Neon

Posted on Fri Sep 13th, 2024 @ 11:54am by 1st Lieutenant Torian Vale
Edited on on Thu Sep 19th, 2024 @ 10:53am

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Manufacturing District, Erevan City, Vega IX
Timeline: 2300, Seven Days Prior to Arrival Onboard USS Elysium (Seven Months Ago)
2514 words - 5 OF Standard Post Measure

The rain fell soft and steady. It cascaded off the rusted edges of towering structures that lined the industrial zone. The distant hum of machinery, long abandoned and left to rot, provided a low, haunting soundtrack to the nearly lifeless part of the city. That city was Erevan City on Vega IX, a decaying city of sparsely populated districts and overgrown industrial hubs which fell silent long ago.

It was largely the manufacturing district which cast the widest of shadows over the entire city.

It had all been forgotten—a sprawling industrial graveyard filled with abandoned factories and old production lines that hadn’t seen activity in quite some time. Now, only scavengers, smugglers, and those looking to stay hidden found refuge in the twisted skeletons of these old factories and buildings.

It was the central hub that had the most life with its neon lights, overcrowded streets, and mixture of loud music, commerce, and illegal perversions. However, those beautiful neon lights from central reflected off the puddles ten miles away in the manufacturing district. Its greens and yellows, onto the corroded metal beams and broken windows right above Torian Vale.

Torian Vale moved swiftly through the sparsely populated streets, his black boots splashed through the pools of rainwater as he pursued his target.

His breath came out steady, his eyes trained on the lone figure moving through the dilapidated streets roughly thirty yards ahead. His target, a mid-level weapons dealer and Ferengi named Jaken Skrell, was making a run for it. Skrell had been on Starfleet’s radar for sometime now but it all finally caught up to him. Skrell had been trying to sell illegally obtained Starfleet military weapons, and Torian had tracked him to this part of the city. His partner was unavailable, spread thin across other operations within Erevan City, leaving Torian to handle this one alone. He preferred it that way. No distractions, just the hunt.

The Main Factory of the district loomed ahead—an enormous, crumbling structure of tritanium, steel and concrete, with large blast doors that were rusted over. The windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass barely holding on to their frames. A faded sign above the entrance read “Armex Systems,” a relic from a time when this place had been bustling with activity. Now, it was nothing more than a hollow shell.

Torian slowed his pace, his eyes narrowed as he watched Skrell slip inside through a side entrance. The heavy, metallic clang of the door echoed through the mostly empty streets. Torian reached down and unsnapped the holster of his sidearm, his fingers brushed the cool metal of his weapon. He had no idea what he was walking into, but he knew Skrell wasn’t alone. This deal was too big for just one man.

He approached the entrance cautiously, rain dripping from the brim of his hood. The air inside the factory was thick and stale, and smelled of rust and damp metals. His boots made a soft thud as they hit the factory floor, the sound muffled by the distant patter of rain on the roof. The factory was massive, with long, dark corridors and towering assembly lines, all shrouded in shadows. Torian could hear the faint hum of a generator somewhere deep within the building and powered what little light remained.

His eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. Old conveyor belts stretched out in long rows, covered in dust and grime. Rusted machinery stood like silent sentinels, their purpose long forgotten. The occasional creak of metal and drip of water echoed through the space, heightened the tension.

Torian moved deeper into the factory, his weapon drawn and ready. The further he went, the more his senses were on edge. Every shadow felt like it could hide danger, every sound could be an ambush waiting to spring. He could feel the weight of the factory’s history pressing down on him.

Suddenly, the sound of muffled voices reached his ears. Torian froze, listening intently. The voices were coming from a room up ahead, behind a half-closed steel door. He moved closer, careful not to make a sound, and peeked through the crack.

Inside, he saw Skrell standing in front of a large crate, flanked by two armed men. The crate was open, revealing rows of military-grade weapons—pulse rifles, explosives, and ammunition. Skrell was talking rapidly, his hands gesturing toward the weapons as if to convince the two buyers standing opposite him. They were both tall, broad-shouldered men dressed in dark clothing, their faces hidden.

“This is top-of-the-line, gentlemen,” Skrell said to the two men, in that Ferengi voice full of false confidence. “You won’t find this kind of firepower anywhere else. And I guarantee, no one’s gonna trace this back to you.”

Torian clenched his jaw, knowing that if those weapons hit the black market, they could cause untold damage. He had to move quickly, but he couldn’t just barge in guns blazing. He needed to be smart about this.

He backed away from the door, his mind racing. There had to be another way in—a vantage point where he could get the drop on them. His eyes scanned the factory, and then he saw it: a narrow metal staircase leading up to the catwalks above. From up there, he would have the high ground and a clear shot. It was risky, but it was his best option.

Torian made his way up the staircase, each step creaked under his weight. The catwalks were old and rusted, and he had to move carefully to avoid making any noise, let alone falling to his death. As he reached the top, he crouched low and moved along the walkway, peering down at the room below. Skrell and his buyers were still deep in conversation, unaware of his presence.

Torian’s heart pounded in his chest as he positioned himself directly above the group. He raised his weapon, set for stun, and aimed at Skrell. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the promise of violence if anything should go wrong.

Just as he was about to act, one of the buyers glanced up, his eyes locked onto Torian’s position. For a split second, time seemed to freeze. Then all hell broke loose.

“Up there!” the man shouted as he reached for his weapon.

Torian fired first, the blast from his sidearm lit up the dark factory as it struck the man square in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Skrell dove for cover behind the crate, while the second buyer ran out of the factory unwilling to fight.

Torian ducked, adrenaline surged through his veins. The catwalk groaned under the stress, bits of rust and debris fell around him. Below, Skrell scrambled to escape, but Torian wasn’t about to let him get away. With one fluid motion, he leaped from the catwalk and landed hard on the floor below.

Skrell froze, his eyes wide with fear as Torian aimed his weapon at him.

“Don’t even think about it Skrell, you are under arrest.” Torian growled, his voice cold and commanding.

Torian's heart raced as Skrell’s eyes darted toward the entrance of the factory. The sudden flicker of desperation in Skrell’s face was enough to tell Torian that his target wasn’t planning to give up. However, Skrell didn't appear armed so it would be difficult to justify shooting him just to prevent him from fleeing.

Before Torian could take another step, Skrell bolted. His movement was fast and chaotic, fueled by the primal instinct to survive. Torian cursed under his breath and sprinted after him, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the hollow, decaying factory.

Skrell dashed around corners and through narrow passages, knocking over crates and barrels as he tried to slow Torian down.

Torian’s boots pounded against the metal flooring, his breathing steady despite the physical exertion. His focus was razor-sharp, his training as a marine scout kicked in. Every movement was calculated, every obstacle navigated with precision. Skrell had a head start, but Torian was closing the distance.

Skrell made a sharp turn down a narrow corridor, disappearing from Torian’s line of sight. Torian followed, skidded slightly on the slick floor as he rounded the corner. The corridor was dimly lit, the flickering overhead lights casting long, ominous shadows on the walls. Ahead, Skrell struggled to get through a side door, his hands shook as he fumbled with the handle.

Torian saw his chance. He surged forward, his sidearm went up to fire a warning shot but just as he was about to, Skrell managed to force the door open and disappeared into the darkness beyond.

"Dammit!" Torian muttered under his breath as he reached the door. He paused for a moment and listened to the sounds of Skrell’s retreating footsteps. The room beyond the door was pitch black, the faint smell of rust hanged in the air. The factory’s power grid was barely functional, leaving sections of the building in complete darkness.

Torian flicked on the flashlight mounted on his sidearm, the narrow beam of light cutting through the darkness. He stepped through the door cautiously, his senses on high alert. The room he entered was a storage area, long abandoned like the rest of the factory. Old metal shelving units were scattered haphazardly, their contents long gone, leaving behind only dust and cobwebs. The air was cold, damp, and thick with the scent of decay.

Skrell’s footsteps echoed faintly from somewhere deeper inside the storage area. He was fast, but his panic made him sloppy. Torian could hear him knocking into things, his breathing ragged as he tried to stay ahead of his pursuer.

Torian pressed forward and moved as quietly as possible. He weaved between the shelves, his flashlight illuminated the path ahead. The narrow aisles felt claustrophobic, the walls seemed to close in around him. Every sound felt amplified in the silence, every creak of the floor a potential giveaway of his location.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from deeper in the room. Skrell had knocked over a metal cart in his desperation to escape. Torian didn’t hesitate; he broke into a sprint, his eyes locked on the faint flicker of movement just ahead. He was so close now—just a few more steps and he’d have Skrell within his grasp.

But Skrell was desperate, and desperation made things unpredictable.

Without warning, Skrell darted to the side and climbed up a set of exposed pipes that ran along the wall. He was agile despite his fear, scrambling up the metal structure like a man possessed. Torian cursed again and followed, his muscles strained as he hauled himself up the slick pipes.

Skrell reached the catwalk above and took off, his footsteps clanging against the metal grating. Torian followed, the narrow catwalk swayed slightly under their combined weight. Below them, the factory floor was a maze of rusted equipment and darkened corridors—a fall from this height would mean serious injury or worse.

Torian’s legs burned as he pushed himself to keep up. Skrell was just a few feet ahead, but the catwalk was old and unstable and groaned under their weight with every step. The air was cold, the rain from outside had seeped in through the cracked windows, making the metal surface slick and treacherous.

Skrell reached the end of the catwalk and leaped across a gap to another section of the factory. He landed with a stumble, his arms flailed to regain balance. Torian followed, his heart pounding in his chest as he jumped after Skrell. His boots hit the metal with a loud thud, and he barely managed to stay on his feet.

Skrell glanced back, his face pale and slick with sweat. He was running out of options, and he knew it.

Torian saw his opportunity. With a burst of speed, he closed the gap between them and lunged forward and grabbed the back of Skrell’s jacket. Skrell let out a grunt as both men went crashing onto and through the metal flooring down to the first level. The impact reverberated through the factory and throughout the outer perimeter of the factory. A few nearby homeless folk turned toward the factory perplexed at the noise but they weren't going to do anything about it.

About ten seconds later, after dust and debris finished their celebration, both men slowly got up on their feet. A newly made three-inch gash was on Torian’s cheek probably filling up with tetanus and Skrell had a broken left leg. Both were payments made for the stunt they did together.

Torian exhaled as the tension of the chase began to ease.

“It’s over” Torian said. But, Skrell didn’t seem to hear him or care at the moment as he saw a flicker of movement from Skrell. The man’s trembling hand inched toward something hidden beneath his jacket. Torian’s eyes darted down just as Skrell’s fingers curled around the handle of a concealed weapon.

"Don't—" Torian barked, but it was too late.

Skrell whipped the blaster out, a desperate gleam in his eyes as he leveled it at Torian’s chest. Torian’s mind raced, his muscles tensed, but there was no time to react.

Just as Skrell squeezed the trigger, a sharp, precise blast echoed through the factory. Skrell’s arm jerked violently as the blaster was knocked from his grip, the weapon clattered to the ground, its energy sizzling into retirement.

Torian turned his head around, eyes wide, to see his partner, Corporal Jenna Reyes, standing at the far end of the catwalk, her rifle still smoking. She was calm, composed, her eyes cold and locked on Skrell.

"Got here just in time," Reyes said, her voice casual but with a hint of relief.

Torian released a breath and nodded his thanks. He turned back to Skrell, who was now on the ground and was resigned to his fate—prison.

Torian secured Skrell with restraints and began to move.

Reyes walked over next to Torian and secured her rifle "You owe me one, Vale."

Torian couldn't help but chuckle, his pulse finally settling. "I won’t forget it."

They walked toward the exit and out on to the street with Skrell in tow as the distant roar of approaching Starfleet Security shuttles filled the air. Moments later, two sleek shuttles descended from the dark sky, their searchlights cut through the gloom and bathed the decrepit factory in a harsh glow. The once-quiet area was suddenly alive with activity as security personnel poured out of the shuttles, weapons drawn and moved with a swift, practiced precision into the factory to secure the weapons. Torian and Reyes handed Skrell over to a security team outside as he was quickly placed inside the shuttle.

The flashing lights and voices echoed through the abandoned complex, a stark contrast to the stillness that had dominated the area moments earlier.

 

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