"In a Tier 0 Contact situations, extreme caution cannot be overstated.
Force composition is key. Trained Nullification Units and advanced military grade proxies (Bursa/Jackal Class Minimum) should be deployed to contain the site, and - if necessary - neutralise potential threats prior to any successful material extraction. Overwhelming force is considered mandatory.
Void Exposure is likely. Handling teams may experience disorientation, inclement elemental fluctuations and temporal distortions of a particularly unusual and distressing nature; potentially fatal.
Failure to follow these steps risks a catastrophic loss of life and material."
- Corpus Navy Field Manual: On the Containment of Tier 0 Assets
The boy bolted upright, yelling.
Telin and Kelpo leapt back, yelling in turn.
Scattered, delirious; the boy ranted; almost frenzied. His knuckles stiffened on either sides of the pod as hunched forward; stricken.
He blinked, caught himself. An unnerving calmness washed over him in an instant.
The boy took one look around.
Then he spied the two panicked scavengers, all but pressing themselves against the far wall.
The boy took another look around, twisting about in the golden casket. He noted the blood flecked on the walls, the small minefield of discarded equipment and broken teeth. The scorch marks on the walls, and the frost that crept into the edges of the chamber, petering out only around the lingering heat generated by the Statis Pod.
"Oh." he said at last.
The two scavengers didn't dare breath.
The boy fixed them with a suspicious glare.
"Who are you?" he asked after a moment, curious "What are you doing here?"
He blinked again, looking down at his hands, turning them over. They seemed unfamiliar to him.
"What am I doing here?"
Telin mumbled something. Kelpo managed to cough a little blood against the inside of his helmet.
Telin rallied first.
"Uh… we're a rescue team." He cleared his throat, somewhat theatrically. "Here to save you."
The boy's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He took in the carnage all about the pod once more.
"Distressing." He remarked absently.
The boy pointed at the three dead men strewn about the chamber. Each had suffered a grievous head wound. If the carnage bothered him, the boy didn't show it.
"These men?" he asked. "They too formed part of the rescue effort?"
The boy stood up. He was tall for his age, though still only as high as Telin's shoulder.
"Uh… no. They were, erm… thieves." Telin coughed. "Hoping to steal something they had no rightful claim on."
The boy approached each of the bodies in turn; picking the scene apart with a practiced serenity that bordered on the disturbing. The boy's manner of speech was very particular; the enunciation clipped but perfect; the word selection just so.
"Facial wounds." He crouched over Wen's body. "Consistent with a thrown weapon of immense force; a Glaive perhaps."
He spied the drone hovering in the air; the damage to one of its hover drives.
"… or perhaps not."
The semi-decapitated drill operator was next. The boy sank to both knees, running a finger over the cauterised head wound; probing it without the slightest degree of hesitation.
"Energy weapon discharge, point blank." The boy cocked his head to one side, clucked his tongue. "Poor marksmanship."
Last was Speyer's body. They had removed the man's helmet to fix Kelpo's own. There was no retrieving the scanning wand. It warbled and shrilled all manner of strange sounds the moment the boy touched it, before shorting out completely.
"This… I have no idea." The boy stood up, turning to address them once more. "You did this?"
The scavengers nodded, meekly.
"And these men… they deserved to die?"
Another collective nod, this one a little numb.
"Good." The boy nodded curtly. "What are your names?"
"Telin Voss."
"Kelpo Marr."
"Well thank you for your assistance, Telin Voss and Kelpo Marr. I'll be going now."
With that, he stepped from the pod and wandered toward the front of the ship. The chamber was freezing, yet the boy was dressed in little more than a form fitting sleeper suit and a respirator, and pottered about the place without even the slightest sign of discomfort.
The two scavengers mutely followed, entirely unsure what to do. Part of their distress was the strangeness emanating from the boy. Suit readouts flickered and danced; showing crazed, non-sensical readings. The air itself seemed to crackle with static intent.
They found the boy standing before the frozen lump at the center of the ship.
He frowned up at them; finally appearing the slightest bit distressed.
"Where am I?" the boy ask quietly.
"Sector 2-12; edge of the Frozen Wastes." Kelpo replied.
"No, no…" the boy shook his head impatiently. "I mean… what planet are we on?"
"Venus." Telin replied, incredulous.
"You don't remember?" Kelpo asked.
"Not the faintest thing." The boy chuckled softly. "It is funny, you know: I could tell you a thousand things about that room back there. The blood spatter. How and why it arced the way it did. How many rounds were discharged in the fight. The impact trajectory of that single bullet on your environment suit, and the chances of your survival from your facial wound over the next twenty four to thirty six hours."
Kelpo was growing paler by the word, but the boy was simply shaking his head in bafflement.
"But where I am now? How I got here?" he studied his hands again, in seemingly morbid fascination. "Nothing."
"You'd better come with us." Telin said. "We have a ship, not far from here. But others are coming. Men with guns."
"I am not afraid." The boy countered boldly.
"Sure, but you'll freeze." Kelpo started.
The boy's eyes were suddenly hard.
"Do I appear cold?" the boy asked severely. "Does anything in my demeanour suggest a material craving for warmth? Is all you see a small child, looking to be sheltered?"
"Uh… no." Kelpo mumbled, entirely creeped out by the angry Pod-child by this point.
"Good. You said we were being hunted. Tactical response is clear. We cannot stay here." He was already clambering out of the hole when he stopped and turned. "I trust you men have a plan?"
Telin and Kelpo looked at each other blankly.
"We're working on it." They said in unison.
The boy scowled, and disappeared into the freezing beyond without a second word.
The Severance Package drifted toward the dig site. Far below, the extractor skiff sat on the snow. The crew and the surviving drilling technician were being debriefed by a selection of his men groundside.
Kahrl Bravic listened to their report over the com line.
Three men dead. A drill rig heavily damaged by way of a hasty extraction. No cargo retrieved.
A total loss.
There was no point in punishing the survivors. People were assets; his drill team some of the best at what they did. Out here on the frontier, replacing the dead would prove difficult. Bravic was not above punishing incompetence, but beyond Wen and Speyer, his team had been salvagers first, mercenaries second.
Not so his Kill Team. They were an assembly of his best: trackers, bounty hunters, assaulters and assassins. A mishmash of hired guns and retired military specialists. Bravic kept them on payroll; an expensive edition to his stable, sure; but valuable for certain delicate situations.
Situations like now. Bravic wanted blood.
Two no-name scav-rats did not get the luxury of denying him a Tier 0 Find and living to tell the tale.
His Chief Hunter was a retired Index gladiator; Terrenus Vern.
Vern was not the most imposing figure at first glance; average build, non-descript beyond a tight lipped grimace and a mirrored set of range-finder goggles. He was a hunter of prudence; utterly dedicated to the task of finding and ending people's lives. True to his reputation, the man was a walking collection of ammo belts, stored drones, firearms of all classes; throwing knives and grenades. Anything to get the job done, body count be damned.
Bravic watched from an observation gantry as Vern prowled the aft crew deck now, addressing his team:
"Targets are Freelance Salvage Brokers; names are Kelpo Marr and Telin Voss." Vern's voice was a throaty rasp. "Linking you relevant trade history now."
Five hunters stood in loose assembly before him. Vern had led the team for years; had built it from the ground up. A duel here, a contract acquisition there. Each were hand-picked for a given role; chosen killers all.
"No formal military training, but qualified survivalists and scrappers." Vern was ticking off points on his fingers. "They are physically fit. They are resourceful. They are profit motivated. This is their terrain, not ours. Do not underestimate them."
"Notable cargo?" That was their Moa Runner, Ladahr. In the field Ladahr oversaw the deployment of their automated proxies; a customised pack of bipedal robots intended to overrun and overwhelm fleeing prey. He was swathed in heavy furs, which covered a high-tech hard-suit below. A full-faced set of VR-Goggles allowed him to see through the eyes of each and every proxy; sometimes multiple at a time.
"A Tier 0 artefact has been identified on site. Separate teams will be deployed for their retrieval."
"Amateurs." scowled Brakarr, a hulking Grineer Bombard.
"Allies." Vern corrected severely. "There's to be no friendly fire. Penalties will apply. We're not paid to torch our own. Understood?"
Brakarr snarled, but bowed his head in deference. The single largest member of the team, the Grineer mercenary had been the hardest to recruit; a towering gene-brute whose love of advanced Corpus prosthetics outshone any traditional loyalty to the Twin Queens. Brakarr forwent any contract pay; asking instead for only the most advanced ordnance and the regular means to deploy it.
Vern continued.
"A Sleeper Pod was noted amongst the salvage claim. Potentially a third target; yet to be confirmed."
"Alive or dead, Surah?" asked Parson-Luk of Ur; their Ostron tracker. His earrings jangled as he scratched at the back of his scalp; a nervous tick that vanished while on a hunt.
Vern turned to look up at Bravic. Bravic shrugged expansively.
"Whatever works. Boss just wants the job done, and quickly. This is time sensitive." Vern met each of their eyes in turn. "We don't drop balls for Anyo Corp. Not now, not ever."
"Confirmation of payment terms." Torr Bycek; their designated rifleman. He wore the regulation box helmet of a Corpus crewman. Less regulation was the truly massive Opticor beam cannon held in his hands.
"One hundred thousand credits to a man upon mission completion. Five hundred thousand credits per confirmed kill." Vern pointed at Bycek's rifle. "Disintegration will require confirming scope footage, Torr."
"And if the Sleeper wakes, and must be found?" asked the final member of the team, her voice a deathly whisper that somehow carried. "What price will you pay?"
A pale skinned, slight figure, the girl was plainly dressed in a dark crimson body suit; seemingly indifferent to the climate. A black shawl framed her slender face; drenching it in shadow. She carried no weapons of any kind.
Isolde, the newest member of the team. Even Vern found her unnerving.
"One million credits." Kahrl Bravic boomed from the catwalk above. "Even."
The hunters looked at each other, murmuring. Even Isolde raised an eyebrow.
Vern clapped his hands, once. The team snapped to attention.
"I have your attention. Good. We've a job to do. Any questions?"
There were none.
"Good. Let's get to work."