The hunt is on, everyone's chasing
Everyone's chasing a shot
A shot rings out, nobody wants it
Nobody wants it to stop

Call Them Brothers – Regina Spektor


March 21, 2960; The Spider's Palace, Tangled Shore

A few conversations paused as a new ship flew into the landing bay, though not for long. It was Cabal hauler- dime-a-dozen. There were two others like it already in the bay. Most people looked it over and gave it a dismissal before it even landed. There were card games that needed watching, deals that required focus, drinks to be enjoyed.

The landing turned even more eyes away. It was a far sight from the smooth, feather-light touchdowns most professional Psion pilots made. The ship settled, sure, but unevenly. It kicked up a cloud of dust. The systems shut off in a disjointed manner- one engine, then the other, like the neural controls were malfunctioning. It was clear why when the ship's passengers stepped out: a motley crew, not a Psion among them.

First out was a Human woman in Hunter's garb- a calf-length green cape and a long knife on her belt. She wore a holster for a sidearm and a strap for a rifle that were absent (the Palace did not allow firearms, at least not ones carried openly). She scrutinized the crowd with sharp eyes. The ones in the crowd watching scrutinized her right back.

But she stepped aside, making way for another Hunter. This one was more recognizable- black-caped and blue-horned, the Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6 was hard to mistake. Normally the presence of Vanguard leadership would be cause for concern, but Cayde-6 was known well around these parts. He enjoyed a good drink every now and again- who didn't? And he turned his eyes from the dirty dealings that most official Guardians would protest. In return, he was granted a grudging acceptance- or at least a stowing of outright hostility.

Following him was another Exo, this one without any obvious Guardian wear. He was, in fact, altogether unremarkable. Just another human-shaped robot of average height, a blue body with yellow markings and turquoise optics. He didn't even pause to take in the scene, he just walked forward like he belonged.

Following him, an apparently mortal man- though a tough case. Scars marked his grizzled face and his nose was crooked from being broken before. He looked like a fighter. His short frame was packed with dense muscles and his knuckles were bumpy with boxing scars. Though, oddly, he put on no airs of aggression. In fact he looked very done with the bar already, though keen eyes wouldn't miss the way he scanned the room, automatically picking out and labeling threats.

Following him was another Human dressed in working clothes. Her poncho hood was secured solidly over her dark hair. Her boots and gloves were well-worn from use and she carried herself with a confidence not seen in civilians. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the bar (a sign of a new fish) but didn't hesitate when the others started moving.

Last out was an Awoken woman- another recognizable figure. A few rumbles sounded in the crowd. The Queen's Wrath was not a welcome sight in the Reef's underbelly. But although she was dressed in a Corsair's getup, she didn't seem to be here on official business. Cayde-6 joked with her. She rolled her eyes (or eye, singular, in this case), but she fell in with the rest of the group, strolling casually along.

By all appearances, this group was just a few friends out to drink and gamble a little. Perhaps a group to keep an eye on, but no need for alarm. A few of the shadier deals were wrapped up in a hurry or moved into back rooms, but most patrons didn't work themselves up over it.

The group walked in like it was just another day, splitting up into two tables when a large booth wasn't available. They ordered drinks and settled in for some comfortable conversation.

Twenty minutes later, the bar was chaos.


If you had asked Cayde-6 about the crew he'd rustled up- three random mortals, a wild Hunter, and the Queen's Wrath? What kind of Baron-hunting crew was that?- he would have given you this rundown:


The goal was to fit in, ditch the high-powered fireteam and the smooth flyers Guardians are known for and aim for a less obvious first impression. Believe me, as someone who makes one hell of an impression- first and last- it's important to know your audience. And Shore-side the audience is nothing but hardcases, outlaws, outcasts, cutthroats, lowlifes, and high-rollers with dirty souls and a lack of morals.

We'd hit the shore and made ourselves comfortable- enjoyed the vices, took in the scenery. The job was hunting self-proclaimed Barons, right? Well, why hunt the hard way? We knew our first target liked to gamble, so we gambled she'd show her pretty mug in a den of sin. She did.

Now, I warned everyone about the law of the land- argue, cuss and talk tough if you're in a mood- but no fighting when you're in the Palace. Ever. I don't know who threw the bottle. Waste of good Reefway slosh, if you ask me. But... rules are meant to be something-something, and well- a bottle to the noggin'll piss anyone off.

The Trickster got mad, and we were lucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We, meaning me and my hand-picked crew. Every job has different variables, requires a different set of skills. What we needed this time was an ability to blend in, to not turn your nose up at the sketchier goings-on... and to be able to kick some major ass.

Hawthorne's a bit of a wildcard: New to the City, but not new to survivn', or a good fight. Figured she'd benefit from a broader worldview. Truth told, she took some convincing.


The Human woman bared her teeth and brushed Ether from her cheek. "This is what you guys do for fun?"

"Ain't no better to be had," Cayde crowed from his perch on top of the bar. Someone threw a tankard at his head, which he expertly ducked. The Captain who'd thrown it had to take cover as a volley of shot glasses peppered her with painful precision.

Hawthorne's throat was parched. She picked up an abandoned glass, peering at the contents and trying to figure out if it was a Human drink or an Eliksni drink.

Shrugging, she downed the liquid, wiped her mouth, and broke the glass over the head of an approaching Psion.


Banshee. He knows his way around guns, more than people know. And let's just say… I owe him some favors, he owes me some favors, and every now and again we scratch each other's backs.


The Exo grunted and heaved, flinging the Dreg that clung to his back over his head and onto the floor. Another Dreg swung at him and he blocked automatically, feeling the Ether-starved bones crack against his metal chassis.

At the moment he wasn't exactly sure how this situation had come to be, but it didn't matter much. It was a bar fight. They were all of a similar kind. Banshee grabbed the Dreg who'd tried to punch him and threw it at the other one, who was just getting up from the floor. The two collided like sacks of potatoes and went down in a tangle.

Banshee looked around the room, immediately fixing on the recognizable figure of Cayde-6. The Exo was standing on top of the bar, trying to avoid the grasp of the three Vandals swarming him.


My man Jin. He's a survivor, no joke. Washed the red off his hands and hung his guns sometime back, but I don't know many who survived worse before he made his way to the City.


Punch, block, kick. Jin had to admit, he'd missed this. Perhaps too much. But boring contract work just couldn't compare to the excitement of having a bottle of whiskey thrown at your head.

Jin dodged the projectile easily and zeroed in on its source. The lone Dreg seemed to review the situation, the pile of unconscious bodies at Jin's feet, the way the grin curled on his face, and went scrambling for the back door.


Azra. Now, taverns aren't usually her scene, but there ain't no better Scout this side of the system. Ain't nobody I'd rather have at my back in a pinch- 'least nobody who wouldn't be thrown out on principle.


"Why'd I let you talk me into this," Azra lamented as a Captain squared off against her. Its energy shield crackled, a sure sign this fight wouldn't be easy.

"You were bored and I bring sparkling excitement into your life," Cayde answered smoothly. He yelped as a Vandal grabbed his ankle, sending him crashing down from his position atop the bar. Azra noted Banshee moving towards him out of the corner of her eye, snorted, and turned her attention back to the Captain.

It lunged, trying to grapple her. She ducked out of the way and stuck out a foot, tripping the Captain and sending it sprawling with its own momentum. An Arc-kick to the side shattered its shields with an ear-piercing snap. Another one to the chest left it wheezing and curled in on itself like a dead spider.


And of course, Petra. She sticks out like a sore thumb, and a lotta bad folk got good glimmer on her head, but she insisted on tagging along.


"Cayde, she's getting away!" Petra growled. She ducked between two brawling Cabal, making a lunge for Araskes.

Cayde got there first, but instead of tackling the Baron, he tackled the guard standing in her way. Not a second too late- for the guard. Araskes's knife lodged in the wall instead of the Vandal's throat. By the time the Hunter and the Vandal disentangled themselves, Araskes was out the door and away into the night.

The brawl was winding down. Many patrons lay unconscious or injured on the floor. Most of the rest remaining were making the intelligent decision and sneaking out of various exits from the Palace.

Cayde got himself up on his feet and brushed himself off. Petra punched him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him over again. "You let her get away!" the Queen's Wrath growled.

"Did I?" Cayde asked innocently.

"She's our target!" Petra shouted. "She's why we're here! Why we-"

"Petra?" Cayde interrupted. "I got two words: trust me."

The rest of their team was converging on their position. Jin and Hawthorne were shaking out their hands and trading tips on unarmed combat. Banshee had found a modded shock pistol on one of his combatants and was inspecting it with a single-minded focus. Azra had the leg from a high-top chair slung over her shoulder.

"What?" she said defensively when Cayde cast her a look. "You said no killing. My Arc Staff tends to kill things."

"You knew there was going to be a brawl?" Petra said. "You started it on purpose?"

Azra itched her nose. "Well, I mean, it's standard procedure-"

"We could have had her," Petra insisted.

"Her, but not the rest of them," Cayde said. The bouncers themselves had been taken down in the fight, but a rumble in the air spoke of a ship of reinforcements arriving. "Let's get out of here before security gets on our cases, yeah?"


"That was the point, wasn't it?" Azra said later. She looked through her viewfinder, noting the faint thermal trails of several Pikes that had come through this way. "Giving her a spook and then letting her get away."

"I fail to see how letting our quarry escape furthers our goals here," Petra said scathingly.

"They have to have a hideout somewhere, right?" Cayde said. "Nine Barons cooperating in tandem over the whole Shore? Could've spent a few weeks trying to sniff it out and still come up with nothing."

Azra picked up on his train of thought. "But Araskes was easier to find." She stowed the viewfinder and settled herself back on her Sparrow. "So we find her, give her a good scare, and we follow her as she goes to ground."

"I thought Araskes was supposed to be smart," Hawthorne said doubtfully. "Pretty dumb to high-tail it back to your secret base if you're being followed."

"No, but she'll run to somewhere she can hole up," Cayde said. "Somewhere we can watch. Somewhere that gets supplies and has contact with their main base. Then all we have to do is bide our time and wait to get lucky."

"I don't rely on luck," Petra said judgmentally.

Cayde put his hands on his hips and looked out over the Shore laid below them. "Sometimes, sister, it's all you can rely on."