Loot
I love a good battle.
No, not a battle, as in, taking part in a battle or being near one. Not really a battle as in watching one either, but I'm all for catching the latest holo. No, what I really mean when I say is that I love a battle, is the feeling I get when walking through the aftermath of one. True, it's got the smell of death. True, there's a chance that some poor sods are left alive, and may try to take out their frustrations upon me. But y'know what? It doesn't matter. Because battles provide a resource in abundance that nothing else can, and that's loot.
Lots of it.
Some adventurers take part in this process themselves. Y'know, take on quests, slaughter aliens with guns, get credits, go back to their employers to get more credits, use that credits to get better weapons, and so on. Oh, and they level up, though how they measure that is unknown to me. I wouldn't have thought experience, strength, and all that hoodoo was something that could be quantified, but hey, what do I know? And frankly, what do I care? I'm here for the loot those heroes miss. For the weapons they ignore, for the credits they look over, for everything a vulture like me lives off. Yes, that's what some people call me – a vulture, picking off the flesh of the dead. Personally, I like to think of myself as a magpie – still got the whole black feathers and sharp eye thing, but I'm more of a collector. Inconspicuous. Liable to tap people over the head if I'm spooked by them, but otherwise, present no threat.
Except for people like the poor sod below in the ground, crying for his mother. I cut his throat, ending his misery, and steal what ammo and credits he has, and move on.
Most of the casualties in this battle are done by heroes. Or what people call heroes. Personally I think of them as lucky gits who can better themselves through levelling and whatnot, turning such battles in their favour. After that they take their ship and go from planet to planet. It's like life's a game to them, just grinding for gear and experience. But for me, this is my life. To benefit off the dead. Human, alien, monster, demon…come one, come all. And now that I-
"Help…me…"
And now that I see another poor sod, I have to obey the dictates of my life and silence the git. If he's lucky, I'll only knock him out.
"You…there…help…"
"Alright, alright," I say. "You…"
I stop moving. I stop talking. The man keeps lying there in the dust and blood, most of it his own. I stop not because of that fact, but because he's not a common grunt.
He's a hero.
Alright, again, "hero" is a term I think is overused, but I'll stick with it for now. His armour has got shining blue lights, and as we all know, shiny armour is good armour. His muscles are like something out of a holo, he's got a gun that's as big as his body, and lowering my visor, I see that his credits extend to the hundreds of thousands. This guy's got gear. This guy's got XP. This guy's got loot. And by the galaxy, it could be mine. Provided he doesn't kill me.
"What are you waiting for?" he whispers. "Help me…"
"Yeah, um…" I rummage around for a potion. That's right, it's the far future and we're using potions, what do you want from me? I pull one out. "Will this do?"
"Come on, that isn't gonna heal me!"
"Well, take it or leave it," I say. I hold it in front of his face. "Come on, y'know you want it."
The hero glares at me. He's on to my little plan, I think. But I can't just attack him. He's a hero, and heroes have a way of surviving anything the universe can throw at them. Yeah, he's wounded, but given how much blood there is, by all rights, he should be dead.
Slowly, he takes the potion. Slowly, he drinks it. Slowly, some of the colour comes back to his face.
"Thanks," he says. "So, why are you here? You a soldier?"
"Look at me pal," I say, tapping my chest. "No uniform."
"Oh. So you're a-"
"Vulture."
He stares at me. I stare back.
"That's right, a vulture," I declare. "It's what people like me are called. We go in and loot the bodies of the fallen. Like you. Only we don't do the killing."
"Cowards, then," the hero says.
"Yeah, I guess," I say. "Of course, cowardice keeps us alive."
"Men like me keep you alive!"
"Oh of course, you fight off everything from aliens, to monsters, to demons, how silly of me," I sneer. "So tell me Mister Muscles, how's that worked out for you?"
"Just fine," he says, getting to his feet and drawing his gun. "But for you? Not so mu…mu…mmm…"
And then he falls down again. And coughing. And spasming.
"You're a hero, and killing you would be nearly impossible," I say. "That's why I gave you one of my special potions."
"Sp…sp…"
"Oh, it helps you recover health at first. Then it starts tearing you apart from the inside. I figure since I can't kill you from the outside, killing you from the inside will have to do."
The hero doesn't have an answer to that. He's too busy screaming.
"So yeah, I do kill sometimes," I say. "But I only pick up the job that others have left. And after all, if there wasn't loot in this for you too, why were you here in the first place?"
The hero doesn't answer. He's too busy being dead.
"That's what I thought."
After giving him a quick nudge, I set to work. Gun, check. Credits, check. Every one of his items, check. Looks like a good day for this magpie.
Such a good day I may hang around awhile longer. Because I know the truth. It's all a game. Get credits, get loot, repeat the cycle.
All I do is insert myself into the circle every so often.