The hunt begins

Alrem is one of many glorified "rustbelt" planets in the galaxy, and while its work is somewhat important, supplying the galaxy with much-needed resources, few actually come to stay for an extended period, and any news from the planet is most often swept under the rug. But in recent months , random murders in the night have ramped up exponentially, and so it falls to a small group of Notail Alpha-class freelancers to solve this case.

Muggy_Bubby196584 was awaiting the new visitors; he had only been the mayor for a month, and it seemed that the work wouldn't stop piling up, first it was the machinery demanding a sacrifice to continue operation, and then it was the continuing cases of people going missing. The latter was extremely troubling, now that he thought about it. Most everyone in the upper class has a connection to the disappearances, or perhaps murders would be a better word; the state of the bodies made the identification rather tragic for the families. Local law enforcement was initially sufficient to keep the people calm, but when Muggy's predecessor was attacked, everything seemed to fall apart. His reputation was on the line, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let some maniac with a fascination for anatomy get away with messing around in his town. The people wanted blood, and with his budget, the best thing he could afford was a couple of jesters. They weren't exactly jesters calling themselves "professional investigators," but a bunch of A-class notails with less than stellar reviews who would get torn apart one by one long enough for Muggy to afford real help and properly maintain his promise of stopping the only interesting thing this backwater planet has had happen didn't exactly roll off the tongue.

"Where r dey rn?" He caught himself speaking aloud. The day had been long, and standing outside on the steps of the mayoral office had grown tiring. Mugg stares at the sky, its light fading to dusk by the hour.

The "smart three" were attempting to make their way to their assigned meeting area, but were finding navigating the narrow streets of the main city rather frustrating.

"Are we there yet? OuO," Inquired Slab in-between gracefully avoided stepping in any of the numerous puddles of unknown liquids.

'Captain,' as she had been so graciously named by the two idiots she babysat, had heard this numerous times. If they weren't so restricted in the ways of making some dough, she would have stopped and opened a laundromat or a diner; that would have been nice, but now wasn't the time for daydreaming. Om had somehow managed to mess up landing in an open field, leading to the group having to trek through the main city to reach their employer. "No, Slab, but maybe if you walked correctly, we wouldn't be so far behind now, would we?<^>"

"Is Captain mad at Om? Om apologizes for the ship's poor flying; Om is an excellent pilot; it is not Om's fault that the landing gear failed. /v\"

Captain didn't pay any attention to the white noise coming from the mouths of the two behind her; they were liable to have to include a 15% discount to their already meager price if they were any slower.

Captain guided the two through the concrete jungle's twists and turns as if she had traveled them a thousand times before. They were warned to stay near the maze's center until they became accustomed to it, unless they had a guide with them, as they always did. Otherwise, they may end up lost, or the denizens of the city may attack them, if they were to travel alone in the streets. Captain's intelligence was admired by the two, not because they were stupid and she seemed like the natural alpha, but because she had taken the time to learn from her assigned duties.

Food in the sewers was grown in mineral-rich gardens with as little sunlight as possible. The water came from a small ground reservoir. It was awful and basic, but it kept Mag and his brothers alive. "Mag" is a good name. something that would never have even dared enter their mind before coming to the city. J-9816 was an X-class notail, but they feel as if their mind has been opened in a sense that their work was providing even more entertainment than ever before, and they alone were to study the life of a planet so densely packed and focused on the production of materials that the only trees grew in the sewers and select government buildings where the upkeep of them is a top priority. Why should they give this information to the higher-ups? Why share it? It was good information; it was their information.

There were gangs within the sewers and upper city, like any other. There were supremacists, cultists, the crazed, and the poor. Mag made these observations while studying them both when they were living and, well, less so. Mag took little joy from these dissections now, but on the odd occasion, someone with a "shiny part," as he so loved to call them, came down from their offices to scold a group of workers or negotiate bribes with some gangs. Mag most enjoyed these hunts; they frequently had guards, and it was a mind game of who to pick off first, with a reward being an odd bit of metal with fleshy bits still attached, and the sounds that came from the streets above. Oh, the anger! as if they alone were destroying the greatest of nations! This was their goal; they were more than just X-class; they were god, their body a vessel for powers to create and destroy everything, the most holy of all work.

"So what? No pay? Just because we're a couple minutes late?<^>" Captain uttered, quickly realizing how stupid her question was the moment she heard it outloud.

Muggy answered in a stoic tone "I paid 4 instigators, not excuses."

"If you pay us, you'll get your investigators; that's how work and hiring work!<^>"

"Hmmp-Fine, I tink U work 4 20% of the 1st price, n' maybe I'll hire U."

The captain sighed as he considered how much food they'd have to ration for the next few weeks and how the ship's insurance was likely to be worthless due to the recent monthly crash landings. "Fine, I suppose you're going to want a proper introduction to the top-tier private eyes you hired.<^>" The "Smart Three" struck a pose as quickly as light, with a sudden instrumental playing as soon as they hit it.

"Wuz dat noise? I didn't authorize dat!"

"I'm making it with my mouth!OuO" slab yelled out

"Slab it, shut it!" "Ahem! We are the smart three.<^>"

"Om suggested it be a pun, but smarthies and other combinations of vocal soundings reminiscent of smart and three combined were trademarked./v\"

"I'm Captain, humble leader of this fine abode of merry murder experts.<^>"

"My name is slab!I'm not qualified to conduct murder investigations; we're usually the ones doing the mu-OuO"captain slaps Slab.

"SHHH!<^>"

"I'm Om./v\"

"Stap! This is importanter! We can have ur intro story later."

"Well how else are you supposed to get to know us without a detailed explanation of us as people?<^>" Responded Captain

"Didn't ask."

"Need I remind you that I own a legal weapon?<^>"

"Come in, wi habe work 2 discuss dese cases will be very interesting 2 u."

The orange sky had long since turned dark, and the three had poured intothe case files of the numerous murders around the city that encompassed common laborers, high-class businessmen, and numerous gang members. In truth, yes, they had no idea what they were doing; had Slab not blurted it out, they likely would have gotten a slightly better review, and they also may have been better at ending life than finding out the cause of death for life, but they were already in it deep. Captain had put in the most effort, despite her difficulties, in examining the files, looking for any similarities of any kind, but in the end, she was essentially looking at pictures. Captain cannot read, and she's really starting to regret allowing Om and Slab to try out their own methods. Captain was worried about the city rather than the two; she was sure they'd grown accustomed to it. She tried her best to instill her knowledge onto them; unfortunately, she didn't meet them early on in life, but they'd learned enough. She returned to trying to figure out the work on the paper, cursing her inability to excel at this one singular thing at this precise moment.

Slab and Om were vaguely aware of their surroundings; the corridors seemed to merge, and the sky was always polluted or a grim gray, in stark contrast to the mayoral office where they had just been, but that didn't matter; they were on a mission, a mission that required a more direct approach. Slab and Om were on their way to a bar, or so they thought; the directions on the map were strange in that they didn't move with them, but this would not deter them. With Slab piggybacking on Om, their speed had reached new heights! They simply needed to run around until they saw a shady corner with people sitting outside to give them strange looks. Not more than a few minutes of yelling "To glory!" They did eventually find a run-down shop, but the sign that had once been used to identify it had been moved to the side from its original location, likely due to its age. Slab did not like this. A warm light emanated from the gaps in the boarded windows, and shouts of laughter were heard escaping the doors. The two shared a common thought of "Maybe not," but it was quickly wiped away with the rationale of asking the locals, leading to the best possible answer.

The pair are met with blank stares, silence, nervous smiles, and fake laughter. Only when a large creature in mining equipment stands up--a Goldorian--does the air move. "Lookie' ere, lads, we've got a couple of notails; do you know what we do around here with notails?"

"Greetings, Om and Slab have come here with a question about the recent disappearances, and Om would be grateful if you could assist./v\"

The large figure takes a few large, impactful steps towards Om, blissfully unaware of the situation he is in.

"Are ye' serious right now?" Okay, I'll humor ye'. I know about them; we all know about them, an' the worst ones have been directed at us hardworking folk, the best of us, augmented bionic folk. Now that you've dealt with those "formalities," as you call them, ow's about I teach you to stay in your place in the galaxy, eh?"

Slab, feeling the passive aggression in the air and being unsure of how exactly to react, makes the first move, punching the Goldorian in the leg.

Fortuna rolls a 5! Slab suffers 2 points of damage and deals a total of... Nothing! You had a gun, y'know!

Fortuna rolls for luck. A 20 critical success! The goldarian suffers from a prehistoric disease.

"H-W-W-WH-WHY!" I can- I can't breathe!"

"Om thinks you're breathing fine./v\"

"I-I can't feel muh legs! I- How am I supposed ta' work! How do I feel muh fam-family."

"I'm sorry! You weren't meant to do that! Bartender, get this man a bag of chips!OuO"

"I don't have 'ch-"

Slab and Om make an escape through a window.

The captain had reached a solid lead, no-thanks to Slab and Om, who had recently come bearing the knowledge of how they probably killed someone on accident and how the killer favors individuals with body parts that aren't organic. One she had figured out from the start, and the other she had already figured out along with a multitude of other things. such as every murder taking place near common entrances and exits of the sewer system and an X-class notail recently going missing without properly reporting in that last one she had to go through a bit too many hoops for, but these credits are worth it. Muggy took little convincing, the smart three were allowed full access to the sewer and some reinforcements. All hands were on deck, and an estimated position was given for where the killer's estimated hiding spot would be.

The entire operation was a failure; nothing was found, but Slab and Om had gone missing during the search of the sewer. Captain was pretty sure she knew what had happened, but this time, her faith in the two was waning.

Om was recently with the main group; Om wonders if they're still alive; Om abandoned them when they were ambushed by a dark mass, a seemingly living lump of flesh likely just a mutant growing in the sewers; Om feared it wasn't the only one. The sewer corridors were an even greater maze than the city, with no holes leading anywhere. Om was focused on trying to find a way out; there wasn't any real way they could react to the attack. A quick and accurate shot to the leg made mobility impossible; the subsequent strike to the arm with a rusted blade only exacerbated the situation.

Om could only make quick observations and hastily made markings on the wall; he was still alive and being pulled somewhere; where exactly wasn't something he was pondering as the pain moved across his left arm to his head.

The pain had dimmed slightly, and Om had stopped moving; the figure that had taken Om here was barely visible, bent over near a large hole in the center of whatever room they were in.

Om was hesitant to speak up, but they needed to know who was responsible for the murders; they needed answers for something.

"Om isn't going to die, right?Om hasn't even gotten t-/v\" The figure stands, a large mass of flesh and metal rising from the hole. "Oh, my sweet gods, what is that!?" The figure turned, kneeling down to meet Om's eye level. "Tell me, do you believe in the gods? Do you really believe in them? I sure do believe in the perfect God. I believe in one of my own creations; me and my brothers have been hard at work on making this god. I'm sure you've seen bits and pieces here and there.We are the fragments of a larger consciousness, one that shattered into bastard fragments upon death.=v="

Om was taken aback not only by the pain but by the complete delusion of this person, so Om thought it best to humor them: "Speaking of death, that is something Om will not be suffering today, yes?/v\"

The figure laughed, "I dragged you here via stab wound." I clearly don't care about your well-being. Do the math, but more importantly, I want you to be assured of your place in all of this. You see, I represent a group of true believers, or pioneers, as you could even call us. We wish to be whole again, but we most definitely don't want to be the creator again. They were flawed and served no purpose, and their deaths have allowed us to set things straight and pick and choose which pieces should be salvaged and which should be demolished. We are all pieces of a puzzle, and if all the pieces were put together, we would have a picture of a majestic king that has accidentally stepped in feces.=v="

"Om, is the feces right?Om has nothing to do with this. Om is just here for tourism./v\" Om was fearing that this wouldn't go as planned. The figure had grown more and more radiant with every word spoken.

"I'll do you the favor of getting to see the parts we have now; you'll bleed out soon enough. Oh, and your friends are probably being torn apart as we speak; they are far better suited to our grand scheme. =v="

The large mass that moved almost hypnotically behind the figure had suddenly made a straight shot for Om. There was no pain. There was no time to recognize death.

Slab's head was groggy and unclear. His eyes slowly opened to a thankfully dim area; there was only a faint orange glow from the candles and a brighter source from somewhere he couldn't see yet. A voice whispering from behind

"Why aren't you smiling?" You should be more positive; you should forget about all that's going on in the world! It doesn't concern you; it's not like you can do anything about it. Just relax; put on an amused face. You wouldn't want to come across as ungrateful right now, would you? "Just remember, a glum face doesn't make people want you, and remember, you aren't anyone without having class!^?^"

"You're not like the others, I can tell." You're not a part of the larger whole, are you? not by choice; consider yourself fortunate to have been born outside of it. I left, too; I'm not sure why, but I was brought here for a reason; my memories blurred to make room for my new knowledge; oh, the things I've seen, friend; I'm the next awakening of a god!^?^"

The voice had moved around Slab. Coming into view was a Notail, dirty and beaten, their once-precious garb covered in dried blood, their mask a cracked and misshapen mess.

"I know you're wondering why I did it, and I'd love to show you, but we'll have to cut this short because, while I managed to outwit your friends earlier, the other one, "Captain," if I'm correct, is quite persistent. When your friend comes by, be sure to open that curtain to your left. I've dedicated so much time to it, but machines really are the future--reliable but uncaring. Perhaps we will meet again, but next time I won't give you the kindness of sparing your friend.We're linked, and my civilization will hunt you down for all eternity; everything about this "job" was predetermined from the start. ^?^"

The captain came just as the figure said she would. The parting gift was a sort of amulet with an odd aura surrounding it, an artifact that may come in handy.

A ship had been prepared. Muggy was so dissatisfied that he decided that simply forcing the two to leave was the best way to salvage his already ruined career; he was likely to return to the mines once his term was over.

Captain was used to the deaths of her crew, but Om had been a constant. Yes, these things happen, but a somewhat competent classless is unusual, and Captain had grown accustomed to Om's stupidity. Slab, on the other hand, was not coping well; he kept talk of what happened in the makeshift torture chamber to a minimum.

Alrem was inexplicably destroyed six months later, as if the planet had just imploded upon itself. Numerous large masses of debris floating towards other planets were treated as resource opportunities due to their origin point.