The Lone Wolf

Heavy droplets of rain fell as a sudden storm ravaged the colony of Japre. People rushed inside their homes, their children, wives, husbands, and parents in tow. One man stood alone in a field on the outskirts of the colony, looking to his crop of underberries before the rain washed them all away. The fickle plants were the only thing that could grow on the planet’s muddy surface. Storms raged on and on, providing only brief respites in between outpour after outpour of heavy rain. It was the last sowing of the season, he had to make it work.

The farmer watched as his servo-mech deposited the seedlings line by line, happy to see that every single one settled into the soil quite nicely. Underberry seedlings would let out a single bright glow before their roots took hold, it made for quite a spectacle on other colonies, but it seemed the lone farmer was the only one who would ever get to see it given the weather. The man looked around as his mech continued sowing, looking out onto the nearby hills and the deep gray sky above. He wondered what life would’ve been like if he had just stayed on their home station of Lazarus. After a moment of reminiscing he shook his head, erasing the memory of that wretched place, and its Corsair overlords. Life here was by no means perfect, but it was better.

###

In a nearby cavern overlooking the colony, another lonely man scanned its outskirts. He was slender, wearing brown light armor, and dust goggles. His head was shaved bald, and his skin a pale shade of grey. was a shadow, blending seamlessly into the rocks he laid on.

Weather pattern regular. Predictable. Mission parameters: accurate. Intel is good. He thought to himself.

The pale man then unlatched the hooks on his case revealing a disassembled, state of the art, 80 caliber sniper rifle. Each piece of the weapon was precise, sliding and locking in sequence in perfect sync. He then mounted the rifle on his perch and took aim.

Target identified. Race. Human. Sex. Male. Name. Rhugo Dolphe. Confirmed.

The assassin calibrated his scope, and rested his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

Contract: Kill target only. If detected. Kill. No witnesses.

He zeroed in on the underberry farmer and loaded a thermal round into the rifle’s barrel.

Disintegration. Best option. Minimal traceable residue. Death. Undecipherable. Probable alternative causes. Lightning? No. Irrelevant. Mission parameters set. Wind, trajectory adjusting… Firing in 5, 4, 3, 2… Countdown withheld.

“Daddy daddy!” yelled a child from a far. “Daddy wait!”

Rhugo turned in surprise, and rushed over to pick up his daughter before the little one decided to rush into the flooded crops. The man carried her in his arms, worried sick.

“Amelia! What are you doing outside?! I thought you were with Auntie Rona?”

The little girl giggled, and smiled. “Auntie Rona fell asleep. I didn’t wanna be inside, I wanna help daddy. I wanna watch the glowies!”

Rhugo shook his head before bursting into laughter. “Alright alright. But you have to promise to hang on to me as tight as you can alright? And don’t tell your mother.” Amelia hung on to her father as tight as she could, laughing and pointing whenever she saw an underberry glow.

Mission parameter shift. Collateral. Civilian. Human, female, child. Irrelevant. Mission: eliminate target. Designated round disintegrates target. Child is irrelevant. Recommencing firing sequence. 5, 4, 3, 2… Withheld.

The sniper lifted his gaze from his scope, breathing heavily. He hastily took off his goggles, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and took his aim again. After another failed firing sequence. The man pulled away from his rifle again, shaking and cursing. He can't afford hesitation. He was a gunman, a killer, part-machine. He had no time to argue with himself, he had to do this, for both him and his brother. One last time he rested his cheek on his rifle’s butt, and settled his aim on his target. Casualties irrelevant. Target priority. Firing sequence accelerated. 3… 2… 1…

“And you can’t pull the trigger,” said a raspy voice from behind.

The gunman turned with a pistol drawn as soon as he heard the voice. In front of him stood a tall man, with a heavy build. His face was riddled with all kinds of scars, including a depression near the top of his forehead. The man’s short brown hair had lines of gray traced on its sides, and was cut in the standard, clean cut, buzz. He wore military grade armor, with thick ceramite shoulder pads, and an intimidatingly scarred chest piece. On its face was engraved “Drop Pod Recon”.

“What’s wrong T’Kesh? This ain’t your first contract.”

New target. Human. Male. Hostile? Unverified. Identity: searching… Irrelevant. Terminate.

“Before you kill me Solomon T’Kesh. My name is Attius Crane. I suppose you’ve heard the name.”

Solomon kept his finger tight on the trigger. Crane, Attius. Searching… Mercenary. Bounty Hunter. Ex-military. Desertion? No. Honorable discharge.

Crane stepped forward, revealing himself a bit more. “You know my file. Unbeknownst to you, we’ve crossed paths before. Remember Carnus?”

Searching… Carnus… Battle of Rix. Assignment: overwatch. Spotted unknown assailant. 4 men dead. 5 men dead. 12 men dead… Shot. Hit.

“I killed you.” Solomon said.

Crane laughed as he sat on a nearby rock, pointing at the depression on his forehead. “My men always told me I should follow the damn manual and wear a helmet. That day proved them right.”

“Impossible.” Solomon replied. “80 caliber shot. Chances of survival-”

“Slim to none.” Crane interjected. “Got lucky.”

Solomon shook his head, his pistol still aimed at the man. “Improbable. Human physiology, fragile.”

Crane smiled. “True. But I ain’t your average everyday human. Am I Solomon?”

“State your purpose.” Solomon replied.

“Recruitment.” Crane said with a smile.