Blood Hunter: Rivers of Blood

Tienerra's boots echoed on the cracked cobblestones as she stepped into the open market, the air shifting around her with each step. What had once been a bustling, lively space had become a grim reflection of society's darker side. The atmosphere was suffocating, and a sense of death lingered in every corner. The neon lights that once guided patrons through the streets now flickered faintly, casting harsh shadows across the somber scene.

The market, once vibrant with activity, now lay subdued and eerily quiet. The significant drop in traffic left the space unnervingly still. Soltarians, Nypherians, Kitsurai, Rho'kan, and Tegmuna wandered aimlessly, their faces hollowed by addiction, their bodies ravaged by the drugs that held them in their grip. Some shuffled through the crowd, barely alive, while others had long since succumbed, their bodies crumpled in unnatural positions amidst the scattered debris.

Tienerra pressed on, her senses overwhelmed by the pungent mix of decay, sweat, and chemicals in the air. She activated her nano-helmet, watching it shift and cover her face, its filter providing some relief from the harsh environment. The faint hum of the helmet eased the sensory overload, but even with the filtration system working at full capacity, the stench lingered, clinging to her senses as she moved deeper into the market square.

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her cloak—a Kitsurai, covered in red, angry rashes and trembling from some unknown need, was clinging to her leg, begging for cash. The desperation in its voice was palpable, its eyes wide with pleading, but Tienerra merely shook her leg, forcefully dislodging the beggar with disdain. Her gaze hardened as she stepped backward toward the fountain at the center of the square, her boots grinding against the cracked concrete.

The fountain was once a place of beauty, its waters flowing freely in a crystal-clear stream. Now, it was a mockery of what it had been, the once-pristine water replaced by a sickly neon green liquid that swirled lazily in the basin. The smell of decay and rot hung thick in the air. Around the fountain, the bodies of those on the edge of life—if not already gone—littered the ground. Their bodies formed a grim circle around the defunct water feature, most of them covered in filth, eyes closed, breath shallow.

Tienerra stood still for a moment, taking in the scene. Her eyes were drawn to a broken statue beside the fountain, a pair of disembodied legs jutting out at an unnatural angle. The legs tilted sideways, ready to fall under their own weight, a silent symbol of the decay that had taken over this space. As she looked around the fountain, her gaze caught the still forms of those who were on the verge of death. Some were twitching, still clinging to life; others were clearly already gone, their bodies left to rot in plain view.

A faint voice reached her ears, weak and desperate, barely a whisper amidst the chaos. Tienerra's sharp eyes scanned the area and she moved towards the source of the voice. There, slumped beside the fountain, was a Tegmuna—an armadillo-like species—on the verge of death. His shell, once a smooth grey, was now battered and exposed, the torn clothing revealing skin covered in dry blood. The Tegmuna reached up weakly with a trembling hand, a data prism clutched in his palm, while his other hand loosely gripped a weathered ViraSatchel, its straps hanging limp by his side.

"Corruption..." he muttered weakly, his voice rough and strained. Tienerra knelt down beside him, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes scanning his body for any signs of further distress. He handed her the data prism, his fingers trembling as he pressed it into her hand. "Varnell... take it to Varnell..." His breath was shallow, his eyes fading, but he seemed to push the prism into her hand with the last of his strength.

"I can take you to a doctor," Tienerra said, but the Tegmuna only shook his head slightly, his arm falling limply to his side. He whispered one final word, his voice barely audible: "Sword." His hand fell to the ground, the data prism slipping from his grasp, as his eyes closed for the final time, a faint trace of hope lingering in his expression as he passed away.

Tienerra looked up from the Tegmuna' body, and her eyes were immediately drawn to a Nypherian standing nearby. The figure was draped in a sleek suit, a digital sign flickering across the back of their coat: "Hazardous Waste – Keep Away – Activate Skin Wrap to Prevent Corruption Syndrome." The warning was clear, and the figure exuded an air of authority, though they remained impassive, as if they had seen death too many times to care.

Tucking the data prism into her pocket, Tienerra took a quick glance around, scanning the area for any potential threats. She slipped the ViraSatchel handed to her by the Tegmuna over her shoulder, its sleek, carbon fiber structure fitting snugly against her back. The satchel's lightweight design belied the weight it carried, adding a sense of urgency to her movements as she felt the faint hum of the nanotubes within. As she opened it and moved aside the data pads and loose prisms, she uncovered a badge bearing the image of the Tegmuna—his head spinning in a digital loop. The name "Dr. Thorne Sette" was emblazoned beneath it. The recognition hit her like a cold wave. Dr. Sette, an ancient archaeologist, had crossed paths with a Rho'kan from Alpha Scuti 7 during her earlier investigation at the Black Market. She had also heard rumors of a sword—a relic capable of unimaginable power, one that had come into the possession of the Rho'kan and possibly linked to Sable.

"Thankfully, this has nothing to do with me, only Sable," she muttered to herself, slipping the badge back into the satchel before stowing it in her ViraPack. The pack clicked softly as it locked into place, the weight of it pressing against her back, reminding her of the urgency of the situation. She wasn't ready to dig deeper into this mess, at least not yet.

As she continued to walk, Tienerra was approached by three figures—two Arcturians and a Soltarian. Without a word, they gestured for her to follow. Her instincts kicked in, and she silently obeyed, moving fluidly in step with them as if she had expected this encounter all along.

Earlier, before leaving for the black-market:

Tienerra sat in the cockpit of her medium-sized spacecraft, the sleek vessel designed for efficiency and speed. Its nose was sharp and aerodynamic, while the body featured angular edges and a diamond-shaped hull that conveyed both agility and strength. Adjustable tail fins extended from the rear, ensuring stability during atmospheric travel. The low hum of the Quantum Matter Engines filled the cockpit as the ship powered up, preparing for the sub-light jump ahead.

"Tienerra, destination Alion J184. Estimated time: Two galactic night cycles," a male voice from the autopilot system announced as she leaned back in her seat.

With a soft sigh, Tienerra unbuckled herself and moved to the lower deck, where an oval silver conference table waited. In the center, a round disc flickered to life as she inserted the data prism handed to her by Torx and Morland.

As the holographic image of Alion J184 appeared, a Rho'kan blurry figure was projected, his prosthetic arm and black fur barely distinguishable. A voice crackled through the system. "Tienerra, as you were recommended by a mutual acquaintance, I'd like to see what you can do."

A chair rose from the table, locking into place as Tienerra sat down, her arms crossed and her gaze locked on the display. "I'll show you what I can do with this blade," she muttered, her confidence unshaken.

The voice continued, "Sable's a very secretive individual. It took a lot of time, money, and disposable sources to get this information. So don't FUCK THIS UP!" The words were sharp, and the sudden yell made Tienerra sit up, her interest piqued. The screen zoomed in on the blurry image of Sable.

The audio crackled to life again, a new voice booming through the cockpit, deep and authoritative. "Sable is a very secretive individual, so it took us a lot of time, money, and disposable resources to get this information. So don't FUCK THIS UP!!!" The sudden outburst made Tienerra flinch, her body instinctively jerking forward in her seat. The harsh tone cut through her thoughts, and she immediately straightened, her eyes narrowing as she focused more intently on the voice and the now larger, clearer images on the display screen.

The blurry image of Sable slowly sharpened, becoming clearer. The voice continued, colder now, "This is the most recent image we could get of him." The screen flickered briefly before shifting to a map of a space station. "Alion J184," the voice said, as the camera zoomed in on the glowing red dot, the station's name floating above it. "It was once a defensive outpost against the Eltec Empire, but after being abandoned, it became a haven for the black market—no interference, no law, just chaos."

The map zoomed out, showing a dense cluster of red dots around the station, indicating heavy activity. "There's a cluster of known Eltec scout ships in this area," the voice continued. "They've been reported about three parsecs away, so be cautious when entering and leaving. The only routes to the station take you right through this scout zone." The screen shifted again, this time displaying a grid of coordinates, with dashed lines indicating the dangerous scout zones. The voice paused briefly, and then resumed with a note of casual disdain.

"Once you arrive on Alion J184, there's a contact of mine you'll need to find," the voice said, the tone more personal now. "His name's 'Jax.' He knows everything. Hell, he probably even knows what you ate yesterday, with how far his head is up the galaxy's asshole." The voice chuckled briefly before turning serious again. "Don't bother asking around for him. He'll find you. He always does."

The text on the screen scrolled upward, the last of the details fading as a final note appeared: Kill or Tag. The voice came back in, its edge now sharp and final. "If you manage to kill him, that'll be a great favor to us. But, considering how good Sable is at surviving, tagging him is just as valuable. Use the data prism to mark him—it's got a quantum print that will mask itself in the network. This will let us track his operations, contracts, and what time he shits. Either one works." The voice fell silent for a moment before adding, "And one last thing—if you get caught? Don't expect rescue. We ain't the military."

The screen then blinked to black, leaving the heavy silence in its wake as Tienerra sat back in her chair, the weight of the mission settling around her like a cold cloak. The cold steel of the ship pressed against her back, the hum of the engines a low, constant vibration beneath her. The faint noise echoed in the quiet cockpit, adding to the tension that lingered in the air. It was as though the ship itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Tienerra's fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, her mind racing as she processed the new information. The mission had just escalated—and there was no turning back now. She let out a breath, her lips curling into a smirk as she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a touch of arrogance. "I'm hungry," she said, the words dripping with a calm cockiness, as if the looming danger was nothing more than a nuisance in her already well-orchestrated plans.

Present, after the flashback:

The Rho'kan opened the door to a dimly lit office, the air thick with the scent of smoke and tension. The room seemed to swallow the light, casting long, jagged shadows across the space. A voice, low and commanding, echoed through the darkness. "Welcome to Alion J184, Tienerra."

From the oppressive shadows, a figure slowly leaned forward, the faint glow of a cigar illuminating the harsh lines of his face. The silhouette of a Nypherian emerged, towering and imposing—his jackal-like features sharpened by years of violence. His long snout and tall, angular ears stood out in stark contrast to the darkness, while his face was a roadmap of battle scars, each one telling a story of survival and conquest.

He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, the ember of his cigar flickering with the rhythm of his breath. "The name's Jax," he said, his smirk dangerous, dripping with arrogance. His voice was laced with a chilling confidence, one that made the air feel colder. "Where information is currency, and life itself is the prize. It's your pleasure to work with me."