A Start

*Third Person POV*

The rumble of the MRAP's engine echoed through the small town as Aspen steered the battered vehicle into the warehouse, the weight of their recent battle still heavy on his shoulders. Dust swirled around them as they pulled to a stop, the sound of metal scraping against concrete reverberating like a funeral dirge for the fallen.

As the dust settled, Aspen surveyed the scene. The warehouse was a relic of a time long past, its high ceilings and rusted beams providing an air of bleak nostalgia. The locals, a mix of wary faces and curious onlookers, stepped back as they took in the convoy's battered form. 

After driving into the small compound, Grimz and Ghost parked their trucks to the side in front of the warehouse. Ghost hopped out, stretching his limbs and surveying the area, his keen eyes scanning for any signs of trouble.

"Looks like we made quite an impression," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he noticed the astonished expressions of the townsfolk. "Wonder how many of them think we're heroes or just a bunch of lucky bastards?"

Aspen shrugged, "It doesn't matter what they think. We're getting paid to get the goods here, nothing more, nothing less."

Aspen couldn't shake the recent encounter with the Tiger Claws from his mind. He had spared one life knowing that it would be snuffed out moments later. He had given hope to a man only to snatch it away creating a cruel twist of fate that lingered in the back of his mind. 

The warehouse doors creaked open, revealing a large interior filled with shadows and an array of crates. A figure stepped forward, a lean old man with a shrewd glint in his eye, a tablet in hand. Grimz recognized the man and walked up to him, shaking his hand.

"You look like shit, ought to get patched up," the old man said to Grimz. Grimz nodded with a smile and walked into the warehouse followed by Pyro. Venom then made her way to Aspen and Ghost, leaning against the battered MRAP alongside them.

"I honestly didn't think we would make it out of that one alive," she said, pausing for a second as if reorganizing her thoughts. "You two really lived up to your names, huh? Especially you, Reaper. You were like an angel of death out there. I'm Kiara, by the way, I thought after what we went through we might as well properly introduce ourselves using our actual names." Venom said as she stretched her hand out.

(Venom will not be referred to as Kiara)

*First Person POV*

I stared at Kiara's outstretched hand and then my eyes not visible through my aviators scanned her face and smiled, she seemed genuine in her request, but I wasn't going to oblige. "The man I once was along with his name is now a dead man. I'm Reaper to everyone and to no one, Only my God and my closest ones know my real name." I say, my voice unwavering, as if I had just stated the biggest truth of all truths.

"I'm Ghost, just Ghost. No one has known my name and lived to spread it," Ghost said, pausing for a second as he looked at me, "except for Reaper."

"Wow, ok, sure, keep your secrets, whatever they may be," Kiara said, an unamused expression on her face.

We then noticed the old man making his way towards us. Once he reached us, he pulled Kiara into a bear hug. His lean frame was surprisingly powerful. "My sweet sweet sunflower, how are you? Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere? Nothing happened to you right?" The old man started bombarding her with questions as he looked her over. 

Ghost and I just exchanged a side-eye glance which perfectly communicated what we were both thinking: "The fuck is this?"

"Grandpa, I'm ok, nothing happened to me…" Kiara said as she tried to make some space between the two. "You have these two right here to thank for that," she said as she turned our way.

"Reaper and Ghost? Pyro told me about what you two did, Grimz couldn't say anything because… well it's pretty obvious why." The old man then stretched out his hand for a handshake, "I'm Mack, by the way. I can be considered this town's unofficial leader, run everything here and all."

"Reaper" "Ghost," We say as we shake his hand.

"So, you were ambushed. Do you have any information on who did it?" he asks.

"Yeah," I replied, keeping my tone measured. "The ones who attacked won't be bothering you anymore, we killed every last one of them. Now the organization they were a part of, now that's another story. The one I questioned said that they were part of the Tiger Claws, he also gave me information saying that they weren't hired by anyone, but had bought the information of this cargo from one of the depot employees."

Mack's expression kept on morphing from anger to gratitude. "Thank you! You did us a great service today. As for the information you gave me, I'll keep that in mind. Would you happen to know who that man was?"

"Yeah, we got a good look at him before leaving," Ghost answered. "Saw him talking into his comms as if letting someone know the convoy was about to head out. Lend me that tablet, I'll give you a quick sketch of him."

After taking the tablet, Ghost sketched the face of the man, leaving me a little surprised by the accuracy of the sketch.

"Hmm, he seems familiar, I'll send this over to the depot," Mack said as he inspected the sketch.

"Give them our condolences for their drivers," chirped Kiara, who had been silent until now.

"I'll do that, I'll also put in a good word into the merc association for you two," Mack said

Ghost snorted. "A good word is great, but we were just doing our jobs. How about we get to the point and get paid for our hard work."

Mack nodded as he stifled a chuckle, pulling out his Nexus and going to his banking app. "This is your cut according to Pyro, I added a little extra. Consider it a token of my appreciation for the information you gave me and for keeping my granddaughter safe."

Ghost took out his Nexus, as I didn't have one since I gave Michael his Nexus back. "We just did what needed to be done." He then showed me the amount transferred and nodded with an expression that said "Not bad."

"30,000 for the work, 20,000 as a thank you. Not bad, old man, not bad." I say

"All good for a day's work," Mack replied.

*3 Hours Later*

As we moved through the warehouse, I caught sight of Grimz and Pyro standing next to the battered MRAP. "Well, aren't these two up and running quickly," I say to myself as I start to make my way toward them.

"Grimz," I called out, "How are you holding up?"

Grimz nodded at me, "Just a few bruises. Doc worked his magic and now look at me, new Jaw here. Pyro's even got a new arm."

I smiled slightly. "That's one way to look at it," I say as I turn and head back to where I had left Ghost. While I was walking I remembered about the quest I had, it had completely slipped my mind since I asked Jarvis to mute all system notifications while I was fighting.

"Jarvis, show me all the notifications." I think.

"Certainly Host,

Ding! Congratulations on completing the Quest: Kill the Bandits. 

Reward: 150 CSP 

Ding! You have killed enemies x27

Reward: 73 CSP

Ding! Your subordinate has killed enemies x18

Reward: 22 CSP.

Ding! Your fame has spread. 100 people know the name "Reaper"

Reward: 25 CSP (.25 CSP per person)

Total CSP: 283"

"Not Bad, not great either. This is very little compared to what I need to summon another one of my subordinates." I think.

"Host, the enemies you have fought up until now are nothing for mech pilots, hence why your rewards are so low. I recommend you reap the souls of stronger enemies for better rewards."

"I'll keep that in mind, Jarvis."

*Hours Later*

*Third Person POV*

The dim glow of the warehouse lights flickered as Aspen and Ghost stood by the crates, their conversation quiet but purposeful. The supplies had been delivered, the battle with the Tiger Claws a memory quickly fading into the background, but now a new objective loomed in front of them. Aspen looked over at Mack, who was busying himself with inventory. 

"Hey, Mack," Aspen called out, walking over to the old man. "I have some questions for you."

Mack looked up from his tablet, his shrewd eyes meeting Aspen's. "What is it?"

"We need information," Aspen said, his tone direct. "About mechs. Off the market. Not your standard fare."

Mack raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but cautious. "Mechs? Off the market?" Mack stared at both of them for a second, as if contemplating something. "So you two are pilots? That would explain your performance in the field, the calm and composure Kiara said you held."

Aspen and Ghost didn't say anything, they didn't need to. "Alright, but you're not exactly asking for something that falls off the back of a truck, Reaper. You do know that kind of thing is high-risk, right? The type of people who deal in off-market mechs… they're not your average traders."

Ghost stepped in closer, his presence adding weight to Aspen's request. "But it'd be a greater risk to buy them the formal way for us. Plus, we're willing to pay."

Mack leaned back against a crate, scratching his chin as he processed their request. "Well, you've come to the right place for information, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy to get your hands on what you're asking for. Off-market mechs? They're either stolen military property or black-market builds. Both are highly illegal, and the syndicates who deal in them are... less than friendly to say the least."

Aspen crossed his arms, unwavering. "We're not worried about friendly. We need leads, locations, and contacts. We can handle the rest ourselves."

Mack nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Alright. I've heard of a few places, but they're scattered, and getting to them means navigating through dangerous territories. There's a dealer in the outskirts, goes by the name Rigg. He runs a chop shop where mechs get stripped down and sold off in pieces. Rumor has it he's got a couple of intact units stashed away, but he's paranoid, only does business with people he trusts, and trust isn't something that comes cheap."

Ghost exchanged a look with Aspen. "Where can we find him?"

Mack, followed by Aspen and Ghost, walked over to a table that had a holographic map in the center of the warehouse. He pointed to a spot far to the east, beyond the relative safety of the town and deep into the wilderness. "His shop's out here, in the deadlands. A scrapyard in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by old mines and lawless bands. If you head out there, you better be prepared for trouble."

Aspen studied the map for a moment, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Tell me more about the deadlands."

Mack nodded, "The deadlands are notorious for being home to marauders, scavengers, and worse, but they also hide some of the most valuable black-market assets."

"We'll be ready," Aspen said, his voice steady. "What else?"

Mack tapped the map again, shifting its focus to the north. "There's another option. A group called the Black Talons, a rogue mercenary unit. Used to be military, but now they're free agents, operating outside any law. They've been known to broker mech deals for the right price. You'll find them holed up in an old industrial complex out this way."

He pointed to a sprawling structure on the map, its symbol resembling a bird of prey. "They've got connections to high-end hardware, stuff you won't find anywhere else. But they don't just sell to anyone. You'll need something valuable to trade, or you'll need to convince them that working with you is worth their time. And they're not the type to negotiate kindly, so you'll need deep pockets."

Ghost nodded. "So, Rigg's chop shop or the Black Talons. Two options. Both dangerous."

Aspen looked back at Mack. "Which one would you recommend?"

Mack chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Neither, if I had my way. But you? I'd say Rigg is your better bet. He's paranoid, sure, but if you can convince him you're serious buyers, he'll sell. The Black Talons, on the other hand? They're killers, plain and simple. You walk into their territory without something to offer, or they don't like your offer, you won't be walking out."

Aspen absorbed the information, then nodded. "Thanks, Mack. You've been helpful."

Mack waved it off. "I'm just doing what I can to keep things running smoothly. But remember, if you go after these mechs, you're entering a whole new level of risk. Those who deal in off-market machines don't play by the rules, and once you step into their world, there's no turning back."

Aspen met Ghost's gaze, and the unspoken understanding passed between them. This was the next step, another challenge, but one they were ready for.

"We'll deal with it," Aspen said, his voice low but firm. "We always do."

With that, Mack left them to their planning. Ghost leaned in, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Rigg's chop shop sounds like our best shot. If we can get him to talk, we might find what we're looking for."

Aspen nodded. "Agreed. We'll note down the information about both and head there when we've got deeper pockets. We both know we have nowhere near enough credits to buy mechs at the moment. So we need to head back to the city and make some more."

Aspen and Ghost settled in for the night, they'd be returning to Michael's hangar at the first break of light tomorrow morning.

---

The dawn broke in muted shades of gray, casting a cold, industrial light over the town as Aspen and Ghost rolled out of the warehouse in the MRAP Kiara was driving. They had talked to Grimz and he had allowed them to take the MRAP while their other one gets fixed. They were to leave it at Grimz's warehouse where they ahd first met before going on the mission.

They were heading back to the warehouse first before going to Michael's hangar, which had become their temporary base of operations, but their minds were already focused on the next step. The need for credits loomed large—enough to buy off-market mechs, or at least grease the right palms. That meant heading into Kloln's inner city once again, where the underworld held sway and fortunes could be made or lost in the shadows, or they could go legitimate, which would only draw more attention to them.

*First Person POV*

Ghost and I didn't talk much as we drove. We didn't need to. The hum of the MRAP's engine was enough to fill the silence as I focused on the road ahead, while Ghost occasionally glanced out of the cracked side window, scanning for potential threats, ever vigilant.

The closer we got to Grimz's warehouse, the more I let my mind drift back to the encounters we had. The Tiger Claws. The deal with Mack. And, of course, the looming task of acquiring mechs through back-alley connections. The system store also offered mechs, but let's just say I have nowhere near enough to buy one from there.

When we finally reached the outskirts of the city, we turned left and followed a road that once used to be very smooth, but was now full of potholes and small craters with many shells adorning it. The cities didn't care about what happened outside its giant walls, as long as everything inside was alright, the world around them could burn. We drove for another 15 minutes of so before seeing the warehouse come into view. It was still intact, its doors closed like they were yesterday when we left. 

We stopped in front of its doors and Ghost got out and walked towards a panel on the right side of the warehouse. He input the code Grimz had given us and the warehouse door started opening. I drove the MRAP in and parked it next to an office near the back. I then did a quick sprint towards the exterior of the warehouse as its giant doors started to close back.

"You fucker," I said to Ghost as I managed to get out before the doors fully closed. He only chuckled in response to it, knocking what he had done. We then walked back to where we had left our MRAP parked yesterday and got in it. We started it up and made our way to Michael's hangar.

Once the hangar appeared on the horizon, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The doors were still secure, the space quiet, almost abandoned. Inside, Michael had worked late into the night fixing up the scrapped mech parts he had scavenged when he found me. He barely looked up when we pulled the MRAP inside.

"Get anything done and sold while we were gone?" I asked, my voice gravelly from the long ride.

Michael gave a tired chuckle, wiping his hands on an old rag. "Only enough to keep this place standing." He glanced up at us. "You two didn't return yesterday, guessing it was and eventful job. How'd it go?"

"Eventful, yeah," Ghost answered, stepping out and stretching. "But profitable. Now we need more."

Michael raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He understood how it worked. Life out here was always about the next score, the next step forward.

*Third Person POV*

Aspen and Ghost showered and ate something before changing out of their tactical clothes into some more casual clothes to fit right in. Aspen put on a half-face Samurai Oni mask to keep his identity hidden as he knew if anyone would be searching for them, they would be searching for him. Ghost didn't bother covering up his face, he was unknown to the public eye, all his records had been scrubbed when he had joined up with Aspen. After a quick check on the MRAP and making sure their gear was ready, dropping off things that they wouldn't need, Aspen and Ghost wasted no time. They left Michael's hangar behind and headed straight for the inner city of Kloln.

Aspen led the way through the narrow, winding streets, his senses on high alert. Ghost followed silently, his gaze sharp, analyzing every alleyway and side street for potential ambushes. Their objective was clear: credits. They needed enough to get back in the game, and that meant making a power move. They had gotten more intel from Mack before leaving, intel that had pointed them in the direction of the local gangs in Kloln, and Aspen had set his sights on one in particular: the Black Vultures.

A notorious gang in Kloln, the Black Vultures had their claws deep into the city's underbelly. They controlled a small enough portion of the black-market trade that wouldn't draw any attention to a change in management. They dealt in anything from drugs to weapons, and they were known for being rather violent. But the small control they had over the black market left them with an attractive amount of wealth, wealth Aspen wanted and needed.

When they finally reached the heart of the Black Vultures' territory, Aspen turned to Ghost. "You ready for this?"

Ghost cracked his knuckles, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's get this over with."

Aspen and Ghost tucked their pistols in their pants and strapped their DMRs to their backs as they got out of their MRAP. The gang's hideout was a decrepit warehouse near the edge of the business district. Aspen pushed open the rusted metal door, and they stepped into the dimly lit interior. The stench of sweat, smoke, and desperation hung in the air. A dozen gang members were scattered around, lounging on crates or leaning against walls. They barely paid any attention to Aspen and Ghost—until they saw the weapons strapped to their backs.

One of the higher-ups, a burly man with a tattoo of a vulture's talon across his neck, stepped forward. "Who the fuck are you two?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Aspen replied coldly. "But you should worry over the fact that you have something we want."

The gang member sneered, drawing a knife from his belt. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

Aspen didn't bother answering. His physique, which was multiple times better than the average human's, allowed him to move in a blur, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it, the pop of a broken bone following suit. The knife the man held clattered to the ground. With a swift motion, he drew his sidearm and fired a single round into the man's knee followed by precisely placing his pistol under the jaw of the man, firing once again. Brain matter and pieces of bone came flying out the top of the man's skull as he crumpled to the ground.

Chaos erupted as the other gang members scrambled for their weapons. But Ghost was already moving, pulling his pistol and taking care of two other gang members who were dressed nicer, some higher-ups, with precise shots to the head.

In the span of seconds, five bodies lay on the ground, lifeless.

The rest of the gang members in the room, now frozen in fear, watched as Aspen approached their leader: a lean, older man with a scar running down his cheek. He didn't flinch as Aspen stopped in front of him, pulling him by the collar and placing the barrel of his pistol under his chin.

"I can tell you're the one in charge here," Aspen said, his voice low and deadly. "But not anymore. You work for me now."

The gang leader's eyes flickered with a mix of defiance and fear, but he knew better than to argue with a man holding a pistol to his jaw. "What do you want?"

"Properties," Ghost answered. "We know you've got a couple of apartment buildings on the edge of the business district. They're ours now."

The leader hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You'll find the deeds in my office. Just… don't kill any more of my men."

Aspen removed his gun from the man's chin and let go of him, nodding to Ghost. "Go get them."

Ghost disappeared into the back of the warehouse, returning moments later with the deeds in hand. He tossed them to Aspen, who caught them effortlessly.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Aspen said, turning to leave. "Consider this a change in management. Oh, and before I forget, you try anything funny, try to come after us in any manner, and you'll have a lot of graves to dig, those you hold dear included."

As they were about to leave, 2 of the gangsters tried to draw their weapons but Aspen was quicker than them. He nonchalantly threw the knife in his hand at one of them with such force that even its handle penetrated a good 3 of its 4 inches. In the same motion, he raised his left hand and fired 2 shots at the man's shoulders, stopping his actions in their tracks.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, the rest of you, don't be stupid, you all know pilots are the terror of a battlefield," Aspen paused for a second and shot 2 more times, one bullet for each knee of the man, making him collapse while grunting under his own weight. The kneeling man looked up at Aspen, defiance in his eyes as Aspen locked eyes with him, raising his gun to the man's forehead. He then looked at the leader of the gang and said, "Especially those who have been the only ones to walk away unscathed from the battlefield."

He fired the next bullet and the man slumped to the side. "Consider this our mercy," said Ghost as he walked out the door.

Aspen started to walk to the exit once again and completed the sentence for Ghost as he said "Next time it won't just end with the ones raising their weapons."

The gang leader had sweat rolling down his face as he realized something. He ran his hand across his face and one of the gang members turned to him. "Boss, we should go after-"

"Are you fucking retarted!?" The leader shouted at his underling. "They're fucking pilots, if they wanted to they would have killed us all before our brains had processed who had walked in through the door."

The gang member who had made the suggestion sulked his shoulders a bit and swallowed as he took in the realization that they had just looked death in the eyes and lived.

Outside, as Aspen and Ghost stepped back into the street, Ghost glanced at the deeds that Aspen had handed back to him. "Two buildings, near the edge of the business district. Run-down, but they'll fetch a good price."

"Especially if we fix them up with the credits we have now. 60,000 credits should be more than enough to start with," Aspen replied, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Now we rebuild what we have lost, and we can move Michael and his son into one of the units if they want as a thank you."

Ghost nodded at this, and with a new and more stable source of income secured, Aspen and Ghost walked into the darkened streets of Kloln that were only illuminated by the neon lights from the giant skyscrapers deeper into the city, ready for whatever came next.

Word Count: 4346 Words 🙂