Chapter 4, A Cast Die


Azariah Sable had a headache. His eyes were closed, fingers drumming a rough tune on the edge of his drink. His personal Scroll, a marbled, heavily encrypted model he had ordered custom from Atlas lay open on his desk. Typically displayed on its hard light screen was a wealth of raw data: sales charts, spending estimates and projections, staffing and supply information, everything he needed to operate his business.

The data was painting a wonderful picture for Sable. He didn't need it to tell that things were running smoothly of course, he had long ago developed the skill to read the crowds that filled his halls and gauge their interest. It was the reason he had his office positioned where it was, high above the game floor where his patrons crowded around the tables and slot machines. Even now the din coming through the reinforced glass that opened out to the central game floor to his right all but shouted that business was booming.

The Lucky Roll Casino was doing extraordinarily well. With the Vytal Festival arriving in the city this year, he knew he was bound for truly record setting profits. Things were quite excellent for Sable.

At least on the legitimate front. Sable was a well connected man, and those connections allowed him to keep a finger on the pulse of the city. What that pulse was telling him was highly frustrating, especially if it led down the path he feared it would, and before he was prepared to walk that path himself.

Someone was violating the terms of the Handshake.

Sable took a sip from his drink, a biting cocktail of Mistralian Maple brandy and red leaf extract. Red leaf was a mild poison, harmless in small doses of course, and a rarity that only grew out in the wastes of the Vacuoan desert. He found that it gave his drinks just a hint of extra clarity. The unpleasant bitter taste and needling sensation that came with cleared his mind like nothing else.

The Handshake was the closest thing the great crime families of Vale had to a charter of conduct amongst themselves. It was a well established tradition, with its history traceable all the way back to the Great War. It dictated how openly the Families could operate, how aggressive they could be during expansion, how much attention they could draw from the populace before action would be taken. It was a charter designed for sustainability. After all, if the masses truly knew how deep the Families had sunken their talons into their precious city, how much they truly controlled, there would be quite a bit of unease. Unease that the Vale Council would be forced to act on. The violence of the ensuing conflict would bring fear. Fear led to Grimm attacks and fear, which led to more Grimm, etcetera etcetera. A highly unprofitable state of affairs.

After all, it's much harder to squeeze Lien from a corpse.

So the Families upheld the Handshake. If it was decreed that a Family or high profile individual violated its terms, the other members were expected to quietly dismantle them, taking their holdings as their own in the process.

Sable returned his gaze to his scroll. Today, no data streams graced its surface. Instead, an offer was displayed on its surface. A request to meet in person, on his terms, in his very office. Quite standard. He was a broker and a fence for clients of all walks of life, from all corners of the Four Kingdoms. It was only after he had accepted, and he had contact with the client herself that Sable realized what he was dealing with.

Secrecy was the name of the game in his industry, and Sable prided himself in always being better informed than whoever walked through his door. But none of his sources could learn anything about this 'Ms. Fall', not a nationality, not an age, no affiliations to speak of. It was almost as if she hadn't existed before she contacted him.

The final puzzle piece fell into place with her initial proposal.

On its face, Ms. Fall's proposal was typical of those who sought out his services. Laundering a great deal of lien, under-the-table materials shipping and procurement. Quite standard. As in all things, the devil was in the details. Small details such as the timing of delivery, the exact composition of requested contraband, what items he would be expected to fence.

If he didn't know any better, he would suspect Ms. Fall was preparing to build an army.

Few organizations would dare overturn the status quo of Vale. At least, nothing local. Roman Torchwick's recent obsession with high profile and public Dust robberies barely counted, it was actually making most operations easier, what with the police focused on catching the man making fools of them.

No, her army was not locally controlled. The only one that easily came to mind with both the will and the muscle was the White Fang. Sable didn't even pretend that they were an equal rights movement, he called them what they were. Terrorists. A threat to the stability of his business.

Regardless, his instincts told him that a storm was rapidly approaching Vale, with Ms. Fall at its eye. One that, if not properly managed, would see everything he had built be cast aside. He still had several days before his meeting, time he would spend acquiring whatever leverage or power he could to even the scales between himself and this woman.

He minimized Fall's offer, instead pulling up a recount of the day's headlines. Much of it was the same as always. A VPD officer being granted a medal for bravery during a house fire, the last preparations for the start of a new year at Beacon Academy, and another 'daring' Dust heist by Torchwick.

Sable massaged his temple with two fingers. On occasion the local news would deliver valuable, if sanitized, information directly into his hands. Other times it would only make his head hurt more. This was one of the other times. Any reminder of Torchwick's idiotic crusade to become the most wanted, and best recognized man in the country was one he did not want.

He returned his attention to several of the details he needed to address for operations at the Lucky Role. With any luck, turning his attention to some of his more mundane responsibilities he had would allow him to consider a new approach.

Eventually, his secretary buzzed him.

"Mr. Sable, Ms. Magenta and her associates have returned and are requesting to meet with you. Shall I send them up?"

"Please. Thank you."

Finally, some good news. Magnolia Magenta was one of his most trusted associates, one of the few he allowed to see the full breadth of his operations. He had sent her out earlier that night on a mission to collect an item of utmost importance. If she was back already, then he had full confidence that she had seen her mission through.

He got up from his chair and put his sport coat back on, adjusting it idly as he gazed out across the casino floor. He gave his reflection a glance, nodding at what he saw. Charcoal black suit coat with red trimming. He nodded, and settled in to watch the ebb and flow of his patrons down below.

After a few minutes, his door opened, and his outbound team walked into his office. He looked them over. All four had returned, for which he was glad to see. The team of three hirelings had proven themselves to be deceptively talented at item acquisition, and would have proven hard to replace. Not impossible, but difficult. There was never any doubt in his mind that Magenta would have made it back.

That being said, it was obvious that the trio of Doc, Sage, and Ajax had seen action. Both Doc and Ajax carried the tell tale signs of aura exhaustion, and Ajax had his hand pressed to his side, where the remains of a burn could be seen.

"I trust that you were successful?" Sable asked.

"Yes we were. Mostly. Unfortunately we were unable to catch the man guarding your artifact. Not from a lack of effort, of course. These three were exemplary in that regard." Magenta said softly. As per usual her white clothes were pristine, her waist long white hair spotless.

"Guy was half dead when we got there, Boss. Even then, he was more ornery than a Deathstalker. Came closer than most to sending Ajax here to the great beyond." It was Doc who spoke up for the trio. He had always been their figurehead.

"Unfortunate. I assume he's dead then?"

"Of course sir, it was my bullet that slew him, although we lingered long enough to watch the Grimm tear him to pieces." Magenta informed him.

"And the artifact?"

Magenta held up the metal case with a smug smile.

"Excellent." He turned to face the three hirelings. "Wonderful work as always. I will have your payment in your accounts by day's end, plus a small gratuity. Please help yourselves to the Casino's medical center, on the house."

They nodded and filed out. Once they had left he looked to Magenta and gestured to his desk. This next part did not concern his hirelings. They both approached, Sable moving his chair aside, and Magenta placing the case down in the center of the desk. She unhitched two latches, and the case came undone, a complex flurry of gears and slides transforming it into a raised display.

There it was. Just as he had been told.

Jagged and rough.

Brutal.

Beautiful.

He reached out, tracing one of the inscribed runes along one of its two sharp horns. When he took his finger away, he saw that he had cut himself through his aura on one of its raised ridges. The cut was so perfect that he didn't even have time to bleed before his aura sealed it.

"Now for the true test." Sable said.

He picked up the Crown, and flipped it over, peering into the interior. It was shockingly light, as if it was made out of styrofoam. Unlike the outside, it was perfectly smooth in the interior, perfectly carved to comfortably allow one to wear it without difficulty. Innumerous carved runes in the same styling as those on the outside could be seen, softly indented to cover nearly every single available inch. Except for a single patch. There, just as he had expected to see, was a small complex carving of hexagons and interconnecting lines. An alchemical formula.

His hidden partner had come through once again.

"It's real." Magenta said, awe in her voice.

"The final piece. Our faith has been rewarded, it seems." Sable said. "Get this formula to the good doctor. Tell him to increase his production of the Raw, and prepare a trial sample of the finished product. I don't care what he must do to obtain subjects, as long as it can't be traced back to us. We finally have all that we need."

"Of course sir." Magenta pressed a hidden clasp, and the display reverted back into a carry case with a soft whirr of gears. She picked it up, bowing her head as she left his office.

Sable watched her leave, before returning to his position by the window. With his hands clasped behind his back, he allowed a smile to appear on his face. He had sought an advantage, and an advantage he had received. He retrieved his drink, and took another sip.

Now the real work began.


"Okay, run me through that one more time?"

"Fine. Once more. To start off there is less gravity than Earth standard, the atmosphere is full of unknown benign radiation, there are no detectable satellites or transmissions or radio of any variety, and lastly," Callie projected a blue hologram, "the moon itself is shattered. Literally. Into hundreds of pieces. This isn't Earth."

Hakke was sitting on the same log he had died on. His Ghost had brought him back in the very first hours of the morning, with the sunshine just barely beginning to emerge. Callie had wisely waited for the Grimm that had slaughtered him the night before to lose interest and wander off. A call that was immediately justified as it had taken the Warlock almost fifteen whole minutes to push down the wave of nausea that had accompanied this new life. Even as she had apologized for the unpleasant restart, Hakke guessed what was really to blame. When he had asked about it, she reluctantly confirmed his suspicion. It seemed the Barrier was here to stay.

Hakke took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he turned what Callie was telling him over in his mind. "So it's not Earth. There are humans here, terrestrial plants too, stuff only found on ol' Terra herself. Atmosphere's got an identical composition, from what you told me. I guess what I'm getting at, beyond the fact that none of this makes much sense, is that if this isn't Earth, then where the hell are we?"

"I don't know. There's simply too much we don't know. That said, I suspect that we are out past the heliosphere. None of the constellations I saw last night match with anything combination I know of."

Now there was an alarming thought. The heliosphere was the border of Sol's influence. It was the border upon which the galactic winds broke, protecting the planets of Sol. Very few humans, let alone Guardians, could claim to have gone past that barrier to see what the rest of the galaxy had to offer. There had been attempts centuries ago, with the Exodus Colony missions setting their sights on alien solar systems like Tau Ceti.

Lofty goals that had died with the rest of the Golden Age.

"No match at all?"

Callie floated directly in front of his face. "No match whatsoever. The only way for that to be possible would be if we were outside the solar system."

Hakke pulled his helmet off and rubbed his forehead with gloved fingers. "Ok, for the time being, or until a better theory reveals itself, let's say we are on some unknown, Earth-doppelganger. Why not. The real question then becomes: how does that affect us, and our main goal?"

Callie spun in thought. "I don't believe we can answer that question yet. Like you said, we don't have enough information to draw a good conclusion from. We need to learn more about this planet and who calls it home. That includes those 'Grimm' creatures, and the assault team that took the Crown." She paused. "I must say, you are taking this far better than I thought."

"It'd actually answer a few of the weirder questions I have. If we are in some alien solar system, that might explain the difficulty we both have accessing the Light. Maybe the Traveler filters out this Barrier automatically for us. A proximity thing. And besides, we shoot space aliens for a living. I make and throw exploding flame swords with my mind. This," he waved his arm, gesturing vaguely at everything around them. "is far from the weirdest thing that's ever happened to us. Still up there though."

"Fair point."

"I have my moments." Hakke said with a shrug. "Now, as far as information gathering goes, did you get a chance to scan that comm I knocked out of Slick's jacket last night?"

Callie shook her head. "Unfortunately not. I tried to initially, but whenever I was outside the Backpack, the Grimm were all over me. They seem as eager to get at me as they were with you."

"Fair enough. No time like the present I guess. If you want to get started with that, I'm going to see if I can't pull anything useful out of all this Arcology scrap. If we really are on our own here, we're going to need every scrap and resource we can get." He approached the nearest, semi intact chunk. "Now, if I was a Fallen scavenger, what would I yank?"

Callie found and transmatted the comm, vanishing back into the safety of the Backpack with her prize. Hakke began to separate the most choice pieces of alloyed metals, electronic cabling, and fiber optic wiring that had survived the portal. Even as junk, all these materials were of outstanding quality. Those Golden Age engineers knew how to build something to last.

Once he had a solid pile of resources collected and ready to be transmatted into storage, he spoke out to Callie.

"How's it looking?" he asked.

"It's fascinating. The coding and security systems on this device are entirely novel, I'll need a few minutes to unravel and decode it." Her voice echoed in his helmet, which he had left by the log he had been resting on. He walked over to it and pulled out a small portable earpiece and secured it on his ear; a handy addition he had installed some time ago. Some Guardians never took their helmets off, a habit Hakke had never developed. He figured it had something to do with his luck with snipers over some other Guardians. Snipers loved hitting him center mass, not in the head.

He stayed quiet, leaving her be. There wasn't much he could do to help her decode the thing, outside of adding distractions. Not to mention he very much so doubted that the creators of the comm could hold a candle to some of the encryptions Callie had cracked in the past.

She'd get through it, given enough time.

With nothing better to do, he turned his attention to something more substantial than digital security. Guns. Specifically the gun he had shot out of Slick's hands last night. Come to think of it, he had wailed on that man far more than the others. The Warlock figured it had something to do with how most of his gunshot wounds had come from Slick. And how Sage had been too slippery to land a hit on.

He meandered over and picked up the rifle. Stamped into its side was a foundry mark, and the name of its manufacturer, Theon Arms. It was a compact, bullpup style rifle, with holographic sight emitters much like many City guns. The tolerancing for the pieces was also tight, as the only thing to make noise came from where he had planted a slug the night before. Pale, almost cream highlights had been tastefully added over a base coat of a deep smoky gray, alongside other aftermarket modifications to the grips.

He ran through some quick drills, taking note that the sight holograms were still operational, but just barely. First impressions were that it was a solid firearm, and one he planned to add to his arsenal, once he repaired it of course. Still, there were things that he would be best served to familiarize himself with first. He pulled out the magazine, removing a bullet for inspection. Surprisingly, it appeared to be largely made of the same red crystalline material, albeit in different formats. The tip was a solid ruby red crystal with a rounded tip, partially encased in a pale red back cap. He guessed that back cap structure acted as the propellant for the red crystal. It was one of the more effective methods used for caseless ammunition, which this probably was.

Hakke couldn't wait to disassemble it and see what made it tick. Most City guns didn't use caseless ammunition, with the tried and true brass cartridge dominating most weapons. There were exceptions of course, Omolon had their strange proprietary liquid ammo system, and Veist was obsessed with plasma generating battery packs. He was debating the best way to actually pull it apart when Callie floated over to tell him what she had discovered.

"I have successfully hacked the comm, which is called a Scroll, by the way. And I must say, the mystery deepens."

Oh. Oh no. Hakke had long since learned to fear that particular phrase.

"Traveler's mercy." Hakke groaned. "What have you found out?"

"For starters, allow me to officially welcome you to the planet Remnant!" Callie said with a flourish.

Hakke stared. "Planet Remnant? So this was part of a bigger planet, or a system of them?"

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. The planet itself is called Remnant. I've managed to access Remnant's main telecom network, it seems to piggyback off that atmospheric radiation I mentioned earlier. I'm a little embarrassed I didn't notice it before, to be honest. But now that I know it's there, I should be able to access it independently.

"I've done a small amount of surface level spelunking within the network, it shared a great deal of similarity with the City's Intranet, down to the heavily encrypted secret traffic lanes. I'm staying away from those for the time being, of course. With a little more time, I should be able to compile a crash course on Remnant: the culture, factions, hostiles, anything important."

"Y'know, I wasn't expecting good news. Usually when you say 'the mystery deepens' you lay out some horrifying new variable." Hakke said.

"Oh right! For some reason the Grimm seem to be both numberless and omnipresent on every continent. We are in fact deep within Grimm territory right now, and will probably be attacked at any moment."

Hakke pointed his finger at his Ghost. "There it is."

"A few more details. I noted the direction our Crown thieves took when they left. Cross referenced with what I've been able to pull out of the Scroll, it seems there is a major settlement out that way."

"Perfect. We know where they went."

"Exactly." Callie confirmed. "Now, this Scroll had most of its data removed recently. I suspect it was a 'burner phone' as they say in those crime films. Whoever scrubbed it was good, but I don't think they anticipated someone as talented as me to take a crack at it. Our scrubber looks to be from the same settlement. Once we arrive, I should be able to direct you directly to the place. Seems to be some sort of Club."

"Alright, we got us a plan! I've got one last thing I need to do here, so we can get moving."

"Understood. I'll transmat those materials you gathered."

Callie flew off to do just that as Hakke approached the patch of dirt he had woken up on. It didn't take long to find the spot, and even less time to find what he was looking for. When he had attempted to disintegrate the Crown on Titan, a small piece of the shoulder strap of the bag it was in had survived. It was a thin strip of gray nylon, wrapped in a weave so thick it more resembled canvas than anything else.

Strap in one hand, he looked at his Bond. Every Warlock had a Bond wrapped around their upper left arm, as much tradition as it was a means of distinguishing the class. His held personal significance. It was a smooth circlet, with raised extrusions along its upper and lower ends, custom built with his own hands from Martian relic iron. He took the shoulder strap and wrapped it around the center of the Bond, fusing the ends into the metal with Solar Light.

The shoulder strap was not a pretty sight. The entire thing was rather ugly, he was forced to admit, but he wasn't doing this for any cosmetic reason. He was doing it because it was the only thing he had left from the Hunter that had given him his task.

He looked over to Callie, put his helmet back on, and nodded. She updated his HUD with a marker, pointing him over the shallow mountains and towards the settlement.

He had promised the Hunter that he would see the Crown destroyed.

And come hell or high water, he would see it through.