Astral Amber

Ragged breaths were the only noise that echoed throughout the elevator, the stench of fresh blood and taste of metal swirled around and made the ringing in Flavian’s ears only louder. It was a struggle to stand as he continued moving up. Further and further the elevator went up, the hazy glow of the light only adding to the dizzying sensation, making him clutch onto whatever possible with his other hand firmly around his stomach. Abruptly it stopped, and a beep rang throughout, adding to his pounding headache. The doors slid open and instantly, there were two large, muscular guardians, dressed in an armory of white and gold, the helmets they wore only showing a sliver of their eyes, of which looked down upon him pitifully and yet with malice. He managed to step forward, staggering.

The left guardian spoke, “Number and Name,” Flavian didn’t answer, only looking up in disbelief. Yet, they stood unmoving.

Flavian leaned against the wall, feeling his legs getting weaker, “You know who I am. Can I be allowed into my quarters just this once?” They still did not move and he only weakly growled. Before he could even dare to speak, he coughed blood, his antenna lowering and shaking. A few more breaths, desperate ones, “Inmate 2UT385R, Flavian, okay?” The guardians then finally separated, allowing him through, with their scornful looks only increasing as they escorted him. As they walked through the cramped hallways, Flavian took notice of the various other inmates, also injured. He took a deeper, angrier notice at those who walked and stood talking to each other with gold in their mouth, teeth, and voice, an eerily jovial mood about them as they casually moved past the weakened, like him.

After the longest trail one could walk, they reached his room, the dark and cold being a warm and familiar welcome for Flavian. Weakly, he stumbled over to the plain mattress and fell immediately, began taking slow, pained breaths and clutching to his purple cloak as much as possible. The Guardians stared for a moment, but said nothing as they walked away, the door echoing as it closed. Flavian relished and bathed in the silence. He could do nothing else, his body was unable. The swirling murk that had engulfed the room was the first pleasant thing he’d experienced in a significant amount of days.

His rosewood pink uniform was dirty and scratched, his black gloves could only barely hide the scrapes that his hands had gotten, his typically mint green skin was riddled with bruises and even paler than usual, sweat accompanying the blood. His eyes, a solid dandelion yellow with no sclerae, could barely manage to stay open. He squeezed them shut. This mission hadn’t even been the worst of the month. He felt nauseous, he felt like vomiting, but couldn’t muster anything. He curled into himself further, clenching the wound on his right hip tighter. Any minute he’d be called back. He needed all the time he could get, before he was assigned something new and was thrown into the infirmary for cheap and quick treatment. He could only shiver at the memory of them, quickly snapping his dislocated arm back into place and only giving him half an hour to recover from the intense pain before he was sent out again. Thus he lay there, resting as much as he could.

Much to his dismay, light began streaming in the room once again and the loud noises eliminated his temporary peace. Two Guardians, different from the last yet wearing the same thing, stood in front of the door once again, the one on the right holding the door. Flavian weakly and slowly opened a single eye. Was he getting a new mission? Would he not be told through paper? He’d even be told through announcements if he’d be going on with a group.

“The Synod of Gold wants to speak with you personally about your next mission,” said the right guardian. Ah. Flavian groaned inwardly. What does she want this time? He took a deep breath and slowly sat up, arm still wrapped around his stomach and his headache returning from the exposure to the lights. He began the upsetting walk to his nightmare, putting his hood over his head as The Guardians followed behind him closely.

Through the muffled door, the members of the Synod could be heard, beings of varying planets discussing important topics and spreading hearsay within the comfort of their supremacy. The doors were then opened, Flavian and his escorts walking in and the chatter slowly died down as all focus went to him. It wasn’t the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last. But there was one gaze in particular that was focused on him and nothing else, her stare being the deepest. Though her body resembled that of a human woman, a long white and gold bodycon dress hugging her figure and showcasing her class, her head was nothing of the sort. Her head was that of a large floating eye, eyelashes white and voluminous, a triangular shaped iris that continued on and on, with gold shining from a singular menacing look. She was called Oriel, the one that sat the highest among them and whose presence struck any such person with grim fear, most avoiding her deadly gaze. Flavian steadied himself as best as he could, feeling his body shaking, hoping he could stay standing long enough just to make it through this quite unnecessary meeting. Though he was more irked than anything, he couldn’t help a lingering nervous curiosity. He could only imagine what exactly they had planned for him, especially if they needed him to be present for the explanation. Finally reaching the middle of the floor, Flavian looked up. Of all the Synod members, he looked at Oriel most directly.

Oriel stood and looked down upon him. “Inmate Flavian, a pleasure to see you on the floor of our golden chamber once again, hm?”

Flavian only glared up.

She raised her singular eyebrow, “Oh? Not in the mood for a conversation? In the midst of your injuries, have your manners been wounded as well?”

Flavian spat, “Cut the pleasantries, why was I called here?”

Oriel could only chuckle, signaling for the guardians to leave the room, “Ah, I see. You have always been quite straightforward, haven’t you? Patience was never one of your virtues. That is—if you ever had such things.” Her eyelid lowered and she clasped her hands together. “On the subject of your newest mission, the other members of the Synod and I have been pondering this particular one for quite some time now. We have collectively concluded that you are the most suited for the task.”

Flavian squinted his eyes in suspicion, an eyebrow raised, “Is that so?”

Oriel moved her hand towards the panel behind her and suddenly, a large digital projection was shown in the sky. In said projection, the image showed a mugshot of a yellow alien with freckles, pale yellow hair, yellow gleaming eyes, scars, and a brown wide brimmed hat. Oddly enough, he only smiled teasingly.

One of the Synod members, resembling that of a polar bear, pushes up his glasses, “The individual here is whom they call ‘Briggs’ and he is notoriously known as one of the largest criminals in the galaxy. He travels from planet to planet alongside his accomplices and they are believed to be in a gang, none of the others of which have been into custody long enough to have their mugshots taken like he has.”

Flavian looks up again, pausing in his look before chuckling. This guy was one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxy? He chuckled a bit harder despite the stinging in his stomach. Another member slams her tiny hand down on the desk angrily, “This is no laughing matter! This menace and his filthy crew have stolen from bars, stores, reserves, and they’ve managed to leave a destructive mess behind them every time! That revolting monster needs to be locked up! Of course the suffering of others would be comical to you! You inmates make me sick!”

Oriel nodded, casting a slightly annoyed glance toward her, “She’s correct about the importance of the matter. This image doesn’t properly showcase the craftiness and cunning he has as a criminal. Seeing as you’ve had the most success within your operations thus far, we’d like you to attempt a small undercover position. We only need you to interact with him and the others for a short time, and try to get as much information as you can. That’s all.”

Flavian took a second to ponder the information. Looking at the picture, it was likely older, being the first and only time they ever caught the guy. How long had they been trying to catch him? From Flavian’s point of view, it seemed like quite a long time. He also saw an opportunity. He managed to stand a bit straighter, wincing at the burning sensation that radiated at the stretch of the wound. He gave a small smirk, “I’m the person you decided to be most suitable? This mission seems pretty high-class and important, not like the debt-collecting, messaging, little errands that you have us run for you.” Oriel’s stare narrowed further, a less than pleased look on her face as Flavian spoke, “If that’s the case…don’t you think I deserve some sort of compensation? A reward?”

The hot-headed one perked up again, “You–! Why, the nerve of you to even–!”

Oriel only raised an index finger in her direction, quickly quieting her. If she had a mouth, Flavian could imagine her arrogant smile, “I have always admired your candor. We have indeed discussed the idea of compensation beforehand, yes. We have decided to grant such a request; it is quite the important mission after all.” Flavian stumbled a bit at the sound of that. Though he was thankful for such a thing, he hadn’t expected them to take such a request seriously, he was an inmate after all and certainly not their favorite. The Synod giving out a reward for an inmate’s mission was odd and, as far as he knew, completely unheard of. It made Flavian wince. If they were willing to go this far, just how dangerous was this guy really? He stayed silent as the eyes in the room began to grow quite burdensome.

“Should you complete the task we set out for you successfully,” Oriel drawled, hands waving dramatically, “then we, The Synod of Gold, will be dropping all the charges associated with your name and you will be permitted to successfully leave this planet with no obligation to return. As well as some protections regarding some of your activities during, before, and after this mission.” Flavian’s antennae quickly perk up at the sound of that. All his charges dropped for a single mission? One final mission and he’d be… free?

He could barely muster the words, “...All of them?”

Oriel nods, her eye mustering into one of a malice laced stare, “Which, for your crime, is quite the substantial reward, no? Now then. Do we have a deal, Inmate?” Flavian felt dizzy, with a feeling within his chest he couldn’t describe. His injuries nearly felt like nothing as just the thought of freedom gave him an ailment he felt you couldn't find on any planet. He could hardly contain this feeling as he nodded, feeling light-headed, unsure if the feeling was from his wounds or euphoria. “Good. You will be patched up as usual and provided what is necessary for you to begin. Guardians, escort Flavian to the infirmary, please.” The Synod watched as he and the Guardians left, scattered sighs of relief filling the room. Slowly, Oriel walked to her seat once again, sitting with her legs to the side. Interlocking her fingers, she glowers at the door, “Let’s hope that he doesn’t disappoint.”

“So, Fleck. A secret Gold mission?” Flavian perked up, sitting on the edge of the infirmary’s bed. A golden tan, black-lipped woman with ink tattoos adorning her body lay in the bed across from him, a brand new eyepatch that only added to her look of tough insanity.

“Where’d you hear that from?”

“Word gets around quick here, you know that.”

“If ‘quick’ means a week after I had been given the mission, then sure Itzal.” Stretching his back and feeling better after his treatment, he picks up his letter of information, eyeing it confusingly.

Another inmate sits up, resembling a green lizard with yellow scales, holding his shoulder, “We only just got back from our mission, I’d say that’s pretty quick.” A much smaller, robot astronaut sort of creature with robotic bunny ears nods, a smile appearing on his digital, yet cracked, face.

Flavian only shrugged, “I suppose so then. What’s the big deal?”

Itzal laughed heartily, slamming her fist down on the bed, “What’s the big deal? Yix, Nauti, you hearin’ him? Why wouldn’t I want to hear about a Gold mission, Fleck?! Oh what, do groupies not share solo mission details no more?”

“No. Not this one anyway, I can't let this one be ruined by…erm…you guys. Offense is intended there.”

Itzal’s face was unchanged, looking simply bored, “You hurt me, Fleck,” she says as she plops on her pillow, finding other things to occupy her attention and Yix only lays back down slowly, watching out for his shoulder whilst Nauti continues to annoyingly poke at his cracked screen.

Flavian looked through the letter a final time. He was surprised by the staggering lack of info provided, so much so that it was single sided. It only provided the same mugshot as previously shown to him and two bullet points reading ‘They go to ‘The High Spirits’ bar the most frequently, no patron or worker of which has answered questions regarding them’ and ‘They’re unexpected and full of surprises.’ Flavian clicked his tongue.

Itzal groaned, “What’s got you all worked up for anyway? It’s just a Gold mission, same as usual.”

Flavian, though annoyed, stared at the paper with a sort of longing, “One that could change my life, Itzal.”

Itzal and Yix chuckle to themselves, Nauti’s screen showing an amused emoticon. “This is our life, Fleck.” He closed the letter again and tucked it away, throwing his purple cloak on and throwing up his hood.

Before he walked out of the infirmary, he turned back, “Not for long,” and headed out to begin his mission.

Flavian could feel his antenna lower as he craned his head further and further to look at the buildings above him. A vibrant and tall cityscape hung over his head, architecture stretching upwards and suspending high above, neon lights in every view. Spaceships zoom by with a swift sound and an overwhelming amount of people laugh, talk, and scream to their heart's content, voices echoing from every direction. It smelled of copper and booze and one could almost taste the droplets of alcohol falling from high story buildings by unstable drunkards. The buildings only went up further and further, Flavian nearly unable to see the very height of the city. Though the lights were nearly overwhelming to the senses, Flavian couldn’t help feel a sense of unease within the menacing glow. People of various species hung around and yet they all had quite the intimidating aura. Flavian groaned inwardly, pulled his hood over his head further, and subtly felt for his given weapon.

Flavian headed towards his destination, ducking out of the way of incoming people. He went higher and higher up the city, crossing bridges, climbing a copious amount of stairs, even having to jump from the floating platforms of which the buildings and streets were laid upon. And finally, amongst his cautious asking, he finally finds the bar, a bright neon sign on the front reading, “High Spirits Bar.” The bar had its own floating platform, suspended above the city as one of the highest buildings on the planet. Flavian shivered as he looked down below, noting the high drop. The bar was about an average size, two stories with many windows and walls of lined wood. Peeking inside, the place looked quite populated, with large and loud people slamming their fists and brawling. And just at the bar counter, sitting rather casually, was the man himself: Briggs. Flavian stared for a moment before moving out of sight from the window.

Taking a deep breath, he walks inside. Immediately, a glass is thrown at the wall adjacent to his head, beer getting on his hood. He looks in the direction of the throw in disbelief, the culprits not even paying attention. He merely glares in their direction before looking towards his target once again. The bars walls were lined with wood, lights hanging above them. The second floor was an indoor terrace just above them, a railing being the only thing separating the rest of the bar and the people up there playing more card games and making intense bets. The bar itself has wooden stools with the wall of alcohol behind the large bartender nearly glowing in its abundance.

Avoiding the fights, stumbling drunks, and pick up lines made his way, he finally manages to reach the bar counter, feeling his body shake a bit as he sits next to Briggs. In front of them, the bar’s owner and current bartender, Oskar, stands and eyes him curiously. He’s a large blue man, his bottom half being home to tentacles, a dark blue beard handsomely on his face. Flavian avoids eye contact until the man loses interest and focuses on the regulars. The two sit in silence, Briggs not having moved an inch since Flavian looked through the window. He simply periodically sipped from his straw and continued to stare ahead. Flavian turns toward him, “So...Briggs, right?”

Briggs jolts a bit and slowly looks towards Flavian. There’s a silence between them as Briggs gives Flavian an empty, blank stare. Flavian can’t help but look around in confusion as Briggs sat there, the stare appearing to narrow with every passing second. Briggs then blinks once and his face becomes much calmer, giving Flavian a small smile, “So, you’ve heard of me?”

Flavian tilts his head, “Is that a serious question?”

He only shrugs, “Plenty of people haven’t, plenty of people have wanted posters, especially the people of this planet.” Briggs relaxes a bit more, leaning forward, “Did you need something, stranger? The name thing wasn’t a party trick, so I’m guessing you needed something else?”

“I’m just impressed. It’s quite the achievement to evade authorities on such a high scale with…how many people did you say were in your gang?”

“Five, not including me.”

Flavian tapped his index finger on the counter. Five other aliens excluding the leader. The Synod’s going to want names too, but that can come later. Flavian only smiled, “A six-person party managing to stump intergalactic authority for this long is very impressive I’d say. They must also be quite strong, that’s quite a low number for a gang. You must see yourself as a sort of man of high status?”

For the first time, Briggs’ casual demeanor shifts into one of surprise and…confusion? “High status?”

Flavian waves his hand, “...Well, of course. Your wanted posters are clearly teasing, you’ve clearly attained a level of mastery and method within this life, no?”

Briggs tilts his head for a minute, his confused face increasing by the second. Flavian can’t help but internally panic. Had he said something wrong? Then, out of nowhere, Briggs starts chuckling, turning into a full on belly laugh. Flavian looks from left to right, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting. Slowly wiping a tear from his eye, he points at Flavian, “You sure talk a lot.”

“Uh–well–”

“You kept using those big words to describe me and it was like woah, you know? All that talking and I still don’t know what you want, man. I like you though, you’re weird.”

Flavian ignored the heat rising to his cheeks, as Briggs went back to contentedly sipping. He was unsure if he should feel shame or offense, but brushed off the feeling and cleared his throat, “I–I only wanted to highlight the achievements of which I’ve seen you and your group accomplish. I thought it necessary before I—I just—never mind,” Flavian leans forward, “Your gang. I want to join it.”

Briggs nodded, “Okay.”

“And before you–wait, what?”

Pushing his empty glass away, he rests his cheek on his fist, “Yeah. You can join us.”

“I…that’s it? You don’t need any convincing or for me to complete some sort of series of trials?”

“Nah, we don’t have to do any of that. You seem like a smart and fun dude, I think everybody else will like you. What’s your name,” he asks, holding out his hand.

Flavian slowly takes it, his name dragging out of his mouth in disbelief, “Flavian.”

Briggs nods, tipping his hat towards him, “A pleasure, Flavian. Always nice to have someone new added to the crew.”

Briggs stretches and begins to tap on the counter. “Well, Flavian, since you’re a part of the group now, I should probably let you know that we’re robbing this place.”

Flavian blinks for a moment. He shakes his head in disbelief, “I’m sorry…what?”

Briggs looks directly at him, “The bar. We’re robbing it. Well—we aren’t, but the others are. They’re in the back hauling a bunch of booze. We’re just waiting for them.”

Flavian looks at him in utter disbelief, “Waiting for them?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, it should be fine as long as things go according to plan. Although—”

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from behind the bar shelves, a muffled “Ow!” being clear.

The room is suddenly very quiet, everyone looking towards the wall, including Oskar. Stopping dead in the middle of cleaning his glass, he slams it down on the bar counter, “Who…?” He quickly makes his way towards the back, looking around for the source. A booming voice then cuts through the thick silence, “Oh, for the love of—BRIGGS!”

Quick footsteps began to get louder as four separate people ran out from the back, the tallest of which holding a case and the other three holding some smaller bottles, three of which looking excitedly at Briggs, the other looking a bit more nonchalant. The smallest, no more than 3 feet tall, quickly runs up to Briggs, shaking the bottles in their gloved hands and loud brown boots. Their skin is a tangerine orange with white freckles, an extremely pale orange braid reaching the floor. Their smile was wide, beaming brightly, “Briggs! Briggs! Check it out, Mango got the whole case!” The largest of the bunch, who’s name was apparently Mango, held the case up proudly. He was a large robot, nearly seven feet tall, with shades of oranges and yellows coloring his metal and his large jaw curled to resemble a smile.

Briggs leans over, whispering to Flavian, "Things don't usually go according to plan." Turning his attention to the smallest, he shook his head, smiling and patting them on the head, “Yeah, but the point was to get out discreetly, Dusty.”

A taller one with a robotic looking anatomy, a head of what appeared to be blue fire with an LED face over it showing digitized eyes, walks up to Briggs with a single bottle in his hand. He shoves the bottle into Briggs’ chest, “I tried telling them that, don’t look at me. Roux and Mango are too huge not to be noticed.”

The muscular pink one with light blue markings, only a bit shorter than Mango and who was apparently Roux, points to the case excitedly, “Mavi’s just being negative. We got a CASE though, Briggs! A CASE!”

Flavian’s concern and bewilderment increase by the minute as he looks at the five of them, who paid him no real mind. Briggs elbows Flavian playfully, winking, “Things don’t usually go according to plan.” Flavian’s eyebrows lower in disbelief as he looks at Briggs’ content face. He turns back to the others and gives them all a thumbs up as Oskar reaches them, angrily glaring at Briggs. Briggs winks, “Hey, Oskar. We were just leaving—”

“Leaving? You lot aren’t going ANYWHERE! I am sick and tired of you taking my booze!”

“Aw come on, can’t we just get our usual warning? We’re pals, aren’t we?” Oskar quickly goes behind his counter, slamming his large fist down and whistling, garnering everyone’s attention.

“WHOEVER BRINGS ME THE HEADS OF BRIGGS AND HIS CREW GETS FREE BOOZE TONIGHT, A TONIGHT ONLY OFFER!” All of the eyes in the bar quickly focus on the six, the room filling with toothy smiles and sinister chuckles.

Flavian’s face pales, looking at Briggs, who’s never looked calmer, “Huh. Well you’re clearly angrier than usual. He’s not usually like this, Flavian, he’s a nice guy once you get to know him.” As patrons slowly begin to surround them, the group huddles together closely, Flavian far more unwillingly, the others clutching the alcohol for their life.

“Flavian. You know how to fight, yeah?”

Flavian’s head swivels between him and the enemy, “I–I mean I guess, but—”

Briggs cuts Flavian off and swings a revolver around his finger. He holds it steady and winks at Flavian, “I’ll take your word for it. Do me a favor.” The four around him glare around the room, Mavi holding a pair of chakrams, Dusty having a revolver similar in looks to Briggs, and Mango and Roux both cracking their knuckles and clenching their fists. The room feels tighter and tighter, the atmosphere heavy and unwelcoming. Flavian whimpers unsure as the others stand their ground, seemingly waiting for something. Briggs lowers his hat, a shadow casting over his eyes.

He raises his arm, revolver in hand, “Duck.”

Flavian only has a second to register before he sees a bar patron begin to head their way, going for him first. He quickly crouches, covering his head as a loud bang rings out and a scream fills the bar. Flavian looks and sees a very muscular, gray man holding his shoulder, black liquid spilling from underneath his hand. The man looks at his hand covered in his own blood and an ire-filled glare is directed towards Briggs, as the latter blows the smoke from his revolver, winking with his smirk never faltering. Quickly, the other bar patrons begin their battle cries, the gray man instantly charging towards Briggs, and begin to advance as the four run right past Briggs who only tips his hat up towards his victim and readies his revolver once more.

Flavian stands, somewhat in a dizzying state, looking around to gauge the situation. He evades a punch from a four armed man and manages to jump right over an attempt at a kick. He frantically searches his body for his weapon, finally holding a somewhat glamourous handgun, white with many golden parts. He still can’t help but roll his eyes at the lack of subtlety that the Synod had. Looking around for his new “companions”, he ends up getting swept up in a tight hold by a man with shark-like teeth. Flavian wriggles and cranes his neck down, finding a target and managing to shoot the foot, a light yellow laser type blast emitting from his weapon. The aggressor screams in pain releasing Flavian in an instant, allowing him to roll and aim a bit higher, earning a headshot.

Briggs looks towards Flavian as he’s in the middle of a brawl, “Nice one, Flay!” Flavian grimaces at the new nickname. Heading his way to recuperate,

Flavian finds himself in front of another obstacle, looking even more arrogant than the last, “‘Ey there, pipsqueak,” she cracks her neck. Flavian wastes no time in aiming for the head, but she dodges, giving a square punch to the side of his head and making the room spin. She then pins him down, trying to crush him again, but Flavian quickly reacts, shooting her in the thigh. She recoils, quickly trying to regain the upper hand, but Flavian slides out from underneath her and holds the gun in his hand again, aiming once again before—

Click.

He and the woman both pause. Flavian looks towards his gun again, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He points it towards her and pulls the trigger repeatedly, the sound repeating: Click, Click, Click.

He can feel his eye twitch.

He’s out of ammo.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be—” The woman growls, now bloodthirsty as she punches the ground and tries to crawl to get toward him. Flavian quickly crawls back, avoiding her grabs as much as possible until he reaches the wall and cowers as she manages to stand with the help of a table. With hatred in her eyes, she quickly grabs a bar stool, raising it over her head as Flavian closes his eyes waiting for blow.

“ACK!”

Flavian winks an eye open as the stool falls to her side and the two of them look surprised as a slicing wound appears more clearly on her torso, blood leaking more and more. The woman weakly falls to the left, clenching her wound, Mavi standing with an expression as calm as ever.

He offers a hand towards Flavian, “Hey.” Flavian blankly takes the hand, quickly being pulled up. Roux quickly appears, swinging the forgotten bar stool that was to be Flavian’s murder weapon over the head of a different person, making Flavian and Mavi quickly duck. She laughs wildly as she punches and uses a variety of blunt objects to knock people out, with Mavi’s flames rising in anger, “Roux! Watch it, you almost hit us!”

Roux holds a table over her head, looking down at the two of them with an apologetic expression, “Oops! Sorry Mavi! And…who’re you?” Mavi turns towards Flavian and raises an eyebrow, seemingly wondering the same.

Flavian squinted his eyes, his mind completely uncoordinated, “I…uh…”

A body flies across the room, said body appearing to be Briggs, coughing and groaning. He stands and puts his hand on Flavian’s shoulder, hunched a bit, “Guys this is Flavian, Flavian the guys, he’s our newest member—Roux, on your left.”

Roux quickly acts as she uses the table she held to smash it over the person’s head, her excited smile not faltering, her and Mavi synchronizing, “A new member?”

Roux jumps up excitedly, absentmindedly punching and smashing heads as she rambles, “I can’t believe we have a new member, it has been super long since anyone’s joined us—! Oh—shit! Where are my manners, I’m Roux! I do a bunch of stuff, I help out a lot here and there, but mostly I—” Roux grabs a person by their neck slamming them against a wall. She then punches them square in the stomach and throws their body across the bar, landing on several others. She turns, smiling at a mortified Flavian, “Fight!”

Mavi sounds far less excited, a bit more confused, fighting as he talks, “Wait, wait, wait—a new member? Where did this guy even come from?”

Briggs fills up his ammo as Mavi covers him, “Dunno. He just showed up and asked.”

Mavi slashes at someone’s arm as his digital eyelids fall further, “And you just agreed? Without any other questions?”

Briggs stands and shoots someone in the head without turning towards them, “Yup!”

Mavi only groans as he pulls Flavian towards him and mutters, “Of course.”

Flavian and Mavi head Briggs’ way as Roux goes her own way, taking on as many people as possible. They end up towards Dusty and Mango, the former shooting wildly atop the latter’s shoulders and laughing maniacally. Flavian ducks over a rogue fist and uses an empty bottle to smash over someone’s head. “Well…welcome to our group…I guess. This is kind of a bad time for introductions since I’m busy, y’know,” Mavi plunges the blade of the chakram into someone’s shoulder, pushing them to the ground and slicing them in the back, “Killing people.”

Flavian’s eyebrows go down. He could not be in a worse position to try and act as a member of the team at the moment. He scanned the view in front of him, seeing if he could possibly create a far less fragile makeshift weapon for himself. He was far too weak to use a chair or table like Roux. Flavian turns hoping to find something useful, but jumps at the sight of Dusty and Mango right in his face, “Our group? Are you a new member?!” They hop up and down excitedly on Mango’s shoulders as Mango hugs the case of booze in glee.

Flavian cowers, “My ‘yes’ is starting to grow incredibly regretful.” He looks past them and scans the area. Still nothing for him to use; nothing really useful anyway. He was defenseless. He closed his eyes in frustration and cursed the Synod of Gold for the lack of ammo.

Mavi pulls him up, “You’ll get used to them. Watch out,” Mavi says as he slides past Flavian, making a swift move and slicing the neck of an attacker.

Dusty shoots at the body, claiming the kill as their own as Mavi only rolls his eyes at the action. “I’m Dusty,” they shout in between shots, “This is Mango!”

Mango temporarily pauses from his punching to wave at Flavian, “Hello.” He lands a final, much harder hit on his victim, Flavian having to block away the splash of blood with his cloak. Flavian stared wide-eyed at Mango as his expression had no change as he dropped the body and looked around for more alive and awake people to fight.

As the group continues on, Flavian doing the best with the weapons he could get and protection that he luckily had, a final shot from Briggs rings out as the five all stand, panting covered in bruises and blood. Roux is the singular one in the middle of an easily won brawl, Mango and Dusty’s excitement uncontained as they poke at unconscious bodies, Mavi leans against the bar, looking nonchalant, and Briggs stands triumphant as Flavian holds onto a table to keep himself from sinking entirely to the floor. Briggs whistles, putting away his revolver and stretching once again. Oskar only stands there, glaring at the man with an unreadable expression. Briggs shrugs as the others file his way, Flavian having to force himself to follow along. Briggs shrugs, “Well, Oskar, looks like everybody here was unfortunately no match for us. Gotta say, I commend you for trying.”

Oskar narrows his eyes further as he raises his arm and snaps his fingers. “Did I say tonight? I meant for life.” Instantly, more than half of the bodies, even those riddled with wounds and bruises, begin getting up, grins and resolve both increasing. Flavian can only imagine how many of those that laid unmoving wished they could cheat death as they cursed from hell at such an offer. The gang cower together, all suddenly looking to Briggs for what to do, who is presently silent.

He looks around the room again and lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Well, well, well, didn’t you prove me right, Oskar! I am just a man of arrogance and you have quite the amount of patience to deal with our antics,” he talks as he slowly leads everyone towards the door. “This has been a great time, managed to get a lot of exercise in and me and the crew have had plenty of fun but unfortunately we have got to get going, plenty of other places to steal from and people to fight you know how it goes, okay see you later bye—”

Oskar quickly reaches behind the bar and pulls out a blacksmith’s hammer, slamming it on the counter, pointing, shouting loud enough to disrupt the cosmos, “GET THEM!”

Instantly, the six dash out of the bar, Flavian recalling the height of the bar and feeling a pit of dread in his stomach. Mango stops running with the others and looks back as Flavian hesitates before pulling the alien by the arm, bar patrons pouring out and yelling obscenities at the crew. Briggs continues running as they inch closer to the edge of the bar’s platform, “Follow the leader, guys!” He jumps clear off of the building, heading to the roof of another, the others following as Flavian does his best to wriggle out of the robot’s hold to no avail.

“Wait, waitwaitWAIT—!”

His pleas go unacknowledged as Mango jumps and Flavian’s significantly lighter weight is in midair, feeling like the balloon a child would hold and feeling his body shake as Mango manages to land on the roof. Finally, Mango releases him, becoming more worried about his grip on the case of booze and eventually giving the duty of holding their precious treasure over to Roux. Flavian ungracefully scrambles to stand and run, following along with their actions. They hop from building to building, sliding down rails like it’s nothing and pushing through groups of people. The close buildings begin to die out and their pursuers begin getting closer and closer. Dusty looks back in annoyance at a particular person, the same gray one Briggs had managed to shoot in the shoulder. Narrowing their eyes, they slide, jumping back onto Mango’s shoulders to hitch a ride. Pulling out their revolver, they began shooting at the various people, hitting them in the knees and attempting to take a few out completely, not succeeding much on either front.

Dusty growled when they missed another shot, bopping Mango on the head, “You’re going too fast! I keep missing!”

Flavian then swiftly got annoyed by the child’s frequent misses, growling, “Give it here!” He swiped the gun out of their hands, earning a face of complete offense from them. The crew began to make their way through narrow alleys, a variety of people sticking to the walls and instantly booking it as they headed their way. Flavian looks ahead, noticing a fire escape staircase with the ladder still up, and a dumpster bin, much closer. He tightens his grip on the smaller revolver, and pulls out the dumpster bin, pushing it in front of the pursuers, blocking their path. Not a split second later does he turn, aiming at the latch on the fire escape holding the ladder and shooting, causing the ladder to violently release, knocking a large man in the front back and causing a domino effect of many of the other attackers to fall. The other five look back at the display in amazement, surprise, and awe, unable to completely celebrate as they continue being pursued. Flavian runs alongside Mango as Dusty looks at him in surprise. Flavian only glances at them and hands them their gun, ignoring the bewildering and yet offended look they give him.

After what feels like a millennia of running, they finally make it off of floating platforms, buildings, and streets, and onto the ground floor, nearing the end of the line for them with plenty of willing pursuers still hot on their trail. Briggs screeches to a halt as they reach an edge, the drop showing great height, the closest thing to a bottom only showing fog. Everyone looks down, extremely concerned and turns back to the attackers, as blood and booze-thirsty as ever, hands ready to grab them swiftly before they manage to slip away again. Briggs pants heavily and looks at them in concern before sighing and slowly raising his hands in defeat, the others standing nervously, Roux and Mavi holding onto each other, and their case of booze, and Dusty clinging to Mango’s head. Flavian doesn’t have time to look over at them in shock as Mango suddenly pulls Flavian to his side, holding onto him tightly. As Briggs hangs his head in defeat, the patron aliens sigh in relief, taking breaths and patting one another on the back as they anticipate the fruits of their labor. Briggs then tilts his head up smiling as he moves his arms to fold them behind his head and falls backwards, the others’ amusement and nonchalance returning as they follow him down the cliff, Flavian flailing as Mango’s weight pulls him down like an anchor and screams as the patrons reach out, trying to catch one of them before seeing them disappear among the fog.

The patrons look over the cliff in disappointment and anger, grumbling and growling as they mourn their lost opportunity. With no other choice, they all angrily head back to the bar, with no head of the booze-stealing Briggs in any of their hands.

Underneath the fog, however, was just that, along with the other crew, tightly in Mango’s embrace with a hand over Flavian’s mouth as they all did their best not to laugh. After a few seconds of silence, Dusty perked up, “Are they gone?”

Briggs waits with bated breath as he looks up.

He smiles, “Looks like it.”

Everyone is then released from Mango’s grip cheering and stretching, relishing in their bout of adrenaline. Well—all except Flavian, who merely sat on the floor in shock attempting to process what had just transpired. Roux happily places the case down and opens it, beaming as she and the others look over their newly obtained bottles of alcohol.

Mavi smirks at the sight, “This’ll last us a couple weeks if we play our cards right.”

Briggs laughs, pinching the brim of his hat between his fingers, “Well, friends, despite our many bumps in the road, I believe we can call this mission an overwhelming success. Plus,” Briggs gestures towards Flavian, a seemingly genuine smile on his face, “We got a new member to our group. This is one gooood day.”

Mavi looks off into the fog, “Now we just need to get back to Asp. She’s probably worried sick, we’ve been gone a lot longer than we said and it looks like the newbie isn’t looking well, health-wise.”

Roux pokes Flavian in the face, who hasn’t yet moved from his shocked state, “Flavian? Flay? You want some whiskey?” Flavian’s eye twitches, only managing to slowly shake his head. “Oh! He’s alive, don’t worry.” Roux cheers triumphantly as she stands and closes the case back up, handing it back to Mango.

Briggs slaps Mavi on the back, earning an unimpressed glower from the latter, “Mavi’s right, we need to get back to base, get everyone patched up and get Asp to meet Flay.” The others begin to follow Briggs’ lead as Briggs turns in confusion, towards Flavian, who stands unmoving, “Flavian? You coming?”

Looking as though he was snapped out of a trance, Flavian’s antennae perk up, turning towards Briggs, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, I’ll catch up, I just…need a second…”

The group exchanges looks as Briggs’ shrugs, “The cave isn’t too far from here, you should be able to find it from here.” Flavian nods, looking away again, stress etched into his eyes. The five slowly disappear into the foggy path and eventually go out of earshot.

Flavian’s face drops even further, pulling the handgun he had gotten from the Synod and quickly discarding it. He then rolled up his black glove to show a small, thin transmitter around his wrist and pulled up a hologram screen, contacting the Synod. He waited. The hologram appeared quickly, showing the members of the Synod all sitting at their spots, all looking quite nonchalant.

Of course, Oriel spoke first, “Ah, Flavian. A report so soon?” Flavian growled and he watched her giggle, “My, you’re always so upset, Flavian. How are things?”

“I’m alive, that’s all that matters. Oh, and tell whoever deals with handing out weapons that I appreciated the lack of bullets. Three shots and I ran out, Oriel.”

“Oh? Hm, that’s quite troublesome. Would’ve been quite the inconvenience had you died.” Flavian found a tree and rested against it, sighing nicely and ignoring her honeyed snubs. “Have you managed to track down the leader yet? If not, it’s understandable, the group has been spotted on a variety of—”

“I found them.”

The apathetic air in the chamber quickly shifts as all eyes widen at the sound of Flavian’s words, Oriel included. “You’ve…found them? Already? And what of your progress regarding them? How do you plan to make contact?”

Flavian laughs bitterly, “How do I plan—I already HAVE. I just asked to join and the moron let me in! I essentially experienced my first mission just now. Some first mission,” he says, mildly resentfully.

Oriel looks taken aback, furrowing her brow and thinking. She more sternly looks back at the screen, her hands behind her back, “It seems you’ve managed to earn some privacy. Tell me, what have you been doing thus far within their group? What did you think of the ‘mission’ you participated in?”

Flavian glares, looking in disbelief, “...What did I think? What did I think?! I think the Synod is full of a bunch of misleading liars! A criminal mastermind? Craftiness and cunning?! The guy is a MESS! Everyone in this group is a mess! We barely escaped with our lives and you’ve only managed to catch that idiot once?!” Oriel was clearly not listening, in a world of her own, seemingly thinking. Flavian seems to notice and rubs his eyes in exasperation, “Look, they’re probably starting to get suspicious, so let’s plan my escape now. I have their names and I have the appearances of most of them. I'll attempt to gather more info over the next few days and probably leave within a week’s time—”

“Change of plans actually. It appears this group and its members are far more unexpected than we initially thought. After all, a gang leader being so open to a new member is strange, wouldn’t you agree? It appears like you’ll be staying with Briggs’ crew much longer. We’ll be deciding when you will be relieved of your duty.”

Flavian feels his heart skip a beat, “W–what?! You said—you can’t just—”

“I can’t what? You didn’t exactly sign a contract, Flavian, now did you?” Flavian clenched his fist, growling. A sinister look grew in that eye of hers, “Don’t worry though, I am a woman of my word. Fulfill this mission and you will be cleared of your charges and freed from this planet. Quit or fail and you can say goodbye to even the prospect of a better future. Permanently. Am I understood?”

Flavian swallows and tugs at his cloak, resigning, “Yes.”

Oriel claps her hands together, “Wonderful. No contacting us for a while, I want you to integrate more naturally. Farewell.”

The transmitter cuts off, the hologram zipping away as Flavian is left to sit there in silence as the wind overtook his senses. He holds himself a bit tighter, claws digging into clothed skin as he curses his situation. Taking a deep and shaky breath, Flavian looks up towards the sky. “Just a bit longer,” he thought to himself.

He stood and began to follow the pathway to the base of Briggs’ and the rest of the crew.