Pre note: Suprise Pov shift so I can introduce more characters, it will go on for a couple chapters I reckon, then we'll be back to Milton and Decker and the main storyline can continue.

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Chapter Four - Slaughterhouse

June 8, 2338

Blacklight Contracting Agency HQ

Field Operations Specialist Bishop Anders - Blacklight Contracting Agency

A rapid legato of gunfire echoes off the prebuilt structure as a fireteam of agents in training deftly maneuver around hallways and breach doors. Bishop watches with a critical eye in the rafters above keeping a close eye for any mistakes that he could point out during his short stay, the head training officer wanted the trainees to get critiqued by someone with actual recent combat experience outside of simulations, and given his recent contracts, had indeed received some, given that he had a rare moment of free time and with his personal equipment already maintained he figured he could help out for a bit instead of using the unallocated time for R&R.

Brushing his short black hair back in frustration he notes the rear member of the fireteam falling back behind the stack unbeknownst to his team and watches him take his hand from the handguard of his rifle in some vain attempt to run faster and catch up with his team only to get surprised by one of the Opfor Training bots putting a shotgun shell center mass into him before he could react properly, falling with a noticeable thud and groan of pain.

The simunitions that the training bots used essentially acted as mini ballistic taser prongs, shocking the person hit by them - they hurt like hell no matter the pain tolerance but wouldn't leave any lasting damage, it was why police forces had begun to equip their officers with it as a truly nonlethal method of dispatching criminals, that is those without pacemakers. While not technically a genuine simunition it worked well enough and you definitely knew when you got hit. It made for a good reminder when an agent made a stupid mistake like the fire team member had. Really the only downside of the ammo was how limiting it was in weapon variety, only smoothbore weapons could use it effectively, and even when tested with some custom-made unrifled barrels on numerous small arms the results weren't positive, the shotguns were really the only ones that would both feed and shoot accurately with enough consistency.

With their rear man out of commission and the rest of the fireteam quickly got pincered as they entered the next door and were, in a brief moment wiped out by the bots showing a relentless lack of mercy. Upon the last member of the fireteam being hit a loud buzzer sounded and the intercom rattled, the instructor plainly stating over it, "Training Team, report to the briefing room for a shakedown."

Bishop had already been moving toward it, knowing the outcome before it finished, relating the feelings he currently had with that of an avid sports fan, whose team had made a series of stupid errors that had cost them the world series. Opening the door to the briefing room he met with the instructor, a tall man shaved bald, already writing notes on the whiteboard. The room was set up like a classroom in a vague sense, only without the desks and only with the chairs.

"That was a sorry show. Good initial execution but they fucked up bad not communicating." Bishop says continuing his pace up to the whiteboard to glance at what the instructor was writing taking a marker for himself to edit the instructor's notes where he felt was needed. The instructor shuffles over a bit to let him in and then acknowledges the Agent.

"You're telling me, individually they are all decently skilled enough on the textbook side of things, but you stick them on a fireteam and they can't do shit. They possess an inability to actually combine each of their singular brain cells together to use the tactics I have taught them. Did you see the entry into room A3? A fucking disaster."

The instructor was telling the truth Bishop had instantly spotted the mistakes they had made that would bite them in the ass, leaving entire multiple corners unwatched in favor of rushing into the next room. "We need to switch it up on them. Keep them on their toes, we've run them through the wringer enough times on this scenario that they know the hiding spots up until the very end. It makes me wonder how they arent improving."

The instructor stops taking notes for a moment, before nodding "Yeah that's not a bad idea actually. It'll take a bit to reorganize everything and set new nav points for the bots but, still.

By the way, Tasking wants you up there for a possible contract when you're done here"

"Yeah, alright" Bishop simply responds as the door opens again and the fireteam sans all their weapons shows up, having stashed them in the lockers by the kill house.

Bishop claps his hands and turns to them with a strained smile. "Alright, guys. Who wants to hear their fuck-up's first."

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It took around a half hour before Bishop felt that he should probably go up a level and see what the men and women in Tasking wanted, but only after giving the fireteam a rundown on their mistakes. Waving the instructor goodbye who saw him off, he stepped into the elevator, flashed his clearance level to the guard inside, and watched as the man punched the level he told him to.

The doors slide open and It is instantly clear that the Tasking level was its usual atmosphere- that is to say a completely organized chaos akin to wall street betting. Tasking's entire purpose was to bid for contracts against the countless rival contracting outfits and then assign them to agents that match the skillset. Needless to say, there was a lot of chatter.

As luck would have it one of the tasking coordinators had been watching the elevator and saw Bishop as he exited. The stereotype of an overworked office worker was waving him down and stepping forward Bishop recognizes him in that vague sense that you've definitely seen someone before but have never even thought of holding a conversation with. It seemed that would change though as he was quickly ushered into a separate office, where they could actually talk without being interrupted by all of the chatter of the cubicle room.

The office was just like any other office Bishop reckoned, maybe a bit more like a room for interviews than the traditional office sense. He noticed a nameplate on the table that read 'Jake Newman' as he pulled out a chair with a scraping noise across from the tasking coordinator and asked him as he sat down,

"So do you prefer Jake or ?"

Taking a moment to glance away from the computer he was rapidly typing on he looked at Bishop and answers, "Either one is fine Agent, here is your report. If you have any questions just ask." He spins the monitor it being mounted on one of those swivel joints and allows Bishop to look through the file that's open on it.

Straight to point as per usual, Bishop couldn't fault him all of the tasking coordinators seemed busier than everyone else at any given moment. He skims through the file, the camera in the monitor tracking his eye position and autoscrolling for him when he reached the bottom of the page. He had a couple of questions, this wasn't the type of contact he expected.

"It says here that this guy asked for me personally, why me?"

answers almost instantly, " If I had to guess it would be because, of what happened on Epsilon."

Bishop leans back in his seat almost annoyed, "So because, I flatline a couple of pirates trying to nuke a space station he wants me? That doesn't answer my question really, I wasn't even the only agent in the field that day. Hell if we're talking body count alone I wasn't even top percentile." He pauses for a second thinking and then continues returning to his original position in the chair.

" I suppose I'm probably not going to get a good answer from you though so ill just ask the guy if I remember. So new question. Usually, VIP protection doesn't pop up in my contract list, VIP retrieval sure. Even asset protection but it's a lot easier to watch a suitcase of documents, or to clear out an extraction zone for some guy than it is to be responsible for a living person's well-being through and through." He stops for a moment realizing he was a bit wordy then continues, "I guess what I'm trying to ask is, aren't there a fair bit of agents that specialize in this crap, why pick a door kicker to babysit and not one of them?"

"With all due respect Agent Anders, this is sounding a lot like your first question."

He smiles, "Yeah, I guess it is… Alright, fuck it, ill take the contract it's only for a short period of time anyways besides I hear Eden is lovely this time of year. It's the usual evac plan if things go south right, the one we would use to evacuate the Director if we got attacked here?"

"The very same Agent and I feel the need to warn you, Anders, this 'guy' is paying a lot of money to secure you as an asset, do not lose him, no matter how eccentric he may be. "

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June 10, 2338

Stellar Frontier Offices

AstroVegas, a city on the Planet Eden

FOS Bishop Anders

Bishop lazily watched, leaning against a wall, as Wyatt Maverick the CEO of Stellar Frontier, sat at the head of a long, polished table in the company's conference room. The room was filled with shareholders, who, having been called for a surprise meeting by the middle-aged entrepreneur, eagerly waited for the meeting to begin. He had spared no expense flying them all in first class in the highest luxury to Eden, putting them up in the wealthiest casinos AstroVegas could offer. This being such a rare occurrence, and with piracy being on the rise recently, he also spared no expense with the standard in-house security.

Bishop had eyed the gear the other hirelings had been issued as he did a walkthrough with the CEO a couple of hours ago throughout the building they weren't Blacklight guys but they were equipped like them, with high-end rifles and PCCs on top of even higher-end glass; he was relatively lightly armed in comparison with just one of his personal handguns, a lightweight compact 9mm, milled for a red dot, and a little bit of internal work done- really nothing to fancy, but he wasn't hired to get into a drawn-out firefight like the rest of the guards were, he was hired on behest of his agency specifically to get the CEO out of any situation he found himself in.

Being the adventurous rich man he was, Wyatt Maverick had undoubtedly made some enemies over the years; he was fond of hunting, not the sustainable population control method, of course, but the kind of hunting only someone with too much money would do - that being shooting the galaxies rare and illusive, sometimes dangerous animals. Though the animal rights people weren't violent enough to try and hit him in his own office, that was much more a job for another corporation. It wasn't unheard of in the modern day; it was growing increasingly common, worryingly so for the common man in fact but, it wasn't something Bishop thought about, not caring about the intricacies of whatever situation playing out the way it does and more just wanting to get whatever job it may be done and get paid.

Pushing off the wall, Bishop walks over to the window as Wyatt begins the meeting, discussing the future of starship engines and how it is about time they become the 'big dog' again in engines. Bishop resisted a roll of the eyes; Stellar Frontier had made the first FTL engine that didn't implode on itself and had been trying to regain that former glory for generations since, at this point.

The Nexus Casino and Hotel were across from the window he was gazing out of, the building that had made AstroVegas officially bigger than Las Vegas, or so it advertised. It was a pretty view Bishop gave it, its due credit with its purple glass windows and odd obelisk-like shape, giving it a unique look compared to the other skyscrapers in the area, Shame that one of the windows was broken, cutting up the whole sleek look of it with a view of the inside of some poor scmhucks hotel room or would be if the lights were on inside of it.

Turning his eyes away from the Nexus, it was clear the meeting was over; it seemed he had tuned it out for longer than he thought, and Wyatt was shooting the shit with some overweight shareholder and walking him toward the window; Bishop stepped out of the way leaning back against the wall - he was meant to be seen not bumped into and couldn't help but overhear whatever Wyatt was saying, his southern accent cutting through the air like a knife through butter.

"I'll tell you, partner, that Nexus building over there is the finest place to gamble; they treat you well there. I tell you what, never had finer drinks, and the stewardesses ain't bad to look at neither."

With a quick slide of his eyeglasses, the shareholder responds with a laugh, a bit flustered, "Well, I'll have to take your word for it, , but I'm a married man, so-"

In one instance, a meaty thwack echoes across the room on top of shattering glass, followed shortly after by the supersonic report of a rifle. The fat man didn't even have time to register what happened, already slumping over, missing most of his skull, most of what was inside being splattered across Wyatt's face and suit.

Bishop was moving as soon as he heard the impact of metal to flesh, bowling Wyatt onto the ground; just in time, as another bullet impacted the wall adjacent to them, followed by the crack. Bishop rolls off of him and then shouts a prompt order to him, "On your back, and don't move away from that wall!" Wyatt's smile was uncharacteristically chipper, given someone with bits and pieces of gray matter and skull fragments on his face. His response is even more so. "Right on, partner, don't want my pretty little head getting shot now, would we, haha."

Bishop ignored the wackjob he had just saved and took hold of the situation. It was pretty hard, given that Wyatt began to talk about the current situation, but he tried.

The rest of the shareholders were headless chickens, running around in a panic, some trying to hide under the table; one of the few women in the group was pulling on the door shouting over and over again, "It won't open! It won't open!" her panicked screaming was cut off rapidly as another bullet punched through the window and into her back causing her to jerk briefly then slump into the door and slide down onto the carpet below. This had only accelerated the panic, with more shareholders screaming and running towards the locked door, only to also then be shot with ruthless efficiency.

'Why weren't the anti-sniper shutters working if the auto-locks are? This place should be bomb-proof the second a bullet breaches the perimeter.' Bishop thought, trying his best not to expose himself to the lethal shooter outside.

Amid the slaughterhouse, Bishop noticed the ai secretary appear on the table and, using the intercom, state blankly. It seemed that he was the only one who had even heard it, the rest being too shocked to react or too panicked to notice. "Intruders have breached the perimeter; security personnel are engaging inside the lobby, please remain calm and stay where you are." Having said that, she blinks out of existence.

At this point, almost everyone he could see from his position on the ground except for himself and Wyatt had been minced by the shooter outside. He guessed that whoever they are must have stopped to reload, indicated by the brief lack of fire; Bishop wished he had the foresight to count how many shots were fired. He needed a way out of this situation, preferably without a hole in his head, so he began to think about the ins and outs of the case.

First, the doors are locked, and the only way to unlock them is with Wyatt or a shareholder with a code he wasn't provided with. The window shutters aren't working, which means he's in a kill box with no way out at the moment, and there's probably a fire team of assassins working their way through the building to kill them.

Second, the shooter outside is using something semi-automatic. Even with cybernetics, no one is throwing a bolt that fast.

Third, based on the rate of fire, they have to be reasonably close, probably having made a sniper's nest in the open window of the Nexus - Damnit, he should have noticed that that wasn't right. The Nexus was the highest-grossing casino in this city; it could afford to replace a window.

With that information, Bishop tries to formulate something, which is fairly hard given the death throws of more than a handful of people bleeding out around him and Wyatt's repeated chattering, his southern accent still cutting through the air loud enough to hear amidst everything else.

Bishop is about to crawl over and smack him across the face when he spots something behind Wyatt's Office chair on top of the faux fireplace, an eccentric design choice, but he wasn't an interior decorator. It's an entirely too fancy big bore hunting rifle - the gun you would kill a trex with. Staring blankly at it, he's baffled that he hasn't noticed it earlier.

He turns back to Wyatt and screams at him shocking him out of his annoying chattering, no longer caring to be polite given the situation, "Hey asshole, is that rifle loaded!"

"The one on the fireplace?"

"No, the one shooting at us; what else could I be fucking talking about!"

Wyatt nods yes, like he was asked a strange question, "Of course, it's loaded. What's the use of a gun if it ain't got bullets in it?"

Bishop just stared at him for a second; it was like he was in a comedy movie; if the scenario they weren't in wasn't so grotesquely violent or life-threatening, he would have laughed. Rolling onto his stomach instead, Bishop crawls towards the fireplace and gets up to his knees, still keeping a low profile so he doesn't get hit before he can do something stupid.

Giving three rapid breaths, he jumps up as quickly as he can, repeating a mantra of "don't get shot, don't get shot" over and over in his head, and grabs the rifle off of its hooks, just barely missing getting hit by the sniper outside as the round bites into the fake brick of the fireplace, a cloud of dust spreading around the impact site. He lets himself tumble onto his back, clutching the rifle and looks it over quickly while out of sight. Flicking the tang safety and opening the bolt just enough to see the rounds inside its internal magazine.

Dangerous game rifles aren't exactly meant for long-range shooting, the bullets being too fat and heavy to have the required ballistic coefficient. Nonetheless, it was fitted with a low-powered optic- a 1-8 Leupold, a reasonably old design, but it would have to do. Besides, the Nexus was only about 400-something yards away. He works the bolt of the finely tuned rifle, the tight action chambering the stout round effortlessly.

He rolls back over and belly crawls behind the table, where surprisingly, a handful of shareholders are alive behind it, looking at him, shaking in their boots.

"Yeah, you see the clarity on that thing; that's Leupold's new line of big predator hunters; she can take a bite from a Pyroceratops, or at least that's what the brochure said!" Wyatt was chattering louder than ever, only this time at Bishop himself, and he felt his temper rise for a second. Why was this guy talking like they were at the range together and not in a life-or-death situation? He had been in more gunfights than he could count, and he couldn't even attempt to fake the casualness that the CEO had provided.

He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves, white knuckles gripping the engraved hardwood stock of the rifle tightly. Getting into a squat concealed by the table, he throws the gun into his shoulder to get onto the optic when he exposes himself.

Deciding he can't wait forever, he suddenly pops up and points the rifle toward the broken window of the Nexus. 'Huh, Wyatt wasn't kidding' A loud boom follows as he squeezes the trigger, the high-caliber rifle bucking in his arms as he fires. He drops behind the desk a moment later and bolts the gun again. Instead of popping up in the same spot, he moves to the other side of the desk, having to literally step on the hands of some of the shareholders hiding and readies himself for another shot before popping up again but not before Wyatt interrupted his plan.

"I think you got him, partner." Wyatt was peering over the window like a cat, and Bishop had to scream at him again to get back on the ground, which he thankfully did. It had given Bishop an idea.

With a sigh of exasperation Bishop points at one of the shareholders huddling under the desk. "You try and get that door open."

"B-but what about the guy shooting at us?"

"I got him; get the fucking door open."

In all honesty, Bishop didn't know for sure whether the gunman was dead; he was shooting more to force the guy to relocate, not trusting the rifle in his hands to be entirely capable of such precision. However, He was confident that the shareholder wouldn't get shot, given how Wyatt had popped his head out of the window like he had no sense of mortality and wasn't scalped by a bullet but you could never be safe and better to test that theory on a guy who he wasn't getting paid to protect.

A few moments later, and a short beep, the door unlocks and slides open.

"I-I got It." The shareholder responds it looks like the sniper relocated or he had gotten a good shot on the person after all.

Wyatt instantly stands up and claps his hands together. "Well, alright then! Let's get on out of here!"

Bishop responds to Wyatt before he can get himself killed as if he was talking to a child. " , I need you to stay behind me so you don't get shot, ok?"

Wyatt throws up a quick mock salute and then moves to follow him.

Compared to the bloodbath inside the meeting room, the hallway was completely clean and empty, all except for two of the shareholders that weren't too afraid to move from under the table had made a mad dash down the hall on the right towards the elevators as soon as they were out of the door. Wyatt had started to follow them before seemingly remembering Bishop's instructions and sticking with him, who had begun walking in the opposite direction.

"Uhm, excuse me, sir, but why are we not taking the elevator?" A woman's voice asks behind Bishop, who, without even stopping, opens a push door revealing a set of stairs and responds as he walks down them.

"Because we are going to take the stairs, that hit squad is probably chewing through the guards in the lobby, and if I were a betting man, they have probably already done so and are taking the elevators to us."

"H-hit squad?" the shareholder who had opened the door asked. Wyatt responds to him before Bishop can say anything.

"Yeah, the sexy ai lady came on while ya'll were screaming like headless chickens and told us about them."

Noticing how their voices echo rather sharply off the walls, Bishop puts a finger to his lips and says, "Hush up, if anyone's in the stairwell they'll hear us with no trouble at all."

Sure enough, as he stops to listen, he hears a pair of heavy footsteps growing louder towards them from below. Bishop throws up an open hand palm towards the shareholders and CEO, a universal sign of 'stop moving', and moves a bit further down his handgun, aiming down at the lower level.

He had ditched the rifle, not wanting to deal with the parallax the optic would give even at 1x at this close of a range, on top of only having a shot or two left in it, and had decided to use his handgun for the time being. Shoving the pistol forward from the low ready, he quickly aligned the center dot that was easy to find given the 240 Moa outer ring towards the lower set of stairs and waited for the person behind the footsteps to walk into it.

Gradually the footsteps grew louder, echoing sharply off the stairwell walls until the man revealed himself. A big, broad-shouldered man in a ski mask with a lazily slung rifle was stomping up the stairs casually. He seemingly didn't expect to get into another fight after dealing with the first-floor guards, a mistake he wouldn't be alive for long enough to realize as Bishop's 9mm barked.

The shot would have been deafening in such a small space if Bishop hadn't gotten cybernetic implants in his ears, courtesy of Blacklight that effectively turned them into active protection earmuffs- a standard upgrade for people nowadays working in loud factory settings. It wasn't really used by military types considering they like having the comms that a full headset could provide, but it worked well in Bishop's case; it wasn't like he couldn't throw on a set of Comtacs on top of his enhanced ears. Just the military saving an extra buck, he reckoned.

He was moving towards him in an instant, intending to grab his weapon off of him before remembering something. "Hey, get a move on!" He turned and shouted back up the stairs before turning back around and kicking the man's body over to get at the gun he had. The 9mm had done its job exploding the back of Bishop's would-be assailant's head in a shower of gore faceplanted violently on the floor. It could have been a different story if the man had personal shielding. 'Guess it was to expensive' Bishop mused.

Kneeling down and slowly taking the sling off, carefully, to avoid getting any blood on it. It was an MX ACS, ACS being the military term for Advanced Combat System; it was a bastardized and heavily modified version of the centuries-old ar15. A couple of designs refused to die even in the future, the m2 browning, Colts ubiquitous 1911 and their clones, the endless ak variants, and Eugene stoners brainchild itself had seemingly refused to be put out of everyday use over the years. However, Bishop hadn't seen a traditional 1911-style handgun in some time, given how outdated a single-action, single-stack .45 that couldn't even serve as a suppressor host was. Still, it was being made by countless manufacturers, so it still existed with many modern takes on the design.

Checking the MX's rds briefly to make sure the fall on the concrete hadn't cracked the housing or anything- you could never be too safe, he grabbed two mags off of the man's rig, about all he could fit into his suit pants pockets and slung the two-point sling over himself before adjusting it for his stature, he was only a bit thinner than the man he had killed. By this point, the people he was escorting had made it to him, all looking sick at the sight and trying their best to ignore it. All except for, of course, Wyatt, who mimicked his head being blown apart with his hands with a goofy expression. His blonde hair tussled a bit as he chuckled silently at the joke only he got.

Bishop was a bit of a sociopath himself, you kind of had to be to kill as many people as he had over the years, but he felt he still had somewhat of a conscience. He was comfortable admitting that Wyatt had more than a few screws loose to still be able to react this casually and was looking forward to not seeing him ever again. He thought better of mentioning it, though, the man was the one technically paying him, and he reckoned that Wyatt, despite being simultaneously creepy and loud and grating on the ears, could at least follow orders when his life was threatened. Surprisingly, Bishop was almost sure that the hit squad would have sent another couple of shooters to the staircase, given how loud his handgun barked, but he was thankful they hadn't.

Idly thinking that he might want to buy one of those micro cans and a threaded barrel, not that a suppressor really would do all that much given the nature of the supersonic rounds he preferred, the staircase opened up to reveal the rest of his plan. Sitting with its heavy metal double doors towards him was the standard escape plan Blacklight Contracting liked to do, the sort of go-to deal when you need to get a VIP out of everything in between a botched hit job and an active warzone.

A big armored truck of the general type of cash vans that would roll around AstroVegas was waiting for them. Having a fingerprint unlock, Bishop walked up to the driver's side door and opened it with his thumb; climbing in, he pressed a button that swung open the double doors and yelled for his escorts to climb in the back before starting the loud bulletproofed engine. While highly secure, the cab wasn't nearly as safe as the back of the truck was, so he trusted any gunmen wouldn't be able to get to them even if he was put out of commission, however unlikely.

Shifting the truck into first gear, he eased off the clutch and gave it gas, letting it roll forward while simultaneously turning the car toward the exit of the carport. Most of his agencies vehicles were manual transmissions despite being wildly out of date on all but the poorest and distant of rim world colonies simply because, of how badly they had fallen out of fashion in recent years but, the Agency liked them figuring that they would be a lot harder to steal then an automatic trans.

Having put it into its 3rd gear now, the truck was reaching a good speed as it climbed out of the underground carport and into the sunlight, where he was almost instantly accosted by bullets hitting the car and ricocheting off with heavy metal thunks. 'Guess I didn't hit the sniper after all' he thought, not entirely surprised. Turning it onto the main road, the GPS turned on inside the dashboard and automatically transmitted directions to either a safehouse or an extraction point for him and the Vip; he didn't know which.

As it turned out, it had been an almost peaceful drive towards the waypoint; the hitmen had lost them or hadn't had the foresight to plant chase cars to follow them as he turned onto a bouncy dirt road. Off in the distance, he saw a jet-black glossy shuttle, one of the expensive high-class ones with his agency's symbol emblazoned on the side, and upon getting closer to it, saw armed guards in a perimeter around it, even a pair of automated turrets with anti-material rifles mounted on them.

He let the truck slow down under its own weight before braking next to the shuttle and shutting it off. Opening the back doors for the VIPs, he stepped out himself and nodded to one of the guards. He recognized her as a casual acquaintance; she nodded back before stepping onboard with him on the shuttle, with the VIPs being escorted on shortly after.

It was a brief comfortable silence as the shuttle lifted into the sky. That was until Wyatt opened his mouth again, the insufferably loud southern accent piercing Bishop's ears as he gave a loud "Woooo-Weee! That was quite a pickle, huh, fellers."

Having enough of it, Bishop got up and walked into the separate cockpit, hoping the stewardess's seat was not taken. It wasn't; thank god for small miracles.