horizon. Storms were common in this part of the world. Yet Cawley remained arid. Numerous scientists had theorized how and why there wasn't more flora and fauna on the planet, one that was perfectly suited for carbon-based life, but Octavius didn't particularly care. He was a Cassian. The pinnacle of intelligent life, carbon-based or otherwise. A member of the Dominion, the largest galactic empire the galaxy had ever seen, extending from Cassus itself to out here on the Fringe. And more wretched carbon-based life, life that still called itself "human" instead of adopting the "Cassian" moniker was making his life miserable. As they had been doing for decades.
"Master Sergeant Augustus, Sir."
Octavius remained in his chair. His office was on the second floor of the building. He couldn't see the plebes rolling around in the dust. It was a perk he was grateful for.
"Sir?"
"Take a seat, Sergeant."
Octavius remained facing the window, though he could hear his subordinate take the seat opposite his desk.
I hate it here.
He turned around. Seeing Augustus's scarred face was more pleasant than the blue skies and dark clouds of Cawly.
"Sir," Augustus said, lowering his head slightly, showing the stiches that criss-crossed his brow.
Augustus looked a lot like him, Octavius reflected. Darker hair, more scars, an ocular implant for his left eye, but otherwise, they were kindred spirits. Or at least, that was his own view. Men like Augustus never gave out any opinions of their own.
"You know what happened earlier today," the commander said, pressing another button on his desk to reveal a bottle of tetrarch and two glasses. "And you know that it's reached the stage where it's become intolerable."
Augustus remained silent. He took the glass Octavius offered him, but otherwise made no comment.
"I need it stopped. This "Buck" is just a gunrunner, a rebel, a plebe. I wouldn't mind that too much if he didn't go around showing that to every other human on this ball of dirt."
"His actions show confidence," the sergeant said. "Would you call it overconfidence?"
"I call it an embarrassment." Octavius sipped the tetrarch, letting its sweet taste mix with his bitterness to produce a new flavour. "But if I had to answer you, no, it isn't overconfidence. Because so far we've done nothing to make it seem like he's overconfident. If a man can take out five of our soldiers in less than a minute, then he has every right to be confident."
"And you? Where is your confidence?"
Octavius took another sip. Augustus didn't give opinions. He gave statements and questions. He wished he could give answers as well, but as Octavius supposed, he was the commander of the garrison. The only people he answered to were light years away.
Taking a last sip of the tetrarch, Octavius stood up and looked back out the window. The storm clouds were getting closer. Otherwise, the township of Catbird looked the same. Children scuffled in the dirt. A trio of soldiers walked down the street. All safe. All normal. On the surface at least.
"This is the third run-in our criminal's had with us," Octavius said eventually. "He's been here that long."
"Doing what?" Augustus asked.
"Smuggling, gunrunning…trading, really. And…" The commander trailed off. He raised a hand, rubbing his finger and thumb together as his starship of thought went into hypderdrive. "Money. That's what it all comes down to. Money."
Octavius turned back to Augustus.
"Cold cash, like what he paid the barkeep with," the commander said. We can't trace that. But electronic transactions…yes." He sat back down. "Maybe he is overconfident. We single out any electronic transactions made from this dirthole, we may have our man."
"And how many is that?" the sergeant asked.
"Not many, given the tech level of this world's citizens." He leant forward. "Our man's a smuggler. He can cover his tracks, we'd have a hard time tracing any accounts of his. But if we trace the site of such transactions…we may have our man."
Augustus nodded. He stood up.
"I'll alert our analysts," he said. "I'll be ready to move as soon as we detect anything out of the ordinary."
Octavius watched him salute. He watched him walk out. When he closed the door, he poured himself another glass of tetrarch. He swilled the golden liquid around before swallowing it.
It didn't taste so bitter this time.
A/N
So, this is a story based on the upcoming MMORPG titled WildStar. While I don't gravitate towards MMOs in terms of gameplay, that aside, I've certainly liked what I've seen. Every so often, it's nice to have something that doesn't take itself too seriously, and with great humour and colourful characters, certainly WildStar has that in spades. Anyway, inspired a multi-chaptered story.