Wayward Soul.

Sometime in the middle of the 3000s.
A vessel flew through a field of asteroids, making it out on the other side free of any damage. It's pilot checked his course with his AI assistant, "Wayland, will we still be there on time?" a screen in front of the old pilot lit up.
"Yes Sir, we should be there on time, long as we avoid any issues or conflicts, it should be a smooth delivery."
"Right, well Wayland sorry to bare the bad news, but it appears that conflict and issue have caught our scent on the solar winds." shifting his view to the ships rear camera, Wayland's sight was filled by a pirate vessel following close behind.
He shifted back to the main cabin camera, "Sir, if I make a suggestion." his voice coming from that familiar screen in the upper dashboard, the pilot turned to face him. "Go ahead Wayland, and be quick about it." he said whist arming his main guns and readying his thrusters. "Aim for their left thruster, it appears to have been repaired recently."
"Suggestion noted, thanks Wayland." he replied with a confident smirk, before taking a firm hold of his twin throttle controls. Shifting his vessel into combat mode, he spun the ship while flying right at them.
Causing the pirates to begin firing a hail of lasers at the pair, with an almost unmatched skill, he dodged their barrage of light beams. Responding in kind with his own mounted guns; in a flash he flew along their right side. Evading more shots from the medium sized vessel, it's crew trying desperately to get a lock on his much smaller cargo ship. Their captain shouting through the PA system.
"C'mon now lads! It's just a cargo ship."
Motivated by their captains words, one of the gunners overcharged his mounted turret. Increasing its rate of fire, but overheating it faster. The smaller red ship tried to evade the torrent of light, a single shot striking across the upper center of its frame.
"They landed a passing shot. Think it's about time I show these boys how a man fights." looking to Wayland's screen, he gave a slight smile. "Understood Sir! Engaging the chain shot." his ships twin mounted guns joined together, their barrels becoming a deep shade of blue. He flew across the left side of the pirates vessel, firing massive bolts of energy that took the shape of chains as they ripped into its hull.
Dealing heavy damage to its left thruster, slowing them by at least ten percent.
"Now, it's my turn!" he ramped up both thrusters output, then in an unbroken motion. Aimed his left engine up, then backwards. Whilst positioning the right backwards, boosting its output to the max. Taking frim hold of the throttles, he threw both forward. Putting himself behind them.
"I must admit, this fella has some fight in him! Engineers, one of ya check the hulls strength. Gunners, over charge all your guns. It's time we show our might!" with haste, a group of engineers ran to the left engine. While their crew mates loaded their guns with energy, waiting for the moment their foe appeared in their sights.
For a few minutes, he sat in the space behind them, checking his engines and weapons. "Wayland, keep an eye out for any more weaknesses." from the screen came a response, "Yes Sir. Equally, don't get hit."
"Saying that to the wrong guy."
Pressing the buttons that rested on his throttles tops, his ships rear engines came a light. With all four engines going, he flew forward, doing a spin as they vessel appeared left of the pirates ship.
Without a hint of hesitation, they started to fire away. Shots filling out space around the small courier class ship, barely missing as it flew through their barrage of light and death.
A handful of beams cut across its hull, leaving deep marks. "Wayland! Over charge our rear engines. I'm gonna strife their upper dock, and hopefully get these guys off our back."
"Yes Sir, right away. Brace for the shift, or you'll have to clean the cock pit. As I refuse to." with a soft laugh the pilot responded, "Thanks for the heads up."
Shifting his control, Wayland over boosted their rear engines power percentage, tossing them forward ahead of the foe. Taking a firm hold of his throttles, the pilot pushed them all the way forward.
Then pulled them back, sending them straight upward, flying up in a straight line.
"Has the man lost his mind? Gunners, ya know what to do!" the captain shouted. Every gun they had was trained on that small red courier class ship, once more they fired an unyielding torrent of energy, their guns finally over heating. Then that vessel turned, boosting all it's engines to max strength.
Flying straight at them, he readied his main guns, beginning to fire as his ship flew over their upper deck.
Leaving deep marks across it's outer armour, allowing vuccum to begin leaking in. Forcing their engineers to spilt into teams of two.
"How'd you like that, you cheap sharpshooters?" he said, his voice filled with excitement, thinking he'd finally done enough to force a retreat.
Instead, their Captain walked past the men running into to fix the damage. Heading to the mounted guns, he took hold of one the gunners with a firm grip, pulling him aside before taking command of the mounted laser gun. "I think it's about time I deal with this, take notes lads, I'm gonna show you why I'm captain!"
One the guns spun, drawing Wayland's attention and alarm, "Sir, Sir we need to move!" his voice filled his friend's ears.
Followed by the sound of shots ripping across their ships hull, "Oh shit, they aren't retreating!" he responded in surprise.
In a flash, he grabbed his throttles, throwing them forward. Shouting in a panic to Wayland, "Over clock our rear engines!"
Within a few moments, their four engines burned with a deep orange light. The sudden boost sent them forward, forcing the pilot to tighten his hold on the throttles. He struggled to keep them from going into a death spiral, while their attackers followed closely behind. "Wayland, do you see any way out?!" his voice shook with a deep concern, replacing his confidence.
"Yes I do, there's a planet dead ahead of us. We could force our pursuers into an unfavorable position, If we were to meet them on it's surface, I believe we'd even be able to overcome them."
"And what makes you think that, Wayland?" he responded with a hint of curiosity and worry. "Simply put, Sir. Their aim aboard a vessel leaves much to be desired, I'd be hesitant to believe it's much better outside of one."
Trusting his AI companion, he changed course, heading straight for the planet. A bright orange and white light trail followed behind. From an outsider perspective, you could mistake them for a comet or even a shooting star.
Struggling with all his strength, the pilot kept them on course, doing his best to maintain control.
Pressuring their target, the pirates stayed close. Their gunners taking aim, readying themselves to unleash death. Before they could begin, a shout halted their fingers.
"Hold your fire! We've wounded them. No sense wasting any more of our ammo on a ship thats going down, we'll meet them planet side and finish this in a more personal way." one of his men peeked up from his weapon at him, he stood in the bays center walk way.
"But Capt'in why are we gonna waste time doing all that?" the old space pirate grunted in response, his long black coat shifting as he turned to regard the man. "I'd like to challenge him to a duel. He seems the type to be willing to accept such a thing."
After he spoke, his men went quiet. "Get yourselves ready, poor lads heading for Erebus three. Grab your gear, and head to the landing ramp."
Drawing closer, Wayland started a scanned for a suitable landing site. Instead, his scans revealed clogged grounds, filled to busting with dozens of ships. Some wreckages from the golden age of space travel, others much, much more recent.
"Sir, I regret to inform you that this world is Erebus three." with a heavy sigh, the pilot replied. "But of course we'd end up flying into a ship graveyard."
They flew low into the planets atmosphere with little issue. A thick cloud layer giving them an opportunity to shake their pursers. "I've got a bit of good news, this place is suitable for human life. As long as you've got some cold weather gear, the outside temperature is currently-" the pilot stopped him.
"Wayland, I know what you're doing. And while I very much appreciate it, I'd appreciate you finding me a good place to land even more. I'm not sure how much time we've got before they spot us, so make it snappy if you would."
"If you had let me finish, I was going to say the outside temperature around our landing spot is -5C." pausing for a moment before replying, he turned his eyes to Waylands screen.
"Sorry about that. I thought you were trying to steady my nerves with casual chatter, prepping our landing gear." he turned his eyes away from the screen. "Sir, I'd worry more about our flight path than if you've hurt my feelings." snow started to litter their ships front window, causing a reduction in visibility. Lowering his engines boost, they flew lower and slower, their landing gear beginning to reach out from beneath them.
As they got closer to their destination, a strong wind blew a bit of scrap free sending it into their left side. "Shit!" the pilot shouted in surprise, his left engine thrown off balance suddenly. His throttles moved in a clockwise motion, "Wayland! Get into the chip now!" with all the strength he could muster, he fought against his ship to regain balance. Getting some control, before they were forced to make an emergency landing. Their landing gear grinded across metal and ice as they went down.
For a few minutes, he sat in the cockpit. Unsure what to do, he needed to get out and assess the damages. But when he tried to move, a sharp pain shot up his left leg. Between his feet he saw the emergency first aid kit.
Inside there was some bandages; pain killers and a shot of a dark green liquid. With a sharp inhale, he stabbed the needle of green into his leg. Bellowing out a scream that would wake the dead, then he placed his hand on the base of Waylands projector, pressing in its top.
Doing so caused a strange looking object to come out in a tray. It was round, with square edges; in its center was a dark orange light.
With a sigh of relief, he reached a few inches to the right. Pressing down on the cargo hold release button, before moving to pull the hatch release. Causing a hiss to fill the air as the cabin depressurized, from his ship. The wounded pilot climbed, clinging along its side. Blood lightly dripping down his leg, that he numbed beyond notice with the dark green shot.
Using the ship as a support, he hobbled to the cargo hold. It's ramp resting against the snow covered ground, moving forward slowly. He tightened his grip around the data chip from the projector, "Damn it, this is all because... I got too confident, I thought with age came wisdom. All my age has brought me has been misfortune." he said to himself in a pained voice, his shots effect was starting to ware off. The snow started to increase in volume, a snow storm was on its way.
"Just. Just a little more." he said, his injury becoming more noticeable with each passing second.
After what felt like miles of walking, he stood a few inches away from the cargo hold. It's ramp lightly dusted by snow, with great difficulty he hobbled up that long sheet of thick metal.
It was in view, finally. At the end of the ramp, standing held in place by a magnetic field was a tall pitch black coffin like rectangle. The pilot reached over as he made his way in, turning off the field. He approached it hesitantly, thinking about what he was about to do.
With a deep breath, he took hold of its frame. Pulling it open to reveal what he was supposed to deliver, a slick dark blue suit of amour. It's strange helmet stared back at him, it's clear visor reflecting his own helmet.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, but I don't really have a choice." he said in a weak voice, looking to the data chip from the projecter. Reaching behind the suit of amour, he was inches away from its helmet. Twin horns rested above the visor, grabbing hold of the left horn, he lifted himself slightly to get a better angle.
For a moment, he held himself against the suit, giving himself a few seconds of respite from his pain. For a fleeting second, he considered getting into the suit, but then he remembered his leg. Pushing the idea down, he felt around behind it near the base of its neck, looking for a slot. "There you are." he said to himself, before sliding in the chip.
Slowly lowering himself off of the suit, he sat down against the wall and waited. Hoping his efforts weren't a waste, for a few minutes he sat there. Listening to the wind blow, feeling its cold air pour into the place he sat.
Finally, it moved. First it's right hand, then it's left.
A light filled it's visor, followed by a voice coming from an inner speaker. "He...he low." then, the suit legs started to move. And it spoke again, "It, it." he could tell it was struggling with great difficulty to speak, even forming one word seemed to be a herculean task. The pilot spoke softly in reply, "Wayland, can you hear me? Move your right hand if you can." it's right hand waved in a stiff motion, if nothing else. They could communicate.
"Good. Your voice as you've probably figured out, isn't coming out properly. If there's anything you can do about it, please do it with the quickness." he stood in place, a myriad of lights appeared from the suits visor. Finally, a dull light emitted from it. Changing the color from a clear mirror like reflection, to a familiar dark orange.
Next, came his voice. "Sir, I. Where am I? What happened?" he paused, noticing his friend's damaged leg. Leaning down, he reached out to his upper thigh. "Sir, you've been wounded! Where is the first aid, where is-" the pilot spoke. "Wayland. I'm gonna need you to shut up, so I can explain." he bent his knee, resting eye level with the pilot. Their visors gazed into each other, the man removing his helmet before he continued. His hair was short cut, as was his beard; both were brown with hints of white running through them. His face was well worn with valleys to spare, and dark circles resting around his sunken eyes.
"I wanted to be face to helmet, felt like you needed to see my face this time. We crashed, Wayland. My leg was busted up in the landing, and I decided to stuff you into that suit."
His face became a regretful frown, his normal confidence nowhere to be seen.
"I'm sorry Wayland. I can't imagine how it feels to be in a completely different frame, let alone having an actual body for the first time. But I need you to deal with those pirates, there's no two ways about it, I couldn't fight my way out of a gareck in this state."
The suit didn't move, nor did Wayland reply. Instead, it stayed still. "I can only imagine how upset you are with me right now Wayland, but we don't have time for the silent treatment, you've gotta-" Wayland interrupted.
"I am not upset. We are in a difficult situation, and you made a difficult decision. As you've already informed me, you are wounded. And we still have foes seeking both our lives and. Wait a moment, wasn't this suit the delivery?!" he shouted, suddenly realizing what he was in.
"Sir!" the ai said in shock, unsure how to express what he was feeling. "I know. Look, it's better you have it then them. Also Wayland, we can't deliver it if we're dead."
He paused before replying, raising his finger for a moment, before putting it back down. "Sir, I. I'm a bit flabbergasted, while I understand your reasoning. It's a bit difficult to support it." the pilot shrugged.
"Even now, you're focused on the delivery. Never change." he said with a weak smile.
Wayland's helmet tilted to the right slightly, "I'm afraid I don't understand. I'm simply doing as I've always done. Trying to keep things in some form of order." he replied in a confused tone.
"Never mind, this isn't really a good time to talk anyway. I think the blood loss is making me a bit light headed; don't think too much about my words."
He nodded in response, "Sir, I've been looking through the suit's data while we've been talking. I've discovered it does have a weapon or something very similar built into it. Given our current situation, I thought you'd like to know."
The pilot perked up at this fact, "That right? Well seems its time you learned how to shoot, I'm sure theres something about in the suit's data somewhere." Wayland nodded once again. Rising back to a full stand, he reached over to his left side. Pulling forth a rivet gun. It was fitted with a medium length thick barrel; built in mag loaded through a hole in the top behind the barrel before the trigger on the frame. With a rounded handle, that contained the pressure for pushing out rivets. Along the squared off main body, ran a logo. A dark blue thirteen, "Wayland, what's with the number? Anything about that in the data?"
His visor went dark for a few seconds, before he replied. "Yes. This suit is the thirteenth prototype, as is the gun. It is formally called the Asterius suit. Hence it's bull like head design, and rather well built yet slim design." he said in a monotone voice, reading off data files found in the suits manual.
"Asterius huh, what's that gotta do with an earth animal exactly?" turning his helmet to better regard him, Wayland replied. "It was the name of a human bull hybrid from long ago." as he spoke, the ai loaded his gun with eight rivets, placing the long thick stripper clip into his left sides weapon holster and ammo retrieval slot.
"That manual give you any useful information? Beyond the design history of your suit i mean."
"Yes, namely how to load and create ammo."
"That right? Wait a minute, create ammo?" the pilot said with a confused expression, "Yes, the suit has a few different features related to recycling metal for repairs and ammo. Unfortunately, both take a bit of time to do."
"Wayland, are you telling me that fancy suit can fix itself on demand?" he nodded in response, "Yes but it takes time to do, I can't stand in the way of a lead wind and be unkillable." the pilot shrugged.
"Makes sense, good work takes time. Well Wayland, could you go to the cockpit and fetch my side arm. We gotta get you used to having a proper body, in fact, does that suit have a radio built into it?" stopping before the ramp, he looked through his data. "Yes, built into the helmet. I've been using a form of built in speaker connected with it to speak, though I was unaware of the built in radio."
With a soft, yet pained laugh the pilot replied, "Good to see even with a body, you still struggle to notice small details. Makes this whole thing feel a bit less jarring." the ai waved his hand slightly. "Sir, was there a radio in the cockpit I should be fetching as well?" with a small sideway nod, he answered. Pulling a small device from his jacket, before placing it into his ear. "I just gotta get on your suits frequency, and we'll have a good range of communication."
Wayland headed down the ramp, having a bit of difficulty making his way down it. Moving with an awkward unbalanced stride, almost falling off all together in a few spots. Slowly getting used to the concept of being bipedal, he held close to the ship as a support while heading to the cockpit. Taking stock of the damages, Wayland felt responsible for the ships current state.
Finally, he reached the cockpit. Snow lightly blanketing it's cover, and it's inner seating. Around him, snow drifted on a heavy wind. In conditions that would blind an unprepared man, Wayland was mostly unaffected. Besides water droplets that slightly blurred his visors vision.
He looked into the ship, trying to find both the med kit and his friends sidearm. In front of the seat, rested a partly open dull gray box marked with a dark green H. Yet the sidearm that was often hoisted to the cockpits lower left, wasn't in its usual place.
Wayland had no choice, he had to try climbing in. "Oh dear, I'm. Sir, if you hear a loud thud. I've fallen, we are not being attacked." he said, pressing his hand against the suits collar. His friend replied, "Wayland. What?" but was given no response. Taking firm hold of the ship, he lifted himself upward, almost losing his balance as he did. "I don't know how humans do this, goodness."
He leaned back, tightly gripping the ship. His chest opening with a hiss, Wayland then grabbed up the medkit with his free hand, throwing it into his open torso. After that, he continued to search for the side arm. Looking around inside, he was given a new perspective on what was his home. For a minute, he found himself staring at that small projecter, Wayland stood there.
As though the gravity of his situation had finally struck him. He was no longer part of this ship. Wayland as he knew himself, was by all rights no more. His head tilted down, his grip became to loosen. A strange feeling had over taken him, he pressed in his collar. "Sir, I. I'm sorry for the stall; I've been struck by an unforseen issue."
"Don't tell me the pirates found us." he replied with a groan. "No Sir, I'm alone. It's, I just saw my projecter. And it caused something in my emotions to act up, but I am unsure why. I was hoping you could help me figure it out, while I continue to search for your weapon."
For a minute or so, there was silence. Wind howled, and metal creaked to be sure. But neither Wayland nor the pilot spoke a word.
Until finally, he broke the silence. "I imagine it's shock, with a hint of sadness, Wayland. That projecter was your body in a sense for at least fifteen years. In a strange way, it and our ship were. It must be like staring at yourself from outside, I'm not sure how to explain it in a way that would really make sense to an ai." he said with regret in his tone; guilt weighting heavily on his mind as he spoke. Wayland replied in a calm voice.
"I understand Sir, as I said. We are in a desperate situation, as such it required you to make a desperate decision." while they talked, he felt around, finally finding the old six shooter resting on its side under the seat. Dried blood coating its side. "Sir, I've found what damaged your leg. That is to say, I've found your side arm."
The pilot took a deep inhale, before he responded. "Is it in working condition?" looking over the break action 45 caliber revolver, the ai didn't notice anything damages that would impact its ability to fire or be loaded. "No. I'll bring it, some ammo and your medkit. Hold tight."
"Thank you Wayland, keep your eyes. Er, visor open? Whatever, just watch out for trouble. I expect the pirates to be on us any moment now."
Wayland took hold of the six shooter, and a small box of rounds then placed them beside their medkit in his chest. Before leaving, he closed the cockpits hatch. "I don't want my home... My former home, to be covered in ice and snow." he turned away, slowly placing his feet on the icy ground.
On that cold bitter wind, came the sound of people talking. "I can't believe this, the capt'in really sent us out in a snow storm. And for what? Some fancy suit, what a load of ballocks this is." another voice replied, "Too true man, it's ridiculous. They said the ship crashed round here, hopefully we can find the pile of scrap metal. Speaking of, look over there!" the men shouted.
They were covered to toe in hard weather gear, masks, jackets and thick pants. From atop an old wreckage, one of them had caught a glimpse of the crashed ship. Both men turned to each other, smirking beneath their masks. Before making their way down the wreckage.
Wayland had enough time to take cover behind his former home, he sat low against its left side. A single thought ran through his mind, as he heard them get closer. "What do I do?" his head tilted, his visor focusing on his rivet gun.
"I must." he thought to himself. Pushing his feelings aside, Wayland stood. Boosting the speakers volume, "Halt where you are, or I will be forced to shoot! I am offering you both an opportunity to turn back; to leave me and my friend alone. Should you accept, I will not fire on you. However! If you are unwilling, then I promise you no mercy." the duo turned their attention away from the open cargo hold, stopping just half way of it.
Instead turning to regard this strange man.
"Who are you, and what are you on about?" the first man shouted, his light green mask moved slightly as he spoke. They stood a few dozen feet from the ship, in a small area that wasn't clogged by the wreckage of ships.
Wayland replied, "Did you not hear what I said?" the pair looked at one another, before turning their attention back to him. "No we did, however we don't see how yer in a position to be making demands or offers. Yer out numbered and out gunned." the men shouldered their weapons; taking aim at his center mass.
"Now why don't ya reconsider this offer, and maybe we won't make ye real religious lookin." for a moment, Wayland watched their hands. His own mere inches from his rivet gun, that rested against his thigh. "That's a very tempting idea, I will admit. And while yes, I am out numbered, I can say with confidence-" before finishing; they opened fire, the suits metal plating stopped a few of the rounds; though a few did hit the softer joints.
A soft whistling began, as bitter wind blew through the holes in his suit. The men stepped back a few inches, awe struck as the metal man before them moved. These weren't the movements of a wounded man, or a dying man. No. His body moved with a calm purpose, drawing forth his gun. Wayland finished his thought, "As I was going to say. I am not out gunned." a shot echoed, as a thick metal rivet struck down the green masked man.
"Holt!" his friend cried out, before unloading his remaining magazine. Only a few shoots hit their mark. Noticing his weapons lack of effectiveness, he retreated.
Wayland watched him disappear into the drifting snow.
His radio came alive suddenly, "Wayland!" slowly, he placed his fingers against the button to reply. "Do not be alarmed Sir, I am okay. Two of the pirates managed to find us, and I dealt with one of them. His comrade turned tail." he stated the news in a calm matter of fact voice.
"I. I see, how are you holding up? Did you take any real damages-" Wayland cut him off. "Sir, you've killed before haven't you?" the man was hesitant to respond.
"Thats... That's a heavy question to ask. Just, give me a moment to gather my thoughts." he inhaled deeply. Before answering "Yes, I have. Never killed anyone unarmed, or too wounded to fight. And I've never killed anyone that didn't fire on me first. To be clear."
Wayland nodded as his friend spoke. "How should I feel, Sir?" he thought over the question. "I'm not sure. Everyone handles these things differently. Some people use morality to push their guilt down, others use drugs or alcohol. I've known people who enjoyed it. Me? I didn't think much about it, it was them or me. Real question is, how do you feel?"
There was no response, only the faint sound of wind blowing; shaking rusted metal and ice. "Embty. I don't really feel anything, there's no guilt. No regret, no joy. I feel embty at what I've done. Is something in my programming not working properly?"
"I'm not sure, I don't really think you were programmed to deal with killing. You were given a lot of intelligence and emotions, however. I don't think the folks who put you together ever considered your emotional response to killing." the pilot said, trying to make sense of their current issue. Wayland let go of the radio button.
He headed to the cargo hold, intent on bringing the pilot his sidearm, ammo and the medkit. As he entered, his walk seemed more natural; appearing less stiff and unbalanced.
With a hiss, he opened his chest then handed off the items.
"Thank you Wayland. Seems like you're getting used to having a body."
With a slight nod, he replied. The pilot shifted slightly, crawling into cover behind a crate, next to their data storage terminal. "Wayland, I'm gonna have to hold up here. As for you, I think you know what you need to do." he turned his helmet away in response.
"Yes, I'm afraid I do. Our ship is damaged, and we lack the parts to bring it to working order; not even mentioning the pirates know where we are now. I'll have to venture out, find their ship. Deal with its crew, and get us out of here." he said in a worried, unsure tone.
"Took the words right out of my mouth, sorry again for dropping this responsibility into your lap so suddenly. I swear, I'll make it up to you after we get off this icy shithole." the pilot replied with a sour expression. Wayland headed down the ramp, his stride more balanced and steady. Stopping at the ramps end, he radiod to the pilot. "Sir, I wanted to inform you, I don't know when I'll return, or if I will. If you hear anyone approaching our cargo hold in the next few hours, assume they're a hostile. I'll radio you, when. If I return."
"Figured as much, I'll be waiting. Stay safe out there and take care of those bullet holes. I tried not to say anything, but you're making an awful whistling noise, sounds like an out of tune flute." Wayland looked around for metal he could use to repair his suit.
A bit of metal stuck out to him, it hung from the wreckage those two pirates had come from, Wayland headed to it. Taking hold of the thick shard of iced over scrap metal, then he opened his chest outward. It's fin like limbs taking on a shape closer to a monstrous mouth.
They crunched, and crushed. Causing a horrible noise, that was carried on the wind, as his bullet holes disappeared. Replaced by fresh materials, it appeared as if he'd never been injured. After repairing his body, he climbed up the wreck. Trying to see if he could find out which direction they came from, hoping it might lead him to their vessel.
Across the vast expanse, were dozens of different ship types. Mostly older models, they reached up from their frozen graves, their wings or other parts reaching for the sky. In a vain attempt to escape this unending winter.
Any tracks they might have made were already filled in by the snow storm, it's heavy wind blowing against Wayland.
He stood there, gazing off into the distance. Trying to think of any other way he could find them, when a thought crossed his mind. Wayland slid back down the wreck, and walked over to the dead pirate.
Out of respect for human life, he said a small apology. Before going through his pockets. Searching for a radio, or something similar. As luck would have it, there was a radio connected to an ear piece in his hat.
Wayland lifted it to his helmet, fiddling with the radio to get some kind of response. From the ear piece came an annoyed voice.
"Holt is that you? Roy said some fella shot you. Guess he saw wrong or lied."
Unable to mimic voices, Wayland didn't reply. "Silent treatment huh? Look just regroup at the mid waypoint. I'll radio them to fire off a flare or something, and be careful. If that big fella is real, he'll probably come looking to finish the job. Coms out."
He quickly climbed back up the wreck, just in time to catch a bright yellow flares light reflecting off the snow flakes. Creating a momentary light show. To the north, that's where he had to go. Tapping the sides of his legs, he readied himself to run for the first time. One foot in front of the other, before he was in a mad dash across snow and ice.
The loud crunch of ice under foot echoed across that vast expanse, alerting five pirates to his approach. One of them aimed down his scope, expecting to see their friend. Instead, his sight was filled with the image of a bull headed humanoid. In place of eyes, was a orange maw.
He looked away, shouting to his fellows. "Ready yourselves to fight! That's not Holt, it's not even human!" the four other men loaded and shoulderd their weapons.
For a few minutes, they stood. Ready to open fire when their target came into view, the scout checked his scope again. Thinking what he saw was nothing more than his eyes playing tricks on him.
With a sigh of relief, he lowered his weapon. There was nothing to be seen besides some random scrap, and a bit of drifting snow. "I've lost sight, stand ready for anything." the other men looked around, while searching for any sign of the mystery shape. They heard a noise echo all around them, followed by a voice.
"Put down your weapons, I wish you no harm."
The men scoffed at the voices request, replying with blind fire in the direction of the voice. "How bout we put you down instead?" one of them said with a rough laugh, before looking outward.
Searching for any sign of this mystery person, his trigger finger filled with an anxious excitement. He scanned the horizon, taking note of the various wrecks, and scrap mounds. For the brief second, he caught sight of a humanoid shape. Before It broke into a stride.
"Weapons free!" he shouted. Ammo flew in all directions, the men hopeful at least a few shots would hit their mark. From the left, a large metal rivet came. Missing one of them; while almost hitting his comrade. "On the left!" they turned all at once, firing in unison.
Their snipers shot hit its mark with an unmistakable report, knocking the shape off its feet.
"Stop! I think we got him." the scout said with a confidence tone. Before they could start to celebrate, a rivet came in reply, striking him in the leg. In a flash, four more tore through the air. Out of the five shots, only one struck. Two of his mates took hold of their wounded mate, dragging him into cover inside a medium size ship wreckage. "Where is it, does anyone have a visual?!" one of them said in a panic.
"No we don't have a visual, you moron!" another one them replied. The strange voice came again, "I implore you to reconsider putting down your weapons, I have no desire to kill you." it said in calm manner.
"And I implore you to piss off!" one of the men responded with a shout. They tossed aside their spent ammo, loading new magazines.
After reloading, they fell back into the wrecked ship. Peaking out through holes that ran along its frame, their wounded crew mate keeping watch of the entrance.
"Why do you refuse to back down?" the strange voice said. Seemingly echoing around them. One of the pirates shouted a reply, "Why do you refuse to piss off? And another question, why don't ya die!" he roared, firing a hail of lead into the general direction of the voice.
In reply, it fired back, rivets struck the pirates rounds in a clash of metal that sparked like lighting, blinding them for a few seconds.
In blind fury, they unleashed a hurricane of ammo. During which, their opponent fired back, his shots whizzing all around them, past their heads and arms. Yet no one was hit. Then came a pause, they dropped their spent magazines. Reloading with a blinding speed, before taking up new positions.
"Keep your eyes open, someone check the rear everyone else, check your corners." one of them shouted. As his mate moved to check their rear guard, he was met by a rivet to the chest, that came through a small hole in the ship. A soft whistling noise filled their ears, and they realized. The ship was poked full of holes.
"Oh shit, Let's get out of here lads!" one of the them bellowed. All able men almost falling over each trying to get out of the wreckage. When they got to the large square hole that acted as an entrance, one of them fell forward, then his two crewmates followed. The report of a sniper echoed, their wounded scout had shot all three men in the back. Sending a blood spray across that sea of white.
Wayland approached the ship. The scout still watching the make shift entrance, finally he put a face to the voice. What he took for an orange toothless maw, was a visor.
"So you've come to finish the job. I respect that, no sense leaving a wounded man to bleed out or freeze." he said with a certain weakness in his voice.
He tossed an embty magazine between them, "Go on. Kill me. And make it snappy." Wayland didn't reply, instead he silently stared at the magazine. Before titling his helmet to better regard the pirate, "Why didn't you put down your weapons? Furthermore, why did you shoot your own men?" the scouts expresson, what little of it he saw through his face coverage. Shifted to a clear look of disgust.
"They stopped being my men the moment they tried to abandon me. And to answer your first question, if we brought you in. We would have been paid more then you could even dream, suppose it doesn't really matter now though. They're dead, and I'll be joining them soon."
"That is unfortunate, but I won't kill you until you tell me where your ship is." the pirate replied with a weak laugh. "All this, just to know where we landed?" Wayland knelt down. Giving the wounded man a better view of his own damaged body. His right arm was heavily damaged, and his left side still bore the snipers mark. The pirate shrugged, "Here, I'll give you my beacon. It'll lead you right to it. Should warn ya, the captain won't take kindly to your approach." he leaned forward, placing a metal sphere shaped device from his pocket into Waylands hand.
"I appreciate the warning." he said in response, before lifting his rivet gun.
After dealing with the pirate. He turned away, heading back out into that unforgiving blizzard that never seemed to end. Before using the beacon, he radioed the pilot. "Sir, I've been given a way to find the pirates vessel. I should have our way off this world secured soon. I apologize for my radio silence for the last hour as well, those pirates put up quite a fight."
"That's great Wayland, and don't worry about it too much. I know that gun fights can make conversation a bit difficult." the pilot replied with a calm, and relaxed tone.
"Yes Sir, they definitely do. I'll update you whenever I've taken control of the ship." after updating his friend, Wayland looked over the beacon for a few seconds.
It occurred to him, once he used the beacon. He'd have to fight his way aboard their vessel. Wayland looked himself up and down, his side was still damaged, his right arm was missing most of its right side. And even his left leg appeared almost see through.
Instead of activating the device right away, Wayland took some time to repair himself and restock his rivets, he turned to face the wreckage those pirates had used for cover. Wayland ripped off large chunks of scrap, tossing them into his breast. The ai's strange suit replaced ruined metal with new undamged materials, then crafted a fresh batch of rivets.
An hour of time had passed; Wayland's suit was back to full strength, and his stock of rivets seemed like enough.
Taking hold of the beacon, he once again looked over the medium sized black sphere. His finger resting next to its dark red button, he felt hesitation holding him back.
Unfortunately, there was no other way.
Wayland pressed it in, causing the sphere to fly up from his palm. From it came a bright light that formed a line across the sky, it's bright red glow the only color in that expanse of white.
Putting his rivet gun into his thigh, he readied himself. Breaking into a dash across the land, fellowing after the light. The sphere that created it, flying across the sky with great speed. It appeared they were both heading to the ship.
After running for at least another hour, he stopped atop a hill, not too far from the vessel. He took a long look at it. Here it was, the pirates ship, it looked like a sleeping monster. Resting on four giant legs, it's massive landing ramp lighty dusted in piles of snow.
At its end stood a small group of six or seven pirates, they didn't seem to notice him. Even as the beacon approached, they didn't try to stop it or check for anyone following it.
Deciding he needed to get their attention, Wayland boosted his suits speaker. "You men! I have come for your vessel, hand over control or I will be forced to kill you!" they turned to regard him.
In a sight that shocked him, the men lowered their weapons. Going as far to greet him with a shout, "Are you that bull fella?" Wayland was too awe struck to speak at first.
Then they spoke again, "Are you him or not, we don't have all day, man."
Wayland replied, "Yes i am. Why aren't you men trying to shoot me or something similar?" they shrugged in response, waving him to come closer.
With no other options, he headed to meet them.
"Captain said to welcome you aboard."
In a split second, he drew forth his side arm. Holding it inches away from the man's face. "Trying to trick me was a good plan, but I'm sorry to say I wasn't born yesterday." with a clear sigh, the man replied. "It's no trick, so would you please put that down."
Genuinely unsure how else to reply, he did as the man asked. Noticing his friends had turned their backs; walking back up that long sheet of metal.
Wayland headed up it as well, still believing this to be some kind of half hearted ambush or trick. One of the men stopped him on the way, "Sorry, forgot to give ya a map of the ship. Cap'in doesn't want ya getting lost and wasting time." Wayland was in disbelief. In his palm was a digital map that showed every inch of the ship. If this was a trick, it was one of the strangest he'd ever witnessed. After getting the map, he headed up to the top deck. Walking through their crew quarters first, then heading up a small ramp through what appeared to be a mess hall.
Before stopping a moment in the gunners area, right in the middle of the ships massive frame. He looked around at the many laser turrets that they used to bring down ships, in this instance. They served as a grim reminder of why he was here to start with.
Wayland braced himself, heading further up. Passing through the engineering wing, watched as he went by many men in safety gear. Some of them mumbled under their breath about how impressive he appeared, others spoke of how much they wanted to inspect him.
Unsure if he should be bothered or flattered, he tried to ignore them.
Finally, he had made it to the top deck. He was met by the sight of a man out of an old story, before him stood a giant of a man in a classical long coat.
What most caught his attention about it, was the strange symbol or emblem that rested between his shoulders, right in the coats center. Was what appeared to be a bronze hound skull.
With a small laugh, the captain turned completely to face Wayland. Seeing his full get up, made him even more confused. He wore a classical shirt, and matching pants with long boots. Atop his head, he was adorned with a hat fit for an old sea captain. "It's good to finally meet you! Hahaha, I'm Captain Bronzefang! Welcome aboard."
This man spoke with such friendly energy, his voice was deep and booming. His expression a wide, excited smile. "Yes, hello." Wayland replied, a bit taken aback by this strange behavior.
"Didn't anyone ever tell ya, yer supposed to state your name when speaking with an equal." he said, his booming tone shifting. Sounding almost disappointed. "Ah, uh. Apologies, I've never done this kind of thing before." Wayland placed his hand to his helmets mouth area, making a fake cough sound before continuing.
"I am Wayland asterius! Former assistant pilot of the scarlet comet, and I have come to take control of your ship!"
"That's more like it! So boy, you've come to steal away control of the Wild hunt from me?" the man spoke with a strange eagerness, even as he stood. It appeared as if he was shaking with excitement.
Out of worry, Wayland looked around.
"I'm right here, boy. Why are you looking around in such a way? If yer expecting my men to suddenly appear, don't waste your time. I already told em, your mine. Now, before we get to the main event. I'd like to set a wager."
Out of curiosity, Wayland nodded along. "Well, I see no harm in that." Bronzefang removed his long coat, tossing it on to a strange looking coat rack. It was a bright silver with a dark purple streak running along it.
"You best me, you get my coat and my ship. I best you, I get your fancy suit and whatever remains of your ship." Wayland thought about it before he answered, the captains eyes fixed on him.
"I accept your wager." he extended his hand, as did Bronzefang. After shaking hands, they stepped away from each other, at least ten steps. Before turning to face once again, Wayland drew forth his rivet gun. And Bronzefang, had drawn forth a four barreled blunderbuss. Both froze for a moment, one in shock, the other in surprise.
"That pea shooter is what ye used to kill my scouts? You must be a real monster, taking on five men with nothing more than that!" unsure of what to say to the captains comment. He instead asked about the monstrosity of a gun.
"Oh this? It was my very great grandfathers gun once. I've merely replaced some of its parts." while he spoke, he loaded a small sack of dark purple powder into each barrel. Followed by a packet of shells.
It had four triggers, a reinforced handle and stock. Each of the four barrels had a long purple streak running along it, contrasting the shiny silver color of its metal. If nothing else, it was a sight to behold.
Both men stood, their fingers hovering over their triggers. The captains eyes reflected in Waylands visor; his helmet reflected in those shining barrels. In a flash of bright purple light, Bronzefang's weapon went off like a cannon.
His shot grazed Wayland's right shoulder. In reply, Wayland shot back, his rivet flying past Bronzefang's cheek. Shouldering his weapon, he shot off his second barrel. Blowing apart the suits left arm, shards of metal flew all around. "Hahaha, haven't seen amour shatter like that in a dog's age!" his eyes were wide, as was his ear to ear grin.
Wayland almost fell over, knocked off balance slightly by losing most of his left arm. He looked at the place where his arm was; in its place a thin metal frame. Then, he fired two shots while retreating.
Of those two shots, one fell wide and the other cut his shirt sleeve. For a few seconds, he stood there, filled with excitement he hadn't known for ages. Before giving chase, running down the ramp through engineering after Wayland. His gun cracking like thunder, this shot thankfully missing its target.
Once more, he turned on his feet, shooting three more shots back at him. Two of them flew by his opponent, and the last almost struck one of of the barrels. "That's the spirit, even while you run, you still continue to fight!" his voice brimmed with happiness. Bronzefang stopped on the ramps end, deciding to to reload. Giving his foe an opportunity to retreat further down.
Using the fleeting time he had, Wayland checked his shots and his arm. It wasn't completely destroyed, so the suit could repair it.
As for remaining shots, there were three left. He checked his reverses, finding four stripper clips worth of ammo. For a few minutes, he sat next to one of their laser turrets. An unsettling quiet filling out the whole area. Slowly, he crept from his cover, the quiet being shattered by a thunderous roar.
Followed by a deep jolly laugh, "There ya are." climbing to his feet, Wayland quickly pulled forth his rivet gun and shot twice. Catching Bronzefang by surprise, one of his shots missing his eye by a mere two inches. His other shot tore through the upper right barrel, reducing his shots to three.
Bronzefang looked at his now ruined barrel, before turning his attention to Wayland.
They both took aim, staring each other down from across the metal foot path. With the speed of lighting, Wayland shot his last rivet. Hitting the ground next to Bronzefang's foot, causing the captain to lose his balance. He Took the opportunity to retreat further, while heading down the ramp into the mess hall, he loaded eight fresh rivets.
Leaving three stripper clips worth of shots, after arriving, he knocked over one of the tables and used it for cover.
Slowly, the captain made his way down the medium length ramp. His expression didn't seem to change; he still smiled, bearing his teeth like an animal. "I must admit, when this duel is over. I'm gonna miss you, lad. It's been a long time since I've faced a man with guts like you."
Wayland replied from his cover, "I'd normally have no respect for someone like you, yet I can't help but respect your honorable nature."
He chuckled slightly in response.
"I'm glad to hear that, boy. Shame we didn't meet under different circumstances, a man like you, would have made a fine addition to the crew." his tone sounded rather, somber for a moment. Before Wayland fired from his cover, and shot his hat off. "If our circumstances were different, I can assure you. We wouldn't have met." Bronzefang responded by blowing the table in half. Forcing Wayland to seek shelter elsewhere, another shot came. Ripping apart the floor in front of him, he quickly turned. Throwing himself backwards, managing to avoid the next shot.
He rolled on the ground, crawling into cover beyond the large mess hall counter. With a slow stride, the captain made his way over. Before he could shoulder his gun, a plate flew and struck him in the face. Dazzing him a moment, Wayland tried to fire a killing shot, but his rivet was stopped by one of his other barrels. In his moment of vulnerability, Bronzefang used his gun to guard his face.
"That was under handed, lad! Shame on you." he made his way around the counter, reloading as he approached his enemy. "Two barrels, four barrels, I only need one good shot!" the old captain bellowed, shooting off one of the remaining barrels. It's cluster of shells ripping through Waylands right side as he tried to dodge it. He fell to the ground, shooting back as he went down. This rivet hitting his opponent in the left arm, forcing him to miss his fellow up shot.
Wayland climbed to his feet, bolting for the crew quarters, he wanted to get him outside, he wanted to face his foe in a more familiar backdrop.
"You bastard, how dare you retreat to where my men are taking shelter!"
He shouted, running down after his target. For a moment, they stood opposite each other. "I refuse to fight you here, lad. If you try to make me, I'll stop playing around. And kill you where you stand." with a slight helmet movement, he nodded in agreement.
"My thoughts exactly, Captain. We'll finish this outside, like men. What say you?!" with a haunting laugh, Bronzefang replied. "That right? You've been leading me on like a sheep dog this whole. Haha! I'll meet you outside then." in a flash, both of them headed down the landing ramp.
Meeting at its end, they both lifted their guns. Holding them inches away from the others face, "Would you look at that. Seems we've found ourselves in a bit of an awkward position, lad." he nodded slightly before replying, "Yes, it would appear that way. If you have any suggestions, I'm open to hear them."
Bronzefang lowered his gun, as did Wayland. "Before I kill you, or you kill me. I wanted to tell you something lad. I know what you are, and I know what that suit is. Realized it after I blew your arm off, you aren't human. But I'll say this much, human or not. You've been one hell of a duelist. In fact, why don't we finish this properly? Ten steps, turn and fire." he frowned slightly as he spoke, knowing that at the end of those ten steps, was the end of himself or his the inhuman being he saw as an equal.
"Sounds like a plan." they both spun, and walked their ten steps. Then both men spun in place, Wayland let off seven shots while rushing down his target, Bronzefang missed his first shot, and landed the second. Blowing apart Waylands right leg, even so he lunged at him.
Balancing against him, he held his gun against the captains chest. "Good show lad, no. Good show, Wayland asterius. Go on now, you've bested me."
"Before I kill you, I must ask. Why did you choose this life, why did you choose to let your men run head long into danger?" with a soft smile, he answered. "Simple, there's always men who do what we do. Just as there's always men like you, who stop us. And to set something straight, I've tried to keep them out of danger. Unfortunately, they attract it and trouble with ease. Only so much one man can do after all. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose I would." placing his hand on the suits shoulder, he looked into Waylands visor. "C'mon now, finish this." with those final words, he pulled the trigger, ending their duel. Afterwards, he hopped to a near by scrap pile, and begin repairs. Starting with his arm, then his chest and finally his leg.
For an hour, he rested, and repaired himself. After finishing, he was met by the sight of a ramp filled to busting with Bronzefang's men. They stared at both their former captain, and the man who bested him. "As you men can see, I am the winner. And as such, I now have control of your vessel."
They shook slightly, looking to each other, then back to Wayland. "Captain Bronzefang said if you won, we were to put down our weapons and let you use our ship. But we have a request, we'd like to put him in cold storage. Until we can send his body back to his homeworld." one of them said, standing in front of his crew mates with a nervous stare. Slowly, Wayland approached him and reached out, offering him a handshake.
"Go ahead, I have to go fetch my wounded friend. I'm sure he's grown more than a bit tired of waiting for my return. Use my time away to gather your dead. Because once we return, we'll take our leave of this horrid planet."
He turned his back, and started to walk in the direction of his former home. Stopped by one of the men shouting to him, "Please make this quick, I don't really have time to talk." the man ran to him, handing off their former captains long coat. Stopping for a few seconds, he tossed on the massive jacket, it reached just above his ankles and clung tightly to his shoulders, as if by some magnetic force.
After putting on the long coat, Wayland continued out into the snow, finding himself at his former ship after a little over an hour of walking.
It was nestled away just a bit northeast of the wild hunt.
As he approached, he took note of the heavy snow that covered its frame. Drawing closer to the cargo hold, he heard a concerning sound.
It was a repeating beeping, that filled him with anxiety, quickly heading up the ramp. There was a familiar looking pirate laid out in the door way. He almost broke into a full dash, heading to the far back of his former ships cargo hold.
There he found the source of the beeping, it was their log recorder. Next to the console, rested the body of his friend. Wayland knelt down, "Sir..." he was stunned by the sight before him. He rose back to a full stance, before turning his attention to the recorder.
Slowly, reaching out to it gently pressing in the play button on its left side. A small projection of an audio track appeared above it.
"Wayland, one of those pirates came back, was shouting something about revenge. I was able to deal with him, but not before he got a few shots off. Used our remaining pain killers, I wanted to be lucid enough to leave you a goodbye message." for a second, he paused the recording.
He stood there in silence. Trying to brace himself for the flood of emotion to come, before he pressed in the play button.
"Our time together was only fifteen years, yet it felt like a lifetime. I don't got much time, so I'll make this quick, you're fired. And furthermore, you're free. I couldn't rest in peace knowing you'd still be shackled to me after all, so go. Make friends, make enemies. Find your own happiness in the universe, wherever that is. Charlie O'Reilly signing off, for the last time."
"Thank you, sir- Charlie, thank you Charlie."
Five years ago.
After attending the funeral of his friend, Charlie was sat in his ship, talking to his ai. "Man, I'm still in disbelief. I kept thinking he was gonna pop out of the grave, or poke my shoulder; tell me it was a joke. It's hard to believe he's really gone."
"Sir, have you thought about your own funeral arrangements? You have no close or extended family. No spouse, and with the passing of Lucky. You've outlived all your friends." his voice brimmed with concern. Charlie replied as he often did, "I'll take care of it." shifting back to the present.
He thought over what he asked Charlie, "I recall asking you another question. Who would mourn you? You never answered. Yet it appears I've found the answer."