Dagger-7 and Dagger-2 dropped out of the Trade Lane connecting Pittsburgh to Fort Bush. The two ships communicated via secure channel to one another as they navigated towards the docking ring orbiting the planet. They'd picked up two Frigates at the Manhattan office after their brief to the T9 Division lead there. Instead of going in hot, command wanted them to come at the situation sideways in traditional LSF fashion. Dagger-2 agreed, no sense drawing attention to themselves. Despite not flying Dagger-2, the two retained their callsigns to one another for ease of communication.
"Planet Pittsburgh landing control, requesting permission to land. Two Dragur Freighters."
"ID please." the attendant said, clearly bored. Dagger-2 and Dagger-7 sent over their information. Charlie and Thomas Thorne, Freelancer brothers from the edge worlds looking for work. Their clearance to land was granted. He wasn't surprised, backstopped LSF ID's were always perfect. The two quickly landed at Red Hills Refinery on the desert world and disembarked.
"Go and check with records and collect all the data they have on Heiko Riegel. See if his departure is in the logs and if so where. If not, check where he is at present. Don't use your LSF credentials if you have to." Dagger-2 stated as they exited their craft following their landing.
"I know how this works, Charlie." he responded, clipped.
Dagger-7 was a bit of an asshole. Probably why Winter sent him along to ensure that they actually got the data without pissing the entire planet off. Hearts and minds,
"I know you do. Just do it anyway. We need to know if we need to send in the grab team to snatch him off the world or not...or if it's even possible without causing collateral damage."
He left, heading for dock control mumbling under his breath. Dagger-7 was a good agent but a lousy person. He did his job well but was one of those people that used his weight as LSF to push people around to get his way instead of using nuance to get it. That was why he never really grew into anything other than a simple agent rather than a site lead, or cell officer. Dagger-2 shook his head in dismay as he saw him walk off.
"Time to scout the area and see what shakes loose." He shuffled off, hands in his pockets, pretending to be just another Freelancer existing in the background.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
As Dagger-2 approached the check-in office of the decaying Red Hills Boron Refinery, the crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound accompanying the sharp wind howling through ruptured ductwork above. The facility, listed as "under decomission" for nearly a decade, loomed hollow and rust-choked -- but traces of activity could be seen.
A flickering announcement terminal, built into the outer wall, buzzed to life as they neared. Its UI was out of fashion, but still worked.
▼ Docking Record (Most Recent)
— Arrival: 3 days ago
— Vessel Class: Draugr-class Freighter
— Registration: AO3129
— Manifest: HCEC (Hazardous - High Capacity Energy Cells)
— Assigned Bay: Loading Bay 3
— Status: Docked
That tail number matched the freighter from Serrano’s footage. It was Riegel's.
Inside the office, a plastic security chair had been rotated recently. A half-full cup of coffee, still warm to the touch, rested on the desk. The terminal screen showed a log-in timeout screen.
Then, he noticed it:
A security monitor feed in the upper corner of the room, still active. One screen showed a live feed of the check-in office -- himself, stand outside the glass.
Soon after, a wall speaker crackled to life, slightly distorted.
Unknown Voice:
“Uh... hey -- are you the inspector? You’re a bit late, we figured you weren’t coming. Sorry for the cold welcome! Airlock should be cycling now. Just head on in and I’ll get to you.”
Outside, the heavy main airlock to the refinery's core structure clunked and hissed, the lights above it shifting from red to green. As the door groaned open, the stale scent of boron dust and coolant wafted out.
Waiting just beyond the threshold stood a security officer, older man, slightly off posture. His company ID badge was barely legible under scratched laminate, and his gear looked two models out of date. He stood just inside the light.
Security Officer:
“Afternoon. Wasn’t sure you were still coming. What can I do for you?”
Dagger-2's face was unreadable as the door slid open to reveal the man--but he was skeptical. Coffee mug still warm, a chair appearing to have been moved quickly from the disturbed dust, a time-out prompt on the screen of the nearby computer, and an all too convenient monitor displaying his exact position relative to the docking bay door. He quickly made a point of examining the room and adjoining airlock, pretending to be looking around for where the voice was coming from. He saw no automated weaponry in any of the places he looked, but did note that Dagger-7 was just outside the door now, standing by for backup.
The gear being out of date wasn't anything odd, Pittsburgh was often a forgotten about world despite the activity always present in New York. Considering the state of the Republic and focus on Galileo of late, it wasn't any surprise this world on the periphery of the system was forgotten about...though some of these workers get handouts from the Xenos so the outdated gear wasn't an anomaly but it was unusual.
He decided to play along with this little narrative being put on. He was confident that if he closed ranks with the older man on the other side of the airlock, he could take him out if the situation called for it. Having Dagger-7 as backup nearby was an additional feather in his cap--at the very least he could report his deceased status to Agent Winter if the needs called for it.
"Yeah, sorry I'm a little late." he replied scratching the back of his head in exasperation. He was careful to identify himself as a singular individual instead of plural so as to distract from the fact that there were two on the ground instead of just himself. "Clearance in orbit is a bitch." he said with a chuckle. He moved forward towards the older man and outstretched his hand in greetings, preparing himself if the man attacked. "Charlie Thorne, Freelancer Inspector." he said with a smile.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
Security Officer:
"Inspector Thorne, huh? Well, welcome to Red Hills. You can call me Jacob."
He turned with a nod toward the yawning, rust-choked facility, motioning for Dagger-2 to follow. A hiss of recycled air slipped from a cracked vent overhead as they stepped inside. The lighting was dim and jaundiced, fixtures wearing more dust than glass, every footstep kicking up a thin veil from the grated flooring.
Security Officer Jacob:
"She’s in a sorry state, ain’t she? Ever since the tax cuts ended, it’s been one thing after another. Worked here five years… most of ‘em watching her fall apart."
The two navigated narrow passages, sidestepping fallen ductwork and the occasional loose panel leaning against a wall. Occasionally, a muffled clang or hiss came from deeper inside, where a skeleton crew kept the refinery breathing. Through open doors, Dagger-2 caught glimpses of maintenance techs hunched over obsolete equipment, their uniforms mismatched, their tools worn smooth by overuse. They barely looked up.
Security Officer Jacob:
"Used to be dozens more here. Then the layoffs hit. No notice -- just a message on the console. By shift change, half the lockers were empty."
A faded directional sign hung askew ahead: "← LOADING BAYS". Only Bay 3 glowed with a steady red indicator. The others were dark, their locks tagged with warning tape.
Security Officer Jacob:
"Last real business we’ve had was Riegel’s freighter. We’re not picky -- bay rentals keep the lights on. Clients bring their own cargo, sometimes use our cranes, forklifts, whatever’s left that works."
They turned down the final corridor toward Bay 3. The change was immediate -- brighter lighting, cleaner walls, no rust flakes underfoot. The smell shifted from metallic decay to the sharper tang of fresh lubricant and sterilized air. Fire extinguishers and safety panels were mounted at regular intervals.
Security Officer Jacob:
"There…"
The officer’s finger drifted toward a scuffed console beside the bay entrance, its surface oddly free of dust compared to everything else in the corridor.
Security Officer Jacob:
"…Press the green button there, and the door’ll cycle open."
He stepped in close, his hand briefly clasping Dagger-2’s -- the same papery, weak grip as before, but lingering a second too long, as if memorizing the feel of his palm.
Security Officer Jacob:
"Got to get back to my post. Have a good inspection, Mr. Thorne."
Without waiting for a reply, Jacob pivoted and walked away at an unhurried pace, boots echoing hollowly against the clean metal floor -- a sound that seemed to fade too quickly for the distance.
He noted the sterile surroundings not unlike a clean room--here, it was even more out of place than it would be otherwise. The trip here made sure to drive that point home. What's more, is he suspected that the Security Officer was told to bring him here. He chatted way too much to not have been nervous about something. He glanced around him, playing the part of being confused when he saw a shadow dart behind one of the external tanks just outside of the pristine walls.
Dagger-7 was still shadowing him. Good. Maybe he wasn't so bad of an agent after all.
He looked around and noticed that the bay was clear of any ship. Either their target had left to continue his smuggling or he was off doing something with intent to come back. Dagger-2 waved his compatriot over. Dagger-7 materialized out of the shadows.
"Status." he said. This was, after all, his show.
"I trust you heard everything our friend went through?" the big man nodded his affirmation. "Seems our target was doing a lot more than smuggling." he said glancing around.
Dagger-7 nodded in agreement. "A clean room. Seems we mischaracterized the man. Not a smuggler but--"
"--a scientist or researcher. I was thinking the same thing. That is decisively more dangerous concerning the materials he is suspected of transporting. The man seems to be gone for the time being. Do a subtle search of the surroundings, see if you find anything."
Dagger-7 bristled a bit.
"I know this is your show...so what else would you do in this situation?"
Dagger-7 smiled a small smile and dug around in a pouch pocket. He handed the contents to Dagger-2. Bugs. A lot of them. Dagger-2 smiled.
"Good man." he said clasping him on the shoulder before the two got to work.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
At the far end, a reinforced double door stood framed in heavy steel, its panel glowing an inviting green. The light pulsed faintly, catching their eyes like a signal beacon.
They approached in silence, noting the solid frame -- the kind built for something valuable, or dangerous. Weapons cache. High-grade lab. Secure evidence vault. Whatever was behind it, it was protected for a reason.
Dagger-2 tapped the console. The door released with a deep hiss, grinding open as if reluctant to give way. Beyond it waited… another reinforced door.
An airlock.
Their instincts flared. No “abandoned” refinery had this kind of security, not without a reason someone didn’t want public.
Still, they stepped inside, and Dagger-2 engaged the inner console. The second door rumbled open, revealing a vast space bathed in warm, almost theatrical amber light.
Crates -- dozens, maybe hundreds -- formed a haphazard barricade across the bay. Their labels were either stripped or painted over, but the stenciled numbers hinted at something organized beneath the chaos. The smell reached them before the sound: the thick, rich bite of a premium Bretonian cigar, impossible to mistake for anything else.
They wove between the stacks, funneled through narrow gaps that seemed less like coincidence and more like design.
The passage ended abruptly.
Waiting at the mouth of the clearing, framed by the haze of his own smoke and the contrasting colors, stood a man in a coal-black suit. Immaculate, tailored, and utterly out of place in a place like this. His smile was practiced, confident -- the kind that spoke of control over the next several moves of the game.
The cigar smoked in his hand like a signal flare...
Mysterious Man:
"Gentlemen. Welcome to Red Hills."
He stepped forward with the easy composure of someone who’d never once been made to hurry. His gaze lingered on each man in turn, as if measuring more than their faces.
Mysterious Man:
"My codename… is ORATOR. And I’m here because we share the same enemies -- though yours may wear different faces than mine."
He rested one hand on the edge of a steel table, as casual as if they were discussing the weather instead of survival.
ORATOR:
"While you’ve been stamping out fires lit by syndicates, militants… Kusari mercenaries-for-hire… something far older is working its way through our defenses. Patiently. Quietly. The alien."
Crossing to a draped object, he drew the cloth aside with deliberate care, revealing a reinforced crate. Dagger-2 would know it instantly from Serrano’s footage.
ORATOR:
"We are under attack. Humanity… all of it… is being nudged, piece by piece, into submission. You two have seen enough to know I’m not being poetic."
He paused to draw on his cigar, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke toward the lights above.
ORATOR:
"I need your help. To prepare. To be ready for whatever comes next."
His hand tapped the crate. A hiss escaped, and the lid split open, bathing the room in the artifact’s otherworldly glow.
ORATOR:
"Work with me, and you help everyone. And… as a small courtesy -- your chests will shine with medals, and your division will have the ear of every power that matters."
The hair on the back of Dagger-2's neck stood up. He didn't give any impression that his senses were suddenly keenly aware of his surroundings. This was his fight or flight response. He didn't need to glance at Dagger-7 to notice that he was in much the same situation. Dagger-7 spoke first, his deep bassy voice echoing off the clean walls.
"Don't know what you take us for friend, we're just Freelance inspectors sent by DSE to check out this here plant."
A noble attempt, but something told Dagger-2 that this man knew exactly who they actually were. His suit was pressed, elegant, and not a single thing out of place. Everything had a purpose--a function. Even the cigar he smoked appeared to be perfectly rolled. His composure was clearly that of someone from wealth. Disappearing a nobody like Serrano in this situation would not be practical or efficient. Money could buy you power, and power got you certain privileges from those on high. This was a high stakes game with his career.
He spoke of aliens and when he opened the chest, he felt his blood pressure elevate. He'd seen these in intelligence reports. Almost of them were inert--but here this one glowed with some otherworldly purpose.
Based on his performative introduction, this "ORATOR" knew they were intelligence. However, Dagger-2 hoped that he didn't know which intelligence. Dagger-2 decided to play along but shift the narrative a bit. Thinking fast, he settled on a group he'd met in Kepler when he was a much younger agent.
"Enough, LINGUIST" he said. Dagger-7 immediately fell into his LSF persona but kept it loose. Good ol Vard. Dagger-2's impressions of the wayward agent were improving steadily with every interaction they found themselves in. "He obviously knows we're Directive agents." he said referencing the old Freelance intelligence group he had once interacted with. The man knew they were intelligence but Dagger-2 hoped that he didn't quite know which one. This was his best option, the others were out of the question.
"What's your business?" Dagger-7 said speaking up, the drawl in his voice gone, replaced by crisp and curt enunciations. He waved his hand in Dagger-2's direction. "ARDENT and I don't have time for games. We came here chasing Riegel, not whatever play you're acting out." Dagger-2 smirked despite the situation.
The artifact glowing from the chest stilled that mirth, however. It was glowing a vibrant kaleidoscope of colors which appeared to shift into waveforms that couldn't be discerned by the human eye. Dagger-2 had seen artifacts in various reports over the years, but never an active one. They had to play this right and get this into their possession before things got out of hand. The technology they could develop from one active artifact would set them ahead of the other houses by decades if not longer.
"Well? Spit it out." Dagger-2 said, clearly impatient.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
The kaleidoscopic glow spilled over ORATOR’s face, but he regarded it with the indifference of a man checking the time on a pocket watch. A curl of smoke escaped his lips, drifting upward, buying silence as their eyes remained fixed on the artifact.
ORATOR:
"Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Men bleed for such trinkets. Nations lose their notion of civilization over them. And yet, if you know where to look… they’re everywhere. Common as dirt. What fascinates me isn’t the artifact itself, but the men who lose themselves to it -- agents, scientists, even leaders. One glimpse… and they forget their training."
His gaze shifted, not to their faces, but to their hands, their stances, their subtle tells.
ORATOR:
"‘Inspector.’ ‘Division.’ ‘LSF.’ Whatever initials you’re wearing this month -- it makes no difference. You’re not here for refinery ledgers or missing freight. You’re here because you want to matter. To be more than paper-pushers or petty criminal chasers. To be the heroes Liberty pretends it doesn’t need."
With a snap of his wrist, he closed the crate. The glow vanished, as if it had never existed.
ORATOR:
"You’ll get what you came for. Riegel is in my custody, and you will have him… after we discuss what comes next."
His smile faded. Tone sharpened.
ORATOR:
"Tell me, gentlemen… have you heard of the Sudbury anomaly?"
He stepped closer, cigar burning low between his fingers.
ORATOR:
"It lies just outside reach. A blind, uncontrolled spot in Liberty’s vision. I’ve heard the rumors, and I’ve felt the weight of it. Could it be a planet-sterilizing super weapon? A beacon to something waiting beyond Sirius? The truth is simple: we don’t know. And not knowing… is unacceptable."
He let the words hang in the air, heavy.
ORATOR:
"Liberty’s bureaucracy will waste months arguing over who owns the problem. We don’t have months. We act, without politics, without strings. That’s where you come in."
So he knew they were LSF. They had a leak. Dagger-2 kept playing the game.
"Brave words. If we were indeed LSF, not even your wealth would keep you from being disappeared into some hold no one would ever find you." he let those words hang in the air as an idle threat. No doubt this ORATOR knew that as much.
"Let's say we know about this "Sudbury anomaly" and let's say we're curious to how that thing relates to it." he said jerking his thumb at the artifact. "What's in it for us. Do we get that trinket after going there on a field trip?"
In truth the LSF had long since known about the anomaly before being thrown out of the system on their ears by the resident Xenos. The LFR were a persistent thorn in their sides despite being nothing truly special...but they were organized. The Navy had been too focused on the Insurgency to notice the growth of the Xenos and LFR in their own backyard--it was one of the more sore points for LSF considering their lack of intelligence on the matter until it was too late.
The Sudbury Anomaly was a ruin on the planet Sudbury which had activated some months prior. Attempts to get close were more often than not met by stiff resistance from Hackers, Technocracy, and Xenos all. Despite them being enemies of one another, when any LSF ship attempted to get close, all three turned to take out the LSF craft and then turned back to brutalizing each other. What limited scans they were able to get showed a powerful energy beam firing out into deep space. Trajectory suggested it was heading for Coronado. Where in Coronado was still unknown.
"So, we go with you to this anomaly, we get Riegel. That about how everything shakes loose?" Dagger-7 asked.
You fear oblivion. Yet you forget. The universe remembers every atom of your being. Even dust hums your name in the dark. Roleplay is dead. Long live Powertraders and PvP I guess.
![[Image: erMXAoE.png]](https://i.imgur.com/erMXAoE.png)
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