"Oh, come on now, old girl!" Beige chuckled loudly. "It's been how long? Two years?" He smiled at Olivia broadly. She sighed.
"Pretty much," she replied listlessly. "Can't say it's been a day too many." The man's smile vanished, being replaced with an exaggerated, taunting frown. He slumped back in his chair, looking at her like a puppy denied a treat. But unable to keep it up, he burst out laughing loudly again, causing Olivia to lean away from him for the sake of her eardrums.
Wiping a tear from his eyes, he collected himself again. "Still the good old hard-ass, huh? Hah!" He slapped her on the back as he chuckled some more. "What a coincidence, right? The two of us, menaces of the Omegas, running into each other in a dump like this! Right?" Olivia clenched her fists as his hand struck her back a second time.
"Crazy," she growled. We'll be more than even after this, Moretti, Olivia thought to herself as she endured another bout of laughter from her conversational partner.
It felt like an eternity passed before Beige's incessant badgering was finally interrupted as a door in the far wall of the lobby opened, a broad-shouldered man in heavy gear standing in the frame. He glanced around the room, his eyes wandering over the job applicants seated along the walls. His gaze finally landed on Olivia. He lifted one meaty hand and pointed directly at her.
"You," he said. "Boss'll see you."
Olivia practically leapt out of her seat, momentarily excited to finally be separated from the man beside her again. Beige, however, jumped up after her, stepping in front of her with a huge grin on his face.
"Sir, chief, hah!" He sputtered with faux anxiety. The guard glared at him from under heavy eyebrows, waiting. Olivia stepped up beside Beige, furious.
"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed.
"Trust me," he muttered through his teeth, still smiling broadly at the man waiting in the door frame. "She and I," he pointed from Olivia to himself and back, "are kind of an item! So... Boss'll have to see us both!" Olivia stared at him in disbelief. The guard stood perfectly still for a moment, his thoughts hidden behind a completely unperturbed visage. Olivia glanced at him, waiting for them both to be kicked out and for her mission to be a complete failure. Instead, however, the man nodded his head towards the room behind him and stepped aside, clearing the door for them.
"Hah! Wonderful!" Beige clapped his hands in front of him and strode forward. "Come on, mouse!" Olivia glared after him. Then she took a deep breath and followed. Perhaps she wasn't screwed just yet after all. A step away from the threshold, Olivia felt her PDA vibrate against her chest. Pausing, she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Moretti - no text, just an image attachment. She opened it.
She took a second to make out what the crudely drawn picture was supposed to depict. Then her face turned pale in an instant.
"Son of a bitch," she nearly shouted as she recognized the face on the display. Both the guard and Beige turned towards her, the former squinting at her suspiciously, the latter smiling inquiringly. Olivia's eyes shot up, bewildered. "Sorry," she stammered. "It's, uh, nothing." Inhaling deeply, she collected herself as well as she could and stepped forward. The guard shrugged almost imperceptibly and turned away, while Beige's eyes remained on her as she walked past him. With her hands shaking ever so slightly despite her best efforts to maintain a calm appearance, she slid the PDA back into her vest.
"Miss Olivia Sable," the guard announced her as she stepped into the room. It was dark, like the lobby. The sole source of illumination was a lamp standing upon a black desk at the far end of the room. Behind it was seated a short, thick man, his features hard to discern in the dim light. "And...," the guard continued his introduction, glancing at a small notepad in his hand, "Mister Arthur Beaumont."
"Hey there!" Beige called out with a wave as he stepped through the door after Olivia. "Here for the job! Hah!"
The return to the hideout was harsh, resisting the urge to buzz Price's residence and bomb it to dust even more so. The only reason he didn't was the fact that someone on his side in this whole debacle was still in play, and doing that would destroy his chances of figuring out who the man in the picture was. This was a rare instance where the line between Morreti and his symbol blurred the most, where persona and person were no longer properly distinguished. The experience thus far had truly made him less of who he was at the start.
Though he passed out the moment his head hit the pillow of his bunk, he wasn't really resting. He was just still for the moment, and a snake never really paused in its motions unless it was poising to lash out and bite. He had more in common with his fellow Xenos in that moment then he ever had before. Sharing in their misery rather than just their mission and ideals.
"Please, sit," the man behind the desk gestured at two chairs across from him. He appeared fidgety, his pudgy fingers twitching ever so slightly. He licked his lips nervously as the two mercenaries took their seats, continuing, "Miss Sable, it's a, uh, pleasure to meet you. I've heard about the work you've done for the LPI, very impressive."
Flattery, Olivia mentally rolled her eyes. "They paid well," she replied politely and glanced over at Beige. A grin covered his face ear to ear as he stared at the figure across from them. She knit her eyebrows, turning back to face their potential employer.
"Yes, I imagine they... we would." The man forced a laugh, covering his anxiety. "I am Desmond Price, police sergeant. I-"
Beige leaned forward suddenly, cocking his head curiously, and interrupted Price. "Why does a clearly accomplished LPI sergeant," he gestured vaguely around himself, indicating the large, nicely furnished home, "feel the need to hire so much muscle?"
Price swallowed hard, his eyes flitting back and forth between Beige and Olivia, the latter raising an eyebrow as to indicate that she, too, would like to know.
"Well, uh. You see, I, uhm-," the sergeant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Beige's grin somehow managed to widen.
"Got yourself in deep with the wrong folks, huh? Hah!" The mercenary leaned back in his chair, laughing heartily. "Classic corporate cop!"
For a moment, Price stared at Beige, not knowing how to respond. Then his eyes shot back to Olivia, seeking some kind of support from her. She only shrugged. Beige calmed himself, taking a few deep breaths. His eyes fixated on the police officer, like those of a tiger spotting its prey. Olivia noticed his posture tense up, her right hand instinctively wandering towards her sidearm's holster.
"I really would like to know who you're involved with," Beige spoke coldly.
Explosively, he leapt up out of his seat, his trenchcoat billowing around him as he spun around. In one smooth motion, he drew a handgun from within and aimed at the guard still standing a few feet behind them. The man had time only to raise his eyebrows in surprise before the trigger was pulled, a deafening blast rocking the room. His head disappeared in a cloud of red mist. Before the body hit the floor, Beige completed his pirouette, bringing his pistol to bear on Price's head.
Olivia jumped out of her seat, gun drawn and aimed at Beige.
"Jesus Christ!" She yelled as the ringing in her ears subsided. "What the fuck, Beige?!"
The mercenary didn't look at her, keeping his eyes locked on the sergeant now cowering in his chair, whimpering in fear as he stared up at the man standing over him. "Relax, Olivia," Beige replied calmly. "Get the door." He nodded towards it. Shouts and the sound of heavy boots running up towards the house came through it.
"Damn it," Olivia muttered as she lowered her sidearm and ran to the back of the room. She reached the open door just as a member of the security detail came sprinting into the lobby. The men sitting inside stared around in shock and fear. Olivia locked eyes with the hired gun.
"You!" The man shouted and charged towards her. Olivia reached down with her free hand, deftly unsheathing a knife from its thigh holster and, with a flick of the wrist, sent it spinning through the air. With a muffled thud, the blade pierced the guard's vest right below the liver. With a yelp of pain he stumbled to the floor, clutching at the handle protruding from his abdomen. Olivia took a step back and slammed the door shut. Looking around the office they were now trapped in, she spotted a heavily loaded bookshelf and strode over to it, hoisting it in front of the door, just in time. Angry pounding struck it from the other side as the rest of the hired guns flooded into the lounge and struggled to breach into their room.
Catching her breath, Olivia turned to face the desk. Beige still stood there, pistol aimed right between Price's eyes, who, in turn, stared up at him, eyes wide. Sweat covered his rotund face, dripping from his nose.
"Seriously, sergeant," Beige's voice was little more than a whisper. "I'd like an answer." His finger tightened around the trigger.
"O-okay, just p-please, please don't shoot!" Price pleaded, raising his hands above his head in surrender, his eyes wide and his lips quivering in fear.
Olivia slowly backed away from the door, the guards on the other side still furiously pounding on it. The bookshelf shook violently but remained solidly in place.
"Just tell me," Beige spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, "whom you work for." He leaned forward, bringing the muzzle of his handgun within inches of the sergeant's face. The man shrunk further into his chair, averting his eyes from the mercenary and his weapon. He whimpered helplessly.
Olivia turned around to face the two, her lips pressed tightly together, mulling over what the hell was going on.
"Beige, what the fuck are you doing?" She finally blurted out. "I was trying to do a fucking job here." Beige turned his head slightly towards her, keeping his eyes on Price.
"Trying to figure out who's paying this rat? Same."
"What the hell is it to you?" Olivia's patience for the situation was rapidly running dry, the incessant slamming of fists and rifle butts against the door straining her ability to remain calm.
Beige sighed and rolled his eyes, lowering his gun and turning his whole body to face her. "Use your brain, Sable. What's the message you received earlier?" Olivia pressed her lips together again, the crude portrait she had received on her PDA rushing through her mind. Beige looked at her expectantly. Sheepishly, she looked away before answering.
"Pedro," she practically spat the name in disgust. "It was a picture of Pedro." Beige chuckled slightly.
"Yeah, I thought it was something like that. Few things make you react that violently." He turned back towards the police sergeant, once more aiming his pistol straight at his head. "So, sergeant. Is your boss' name Pedro?" Price's eyes flicked between the two mercenaries standing before him, the fear in his face growing.
"Y-..." he stammered, "yes."
A wide grin broke out over Beige's face and he spun around to face Olivia once more.
"Hallelujah, he finally said it! Hah!" He threw his head back in laughter. Olivia stared at him as she thought about the ramifications of Price's confession. Why the hell was Pedro in Liberty again? Or had he never left? What did he want here and why get involved with a diner on a dirt hole like Pittsburgh? The questions crashed about wildly in her mind, interspersed with the man's face, his venomous, put-on smile haunting her.
"Price," she growled, stepping towards the quivering figure behind the desk. The round little man visibly recoiled at her approach, lowering his hands to cover his face, as though he was about to be struck. Leaning forward and resting her hands on the table, Olivia brought her face close enough to the cop's that she could practically smell his fear.
"Where can we find him?" Her voice was hard and threatening. Price moved one hand to look her in the eyes.
"I-," he hesitated. "I can't tell you. He'd kill me."
Beside Olivia, Beige guffawed. "What makes you think we won't if you don't? Hah!" Olivia raised one hand to shush him, keeping her eyes locked with Price's. Her voice took on a softer tone, almost reassuring, like trying to get a child that had screwed up to confess.
"Tell us and I'll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe." For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other, her waiting for a response, him weighing her words against his fear of his employer. Finally, Price nodded his agreement and licked his lips.
"Manhattan," he whispered. He lowered one hand to a small PDA on the desk and spun it around so that Olivia could make out the screen. It displayed an address in one of the smaller cities of Liberty's capital planet. Letting out a long breath, Olivia straightened up.
"Thank you, Sergeant Price."
The man smiled and relaxed his body, relieved. "Now how-," he started but was interrupted as a large caliber slug entered his chest, tearing through his torso and out through the backrest of his chair, smashing into the wall behind him. His eyes widened in shock.
Olivia stood before him, sidearm in hand. She pulled the trigger again. And again. Price's lifeless body slumped forward onto the tabletop, blood flowing from his chest over the dark wood.
Almost as if offended by the notion that he had fallen asleep, Damian leaped out of bed and up to his feet. The first few seconds of consciousness were a harsh battle with intense dizziness. And then of course as the sensation faded, it was instead replaced by a dull but thoroughly horrible headache. Still, despite the discomfort, he navigated to where his PDA had been thrown atop a utilitarian table. Olivia was for the moment at the top of his list of contacts, and that made it convenient enough to send her a request for an update.
"Progress?" A sufficient prompt, he felt. Rather than staying glued to the screen and waiting for a response, he instead sought to occupy his time productively. Food and of course proper maintenance on his ship were essential to functioning at full efficiency. He'd been neglecting any semblance of proper procedure for the past few days, and it was liable to bring on consequences at some point if he let it go unchecked. The recent incidents weren't anything he wanted to get himself killed over.
Beige let out a low whistle as he looked down at the motionless body sprawled over the desktop. He prodded Price's shoulder with the muzzle of his pistol, as though to check whether there was still any life left within the corpse.
"You know, I wasn't actually gonna kill him," he remarked, holstering his weapon, apparently satisfied with the sergeant's deceased state of being. Beige turned to face Olivia. She still stood beside him, handgun lowered to her side, staring at the mess she had made. "You... good?" Beige cocked his head to the side, a mocking grin playing across his face.
"Yeah," Olivia replied quietly. "I'm good." She glanced at the mercenary and slid her sidearm into its holster. "He deserved it."
Beige threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Oh yeah, no argument here." Lowering them again, he nodded towards the barricaded door. "Got an idea for how to get out of here?" The pounding on the door had ceased, silenced by the three gunshots from within the office. Olivia assumed the guards outside were just waiting in the lobby, weapons trained on the door, prepared for the two of them to make their next move. A quick scan of the office revealed that there was indeed no other exit.
Olivia walked up to the door, reaching up behind her for the modular rifle attached to the back of her vest.
"Oh, I've got an idea," she muttered as she dialed the energy weapon's power up to its maximum output. "Get behind me." Beige followed her instruction without a word, clearly aware of what she was about to do.
Dropping to one knee, Olivia raised the rifle to her shoulder, aiming squarely at the shelf and door in front of her. Then she took one deep breath and pulled the trigger. A wave of heat billowed across her face as the fully charged blast of superheated plasma escaped the barrel. In an instant, the wooden bookshelf burst into flame, its center exploding charred splinters across the office. The steel-lining of the heavy, reinforced door liquidized, droplets of molten metal splashing into the lounge on the other side, leaving a hole the size of a dinner plate in its center. Shouts of surprise and pain erupted from the lobby. Olivia adjusted her aim to the right, firing again, then once more to the left. Molten in half, the lower portion of the door fell away with a loud clang. The air reeked of ionization and ashes. Blisters had formed on her left hand, gripping the rifle's barrel.
Beige knelt down beside her, peering through the now half-missing door. "Wow," he said as he made out the charred remains of three men and beyond that the lobby's half molten metal back wall.
"Power cell's empty," Olivia stated matter-of-factly, dropping the rifle to the floor. "Come on." Not waiting for any reply, she got to her feet and ducked under the remainder of the door, drawing her handgun. Apart from the corpses and some flash-incinerated wooden chairs, the lobby was empty, the house door standing wide open. Olivia posted up on one side, Beige following her to the other, pistol in hand.
"Well," he smiled at her wickedly, "I hope I get to have some fun, too." Cautiously, he peered out the doorway. It had gotten dark outside. Immediately, a burst of gunfire erupted from behind a parked air car. Beige ducked back behind the door frame as the slugs crashed into the house's facade. "My ship's at the southern hangar. Need a lift?"
Olivia sighed. Through all the chaos, she had forgotten the fact that her Sutinga wasn't even on the same planet as her. "Yeah, I do."
"Alright then." Beige smiled at her cheekily. "Should be three of 'em left out there." He dropped into a low crouch and, pausing for a brief chuckle, somersaulted out the doorway. Olivia stepped out after him, firing her gun at the black cars standing out on the street. Pedestrian traffic had all but subsided and whoever had still been outside had fled when they heard the previous gunfire. Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark as Price's hired guards returned fire. Olivia ducked low, as she emptied her magazine at the source of the nearest flash. Beige, however, jumped up, his left hand clutching a small, dark grey sphere, a red button on it depressed. Drawing his arm back, he threw it high in the air, up and over the cars. Midair, the sphere began to spin rapidly along its axis. With a shrill whistle, scores of flechettes launched from the grenade, showering the street, sparks erupting from where they glanced off the cars. There were yells and screams as the shrapnel tore into the men crouching behind them. Then, all fell silent. The sphere fell harmlessly to the ground on the far side of the street.
"Hah!" Beige shouted with a laugh. "You're not the only one with fancy tricks, Olivia!"
Olivia straightened up with a sigh. "Nice one," she muttered, holstering her gun. "Now let's get a ride out of here." Beige nodded in agreement and together they ran to the nearest car, its surface scratched and scarred but appearing to be perfectly functional. Beige peered inside through a cracked window.
"Do you know how to jack a car?" He asked over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Olivia replied as she strode up behind him. She reached out with one hand and grabbed Beige by the back of the head, slamming it into the window. Already damaged, it gave in without much resistance. "Sorry," she muttered through clenched teeth as she pulled the surprised and dazed man back a few inches before smashing his head against the car's metal frame. His body went limp and Olivia let him collapse to the pavement.
"I owe you one," she whispered, reaching through the shattered window and flicking the lock open. Getting the car started with some deft wirework, she launched into the air, headed straight towards the hangar facility. A few hundred meters from the chaotic scene she had left behind, a few police speeders raced past her, sirens blaring but paying her no heed.
Spotting Beige's ship was no great challenge. It stood upon an illuminated landing pad, its hull painted in garishly bright reds, greens, and yellows. The Lovebird, Olivia remembered the Kingfisher's name. Boarding it before hangar security could be informed of Beige's involvement in the multiple homicide and lock the ship down, she jumped into the pilot's seat, powered up the engines, and took off, rocketing into the night sky.
It wasn't long at all before news of the shootout spread, a homicide resulting in the death of one of Liberty's finest had certainly shaken things up. With authorities going so far as to put out a notice for Beige's ship, a local news network providing the public with descriptions and details. Naturally, the law abiding public weren't the only people to catch wind of this stir, and when Damian found out that Price - his only lead at figuring out who was behind all of this, was dead, he was beyond furious.
Ripping through the smog clouds on the hunt for a kingfisher, an all too familiar and notorious Eagle burned its way through the night sky. Screaming up and through the atmosphere till the stars were no longer obstructed, it was here a glimpse of a fast retreating kingfisher was acquired. Supplementing for fangs, the war bird spat out a disruptor and began to rapidly close distance on the uncommon silhouette.
"Miserable little meddler. I needed that cop alive, at least until I extracted everything I needed. You threw a wrench in that plan, now I'm plastering the scrap with your guts." When the ship's transponder came online, it clearly identified as "Cobra" of the Xeno Alliance. Whoever was flying the kingfisher had however many seconds it would take for the eagle to get its particle cannons within their short range. At which point the issued threat would transition into a promise, one that would be kept.
Olivia diverted power from her disrupted cruise drives to the Kingfisher's primary engines and shields. The trade lane remained in the distance, an unreachable destination under the current circumstances. She glanced around the cockpit interior, refamiliarizing herself with the controls. It had been a few years since she had last flown the Lovebird herself. She was a quick ship, Beige's baby, and tuned so extensively that at least on a technical level, she barely shared any resemblance with the stock vessel any longer. Odds were that, as long as Olivia could evade the initial volleys, she'd be able to gain the advantage over Damian's heavier craft.
But combat was not what Olivia had in mind as a plan A, instead switching on her comms.
"Shut your choleric mouth," she spat into the channel. One hand remaining on the stick, one hand fiddling with her PDA, she transmitted the address that Price had given her to the Xeno. She was somewhat certain that the information would calm Moretti down, but she decided to play things safe. Killing the ship's engines, she swung it around, bringing its weapons to bear on the rapidly approaching Cobra. Her finger hovered a hair's breadth over the trigger, ready to unleash a torrent of energy into space.
The eagle continued to close in at rapid pace, giving even more power to the engines, something the ship was quite well reputed for. Among its various competitors occupying the so called VHF class, the eagle was special in the sense that it embodied practically unmatched agility. However, it accomplished this only through a generous allocation of internal component space for systems designed to push the engines to their full potential. This in turn resulted in a large hull size, with only moderate armor and a relatively small amount of the power plant's supply of current left over for the weapons and defensive systems. It lacked a thorough sense of aggression that would have been bettered suited to the person currently flying it.
Just as it seemed like Damian might fire, he pulled a hard right and went straight past Olivia in the kingfisher, likely only just realizing it was her in the ship and connecting the dots as to how that happened. It was a near-miss, if the cockpit glass wasn't in the way, then Olivia would have certainly tasted exhaust fumes as the dirty bronze silhouette screamed past her and went further into the field. Judging by the course it was taking, it seemed Damian was heading for the field on the far side of Planet Manhattan. Following this personal mission of vengeance any further wasn't bound to be easy from this point on, but it was obvious nobody was willing to concede defeat. Let alone a man as stubborn as Morreti.
"Ditch the ship, Police has put out a description of it." His tone was audibly curt despite the healthy degree of static garble which masked over it, an unavoidable byproduct of ship communications systems, further worsened by poor maintenance in this case. The white streak of Daman's eagle would fade as the ship persisted in burning away, locked in for an unknowable destination.
Olivia wasted no time hanging around Pittsburgh's orbit. She punched it towards the trade lane, just in time to escape a wing of police ships ascending from the planet's atmosphere. A well-placed mine detonated against the lane generators, overloading them as her ship rapidly accelerated away from the planet. Moretti's signature had disappeared from her scanners, but she had no intention of following him any further.
Pedro.
Like a cancer, the son of a bitch stubbornly kept interfering with Olivia's life, threatening to get her or people she cared about killed. Like a cancer, it would require an extreme treatment to get rid of him. She was fed up. The things she had done for him would haunt her for the rest of her life but she would not allow any more misdeeds to stack up on his behalf. She would put an end to him, once and for all. Assuming she could reach him before the Xeno did.
Halfway down the trade lane, she disengaged superluminal travel, hurling the Lovebird into the debris field enveloping Pittsburgh's gravity well. She knew the LPI could track her movements through the network, but she also knew that few police officers would be willing to pursue her into the vast expanse of the scrapyard. It was Rogue territory and they would swoop in on any lawful entity that dared trespass.
Hunted as she was, she would have to travel across New York at cruise speed. It would take hours but judging by the course Damian appeared to have taken, he, too, was avoiding the busy traffic of the trade lanes. With any luck, she would reach Manhattan - and her target - before him. Olivia did, however, still have one ace up her sleeve.
She scrolled through the Lovebird's list of neural net contacts until she found the one she was after.
"Kelly," she spoke as the communication link was established to Beige's wife, "I guess you may have heard about Beige's predicament." Olivia hated what she was about to do to yet another person she had once considered to almost be a friend. "I can help him. But first, you'll need to help me."