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[Flare]

The most distinguishing feature of Mars is the smell of it.

There's something so unique about Martian soil, different from any othe planet I've ever been to - or at least can remember going to - though I don't recall enough smells from before I was taken to otice we had gone. There were people who were challenging them, challenging the monsters they'd made of men, and they were scrambling with an almost frantic desperation to prove that they were right and the others were wrong and there was no way that would ever change. Obviously they noticed it sooner rather than later, though, because the Professor is now a month dead and I am alone on Mars, even though I'm surrounded by hundreds.

I've been staying in various shelters, where I can pretend that I'm as meek and helpless as I appear. In reality, all systems are fully functional. All bones are intact. Muscles are not torn, pulled or hurting. Tendons are fine. Heart is pumping blood to my lungs at a steady rate, and though it was difficult at first I am now fully capable of breathing Martian air. My intelligence has not dropped, nor have I suffered any sort of severe head trauma as I am claiming now. Reflexes are still perfect. Everything is still perfect.

Yet, I've decided to pretend that I am not: that I am wholly imperfect, with flaws that normal humans have, that normal people in general have. My social incompetence contributes largely to the misconception that I am in some dire need of existance. During my stay at the research facilities, I was denied human contact. The only sort of social interaction I ever had was with The Professor and his various comrades and assistants. Our interaction was not what is status quo for most humans. They would ask me to run a status check on myself, I would reply as to how my body was functioning. They would run tests on me and as me how I felt. Not real interaction.

The shelters I have been staying at are not very nice, but they seem to be a step up from what I am used to. Some people are not very nice, but I can deal with that well enough. I have not yet needed to exert violence on others, and I wish to keep it that way. Revealling my true identity and the powers which I posess might proove to be disastrous and ultimately lead to my capture. I would most likely not be killed, assuming I am caught before any more information is leaked, as I believe the government wants me back alive. I am, after all, their most successful creation.

I am not afraid of being caught; I have come to terms with the likelihood of not being captured, and it is slight. I do not fear it, because the probability of my survival when there has been a warrant issued for my life is next to zero - the real number is several hundreds of decimals long, I have concluded, and although I certainly have the mental capacity to decipher it I have not the time nor the patientence for it. The Professor always insisted that was why I was different, why I was successful above all the other experiments: because there is still some human in me, unlike all of the other projects. They never made me a lifeless drone as they did with so many others, and for that I am thankful. They tried, of course, but couldn't succeed. That's why I'm different; that's why I've escaped.

Most of us are like the undead in Xenar - I did not even know what the planet was called until The Professor told me so a few months ago - walking lifelessly as we are poked and prodded, stuck with needles, put into combat situations. Our reflexes are tested, our IQs measured, and if the experiments themselves don't kill you and you are proven faulty they'll kill you themselves. Usually they use a lethal injection, but sometimes they're far more brutal, depending upon how much trouble the subject has caused them.

I'm sure that if I'm found out - and it's said that they want me alive unless I cause trouble, which my instincts undoubtedly will cause me to - I'm not going to be fortunate enough to get a lethal injection.

I sit on a park bench, the air which has long since become breathable fresh and cool in my lungs, the warmth of the sun heating my pale skin, made ivory from years on a planet that wasn't lit by the sun, but rather by a star that shone with no more than half the light of a sun. My legs, slender and bare from the knee down, swing back and forth idly, and I sip at a bottle of water, loving the cool taste as it streams down my throat. We don't have much water on Xenar - it's all imported from other systems, and that's a far too expensive business. Instead they pump us with substitutes and special enhancers that shoot through our blood streams and make us stronger, faster, better.

I don't know what I look like, really - I have only seen myself in a mirror once before, two years ago by my reckoning, though I don't have much of a concept of time. It's funny, not knowing what you look like. Lots of girls my age seem to be very concerned with that, although I cannot understand why. The Professor told me once it had something to do with beauty, but I have no concept of this. Beauty was not something I was taught to value, to understand, and so it seems strange and foreign and quite silly. I see girls walking around, dabbing cream on their noses and brushing powder over their eyelids. They paint their faces like they are clowns. I do not understand.

The warrant described me as follows:

W A N T E D - alive
alias eight
age 18-20
gender female
eyes pale green
hair pale blonde
height 5'4"
weight 103 lbs
crime murder of government scientists and hijacking of a cargo vessel
please note that the subject is highly dangerous and possibly armed

I wear the dress that The Professor gave to me before his death and sip at a bottle of water and watch people walk by me. I like watching them - making up lives for them in my brain. The scientists on Xenar said that my ability to do this was something called creativity. They made it seem bad, but I don't think it really can be all too dangerous. It's comforting, somehow. I don't know. I don't understand these sorts of things very well; I was never taught emotions and the like, or their proper meanings.

People are nice to look at. Especially these ones, these normal citizens: they're blissfully ignorant and oblivious, and it's quite nice. They don't know who I am; they don't know what I am, and for that they are fortunate. I am sure that the government has sent its dogs after me. All I can do now is wait, and then run.

[hoorah shitty establishing posts. NOW YOU MAY BEGIN.

TO THOSE WHO DID NOT SIGN UP: you may still join in, just post your bio in the sign up and send me a message and I'll approve you]

[Skid]

A giant ship floated through the milky way galaxy, the sun reflected off the hull and revealed the word "Jenny" emblazoned in orange and black letters to match the red paint job. The ship was 'parked' just outside of Jupiter, after a successful hunt of a big bounty on a space station near Earth. The crew was getting ready for a small celebration, which was an awful small crew for the gigantic ship.

Dist walked into the dining room located on the floor he and his brother, Synge, shared. There was to be a small party as celebration for catching a 10 Million credit bounty and sending in the head that morning. Now, each of them were two and a half million credit richer. Being a 4-man crew on a three floored ship, Burikko got her own floor and Lynch got his own floor because of his leader status. Dist and Synge, being brothers, shared a floor.

Dist greeted his brother, who sat with his feet set on the table as he dealt with the cork on a big bottle of red wine imported from Mars. "I guess having our first big break means we get to spoil ourselves." Dist eyeballed the giant bottle of red wine, completely aware that Pyro most likely intended to drink the whole thing himself for the rest of the night.

Pyro simply nodded, finally popping the knob off and taking a long swig, the red wine dripping off his chin a little bit. His scar on his face seemed to be the same color of his skin, only a little darker. A sure sign that Pyro was calm and content. If he were angry or over joyed, you would know because the scar seemed to change colors.

"Lucky bastard... All my credit went to maintaining Jenny and into my rainy day fund." Dist motioned his hand for his brother to follow, since they were going to meet the other half of the crew down in the main lounge.

"Thats only because you want that battleship." Pyro pointed out bluntly, before silencing himself once more with his bottle.

"So?" Dist muttered in return, walking down the hall with him. The main lounge was located on the floor that the brother's shared, and so wasn't the cockpit of the ship they were living on. The walked into the main lounge, and as of yet they were the only ones there.

"I'll get busy messing with the monitor to turn it into a movie screen..." Dist said, heading toward the wall that was actually a huge monitor. This monitor was used as a bulletin board of sorts, showing the many bounties that they decided to keep track of.

The most noticeable however, was the one in the center. Eight. The Lynch mob agreed that they would keep track of this one, knowing that the government had never publicly put out a bounty before until now. Eight was the first one in history to ever have a bounty put on her head by the government and have it publicly announced throughout the entire universe. And hence, Eight earned a huge poster on the Lynch Mob's 'hall of fame.'

Dist began to mess with the control panel of the monitor, but soon noticed something peculiar. The picture of Eight was flashing, drawing attention to itself. Just then Lynch and Burikko walked in, and their conversation was cut short by the flashing picture. Pyro also turned his attention to the board, knowing that whenever a picture was flashing, its information was being updated.

W A N T E D - Alive
Alias - Eight
Age - 18-20
Gender - Female
Eyes - Pale green
Hair - Pale blonde
Height - 5'4"
Weight - 103 lbs
Crime - The murder of government scientists and hijacking of a cargo vessel
Bounty - To be determined.
Last Seen - Yet to be seen publicly.
Other - Armed and highly dangerous.

The Lynch Mob in it's entirety stared at the two important bits of information that had yet to be filled out. The bounty and the location. It was a huge occassion, it was time to see how serious the bounty was that the government had to make it a commonly known event throughout the universe. Finally, the text began to fill itself out slowly...


Bounty - 100,000,000,000 Credits
Last Seen - A cargo ship headed toward Mars - Destination on Mars was unknown.


The room seemed choked with shocked silence, it was the motherload of bounties. Before Lynch could get out a word after the shock of the announcement wore off, Dist was long gone and setting a course for Mars.

Dist sat in the pilot's seat of Jenny, and smiled widely like a cheshire cat. "That battleship is as good as mine."

[Flare]

My bare feet swung gently back and forth as I sat upon the park bench, my hands in my lap, clasped gently together, occasionally twitching or switching places with one another. The cuticles were bitten down and raw, and my nails were nearly gone. You can't have long nails when you're a fighter; they tear and it causes pain. Pain renders the fighter powerless. Pain must be avoided at all cost. Having long hair is also a downside, but I have never cut mine.

I'd taken a liking towards coming to the park here since The Professor had first taken me here, one of the first times I was actually out in public. He tried to explain beauty to me then, as he and I stood upon the grassy hilltop and looked out at the people, the buildings, the sinking sun on the broad horizon. Everything seemed so civilized, so big: all I had ever known was the cold, dreary darkness of Xenar, where buildings are sterile and there is no grass. There are no plants or children or park benches to sit on, and so I had no clear concept of beauty.

I remember what he said to me as he tried to explain it. The Professor was a brilliant man, but he had never seemed to be very good at speaking. Then again, neither was I, so I suppose now I have no room to judge him. Amongst his peers, though, he seemed out of place; awkward, almost, like me. I think that was one of the reasons why I identified with him, allowed him to further analyze my being without any sort of objection. He was different from the other scientists, just as I was different from the other projects. Though I was not ostrocized as he was - we do not socialize, the projects, for it is not something we are taught - I knew that somehow he and I were very, very similar.

He could not find the words to describe beauty, and so he tried gestures. The grass was beautiful, he said. A woman who walked by was beautiful, he said. The sky was beautiful, he said. I still don't quite understand what it means, but when he tried to use words he said that it is something that is pleasing to the eye. I might have understood that, but then he explained that beauty differs from person to person. I could not understand it then. System error. It did not compute.

I feel something in my heart when I think of the professor. Pain, but not the kind recieved in battle. It's strange because I don't feel it often. I think he tried to explain that to me too, once. Grief? I don't understand why it's there, why it exists. But it is there, it's been there for a while, lurking beneath the surface, hidden in the shadows. It hurt when I realized he was dead, too, when that woman killed her. I felt that heart hurt then, and something else that made my blood turn hot.

Does not compute with my education.

I could feel the cool breeze sweep through the landscape and I smiled fondly at the feeling of the wind rustling through my hair and making it whip lightly across my face. I could a glimpse of it: long and nearly white, a few shades different from that of my own skin. I wished that I could see what I look like. I wondered if I were ugly - that is, the opposite of beautiful, as The Professor told me. How strange, to not know what you look like.

As I scanned the people in the park, my eyes found the form of the child with it's mother. The child was holding something - a balloon, my mind quickly concluded, and suddenly it was swept away in the wind. I don't know why, but I felt in my heart that it would be bad if this thing went away, so I quickly sprung into action, grasped the balloon by the string and landed back on my feet, a few inches in front of the child. I smiled, kneeling down and taking the boy's wrist. I quickly tied the balloon in a knot around his pudgy wrist and patted it, giving him a smile.

"Now it cannot float away," I explained before my senses picked up on something else. New spacecraft entering the atmosphere. I quickly sprung to my feet, combat instincts going into effect. I watched as a huge craft began to descend from the sky and grit my teeth as the little boy looked up at me, his head tilted to the side as I continued to watch the craft above. His mother seemed concerned; I could feel the fear in her heart. Telepathy still confuses me.

"Lady, what's wrong?" the boy asked and I glanced down, smiling again.

"Don't lose your balloon!" I cautioned him, stepping away and heading towards one of the shelters I'd been staying at. My pace was still leisurely; not the time to lose face yet. One must always remain calm in combat situations. If one loses control, one will lose the fight.

They were here.

[James Sunderland]

"You realize him?"

"I'm not sure...But the man I saw looks a bit like him, although he's much older...!"

"Where did you see him?"

"I remember used to see him somewhere on Mars while I was working there."

"You worked on Mars?"

"Several months ago when the government started the New Manhattan Project to expand Mars infrastructure, I was sent there to operate the construction of some essential structures...I remember he used to walk by the construction site several times with someone else...!Maybe they were heading to the Century Park nearby!"

"All...right...Hmmmm...."

"What's wrong, kid?"

"Huh?Oh, it was nothing!Your information was very helpful, thank you so much!"

"Here's the location of the site and my friends address!I hope they
can provide further info for you!"............

-----------

"Mars, huh?Hmmm...Never thought I could be dragged this far!"

As Jake's reminiscene ended, he took out the photo of the man he's looking for. "Could this man really is my father?If so, why would he abandon me?" - He wondered, then took out another photo of his adoptive father and looked deeply at it. "Vincent...."

"Civilian Jake Steward - ID Number: 024399027 4/4 - Spaceship registered: I - Wing Frigate number 3750!You are now clear to enter!Welcome to Mars!" - The voice of Mars Space Dock's staff echo as Jake quickly turn his frigate into the docking ring and ready to enter Mars atmosphere...

"Civilian Jake Steward please turn off the Auto-pilot function and stop your ship!"

"Huh?W-what...?"

"We repeat: Turn off the Auto-pilot function and stop your ship now!This is the police!"

Jake quickly reached the control panel and stopped the ship.On the screen was 2 galaxy police officers speaking to him through the intercom.

"What happened, officer?" - He asked

"We got order from the government to scan the cargo hold of any spaceship going to Mars in search for a very dangerous criminal!And don't worry, it doesn't take long!" - Answered the police as they activated the scanning device and let a green wave of beam slipped through the spaceship cargo hold.A few moments later, the beam dissappeared as a smile appeared on the face of the galaxy police. "All right, it seems nothing's wrong!You are clear to go!"

"Sir, did you say a dangerous criminal just broke out?" - asked Jake.

"Yes!Don't you know?Possibly armed and highly dangerous!You should read news more often, kid!"

As the police flew away, Jake turned his ship back into the docking ring, thinking about what he just heard - "A broke out criminal huh?Finally my journey got something more interesting to proceed with!" .Then Jake and his frigate entered Mars, unaware of what will happen next.....

[Pyro]

Pyro walked to the cockpit where Dist had just sat down and took the controls. He was tempted to grab the second seat, but soon decided to just stick to his wine. Lifting the bottle to his lips he felt the cooled alcohol rush down his throat as he wiped his chin on his arm after gulping it down. He leaned in the archway, looking onto Skid who sat there in excitement.

"You don't think we should take something of a break?" Pyro asked him, downing more of his precious wine. He had to pull down the thick cloth that surrounded his mouth from his cloak, but he still got that wine down his throat.

"Why take a break?" Di asked. "We're on our way to that battleship!"

"You figure if some girl is worth THAT many credits, she's gotta be dangerous man." Dist merely sighed before going back to his controls. Pyro had just finished off the bottle of wine, but it wouldn't be his last for the night. It was a celebration, and Pyro loved to drink his wine. "If it's that much, it might be more then we can handle. I don't doubt either of us, we're very skilled when it comes to the bounty business, but she's gotta be ridiculously strong if the government can't even take her down."

"You're using too much logic on this," Dist laughed. "We're Marks, we're famous bounty hunters."

"We're hardly famous," Pyro stated. "we've had our big break which a lot of people know us for, but this is pushing it."

"We're going after her."

"Whatever you say brother." Pyro said, pushing his body in a wave off of the arch as he began to walk back to the "party". The celebration had stopped as the entire crew began to talk about their new assignment. They went over the bio of this girl, Eight, and whispers ran around the room and made it sound as if several hundred normal conversations were going on, even though the crew was tiny. "Just get out." Pyro said to them. They all turned and began to pile out as Pyro fell backwards onto the couch. He threw his hand out and grabbed a handle of the coffee table in the middle of the room and popped it open, grabbing another bottle of red wine out from underneath it.

He looked around the room, then to the large picture of this 'Eight' girl they were now apparently hunting. He felt something strange about her, and as he looked about her facial features Dist showed up in the door. The last thing on his mind before snapping back to his brother was Damn, she's a cute one

"You really don't think this is a good idea?"

"It's your ship," Pyro said, drinking down some more wine.

"It's OUR ship." He responded.

"You fly it, I just pay the boys." Pyro sat up and looked around the room, catching his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. He eyed his scar, ripping through his eyebrow and causing him to catch attention he really didn't want or need. Damn that brilliant woman. Pyro simply sighed before downing more wine.

"You sure you're OK? You're drinking an awful lot of wine tonight."

"When in doubt, drink it out."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Says the man without the wine bottle." Pyro downed more wine, realizing he didn't make any sense. He didn't get drunk, no matter how much he drank. It never affected him for some reason, he just really loved the taste. "Go to mars, you know I'll be right behind you. Where the fuck else am I gonna go? This is just another journey for the Marks Men."

"You're still calling us that?" Dist laughed.

"Yes, yes I am."

"Lame ass."

"Non-alcoholic."

"That's bad?"

"I'm ashamed to call you my brother." Pyro couldn't help but smile.

[Flare]

The bell on the door jingled softly as I padded silently into the store, my bare feet barely touching the grimy tile beneath them. I had gotten used to the griminess of places like this one by now, although at first I had been confused and concerned. I knew order and sterile environments, but here there was life and, with that life, disorderliness. It didn't make sense to me, how people could live peacefully - happily, even - in the sort of filth that I saw the moment we slipped off of the cargo ship, The Professor and I. But now, now that I know more, I envy them, in a way. The have not been trained or programmed to behave in a certain way: they make their own way.

Knowing this only served to confuse me more, and I can remember not sleeping for several nights at all. Because of my enhanced physical abilities I can go several days without sleep, but if I do not have time to refuel and energize myself than my performance is not where it should be. I worried for days then, knowing that if we were captured it was not probable that we could escape. It is exhausting, even for me, to perform at my fullest potential during combat situations. Because Projects are not machines - at least, not biologically - or aritficial intelligence, we do become tired. That's something no scientist can cure.

I worried for days and nights, feeling fear for the first time. I don't know why it came to me then; I've been in countless near-fatal situations before due to the very nature of my existance. I asked the professor about it once, and he theorized that perhaps I felt fear because I had to protect something besides myself. It makes sense, I suppose, though because of my limited grasp on human emotions I cannot understand what he meant. He said as well that I was nearly selfless, though I don't quite understand this concept either. I should find a more humanoid contact now.

A Project cannot function to its fullest potential when it is exhausted. Therefore, it is necessary for a Project to sleep.

I had slept well these past few days. After the initial shock of realizing that I truly was out on my own, alone for the first time in my entire life, I was able to recuperate in three hours' time and move on. I felt something, I know that. Sadness or grief, I am not sure which of the two. Or maybe...remorse? The Professor mentioned that as well. He would tell me that he felt remorse for his actions, for what he had done to the Projecs in the past. I cannot know what I felt, but I knew it would slow me down. Detachment was necessary, though not easy.

I continued to walk into the store, and the bell jingled again as the door closed behind me. The bottom of my dress was slightly dirty and frayed from running for a while, but still in good condition. Beautiful? I couldn't understand, so I couldn't possibly know. My eyes scanned across the various weaponry lining the walls: machetes, knives, a sword or two. The knives were most prominant, and while I already had one of those I felt a few more might be effective for what I knew was going to come. I looked to the cases below me, filled with guns. I had two of those, too, but more would do me some good. Ammo especially. I needed more rounds.

By now the man behind the counter - humanoid in appearance, but clearly not an Earthling - was watching me, and I looked up when he cleared his throat. He seemed to be...what was the word? He was...his eyebrows were furrowed, but he was not angry. Confused, that's it. He seemed confused by my presence and even as I smiled softly to him he seemed hesitant to smile back. I frowned to myself. Maybe I was ugly. Would that make people look confused? I need a better concept of emotion and psychology in humanoid creatures aside from myself.

"Can I...help you?" the man asked, and I looked up again, jerking out of my own thoughts, quickly analyzing hm in my mind and smiling again. He was harmless, but knew how to handle guns. It was easy to conclude.

"Yes," I said slowly, bending down and pointing at one of the guns in the case: a handgun, far more sophisticated from the two little ones I had. "Could I have one of those, please, and..." I scanned the walls slowly before pointing at a knife set in a display case. "That, too, please."

The man arced an eyebrow at me. "You, uh, beefing up home security or something?" he asked. He was still confused and I smiled.

"No."

I fished out the money that The Professor had given me and put it on the table, smiling at the astounded look on the man's face. "Jesus," I murmured, and I frowned. Why had he said a religious figure's name? I didn't understand a lot of the language, with the words that they used and the variations of it. It didn't make much sense at all.

The man quickly tore his gaze away from the money and began to get the things I had asked for as the bell jingled on the door again. Two sets of footsteps. Heavy, both of them. Both male, one around 160 lbs, the other heavier. I closed my eyes and heard the man behind the counter speak.

"Can I help you two gentlemen?"

"Nah, thanks." The heavier one - his voice was deep and grating. "We just need a talk with Blondie here."

I didn't move, instead opting to stand perfectly still. The first wave of them had come: bounty hunters, not government officials. They were more stealthy and sent agents on solo missions to deal with these sorts of things. That means that the government must have put out a warrant itself. Interesting.

"It's like she's begging to be caught, hanging out in the middle of the day." The thinner one. He had a whiny voice and I heard the heavier one take a step towards me.

"You sure had a short run," the heavier one said, and I hear a rustle of fabric as his hand moved to grab my slender shoulder.

My eyes shot open and I gripped his wrist with both my hands, crushing the bones immediately before jabbing him in the throat with my elbow. The heavier one gagged and stumbled backwards, choking on blood from damaged throat lining and the skinnier one immediately pulled out a revolved. My senses nearly tingled and I sprung up, ducking behind the counted just as the first round of bullets went off. Quickly I thrust my fist through the glass of one of the gun cases, grabbing a revolver, and when I heard the last castor click, signifying he needed another round, I peeked over the counter and fired two bullets into his kneecaps. I could hear the manager cowering behind me as I fired another bullet into the larger one's head just before he finished loading his gun, and he slumped to the floor, lifeless.

The thinner bounty hunter was howling on the floor and I walked swifly around the counter - now completely destroyed - and to him. I knelt down beside him, the bottom of my dress getting stained red in the steadily growing pool of his blood, and as he thrashed I reached into his coat and quickly found what I was looking for: a wanted poster for me. I blinked as I saw the bounty: even I knew that was a lot to pay for a single person. I looked down at the man on the floor, chewing softly on my lower lip.

"I am sorry for the loss of your partner," I told him softly before rising to my feet, walking to the counter and quickly grabbing a few guns from the cases; the knives could wait for now. I smiled to the manager, who was still shaking on the floor, and pushed the wad of money towards him. "I am sorry for the condition I've left your store in," I told him honestly. "Please accept my payment."

Sirens. I blinked, glancing towards the direction they were coming from. For me? Surely not; the police wouldn't be involved, it would be too messy. Still...since I was a murderer, technically, I suppose it is in their jurisdiction. They were coming quickly, but I was quicker. I walked to the corpse of the older man and began to take his jacket off of him, shoving guns into the pockets and glancing at the ammo he had. It was sufficient, I supposed. I slid it onto my shoulders, feeling the heaviness of it and seeing my small form nearly drown in its hugeness, and stood before looking back to the manager.

"Is there a back door?" I asked him, and he pointed a trembling finger out through the back room. I smiled again, nodding. "Thank you for your time. Again, my condolences." With that I was sprinting out the back door. If the police were coming for me, more of my location would be released. And that would mean more bounty hunters.

I needed to find a ship out of here.

[Yaz]

"Agent Tarot?" A man looked up from where he had been reading a file as I told the receptionist my name. "As in the government agent Tarot?" I adjusted my glasses, looking at him through the red. I had arrived on Mars a few minutes before, just after receiving the information on Eight that was released. After arriving, I had immediately headed towards the main police base on Mars. It hadn't taken long - I took my ship's speeder bike.

I thumbed the sketch of Eight's likeness that I had folded into my glove. "10029 Government Agent Tarot, Sector Xenar," I replied in answer. I glanced at the man's uniform and badge. "You're the department head here?" I asked.

"Wait, if you're here ... then," the man trailed off and looked at the info-pad he'd been reading. "She's on Mars, isn't she?" I nodded.

The director frowned and straightened up. The effect was minimal as I dwarfed him with my height. "I'm not going to let you disrupt the operations. These are my people, my police. My people and I can handle the situation. I thank you for informing me, Agent Tarot, but now I'm going to have to ask you to go."

"You obviously haven't read the I.G handbook then, sir," I replied. My hand went to my belt where I flicked open a pouch and removed a small leather carrier. "I outrank you, Director," I couldn't help but let a little smugness seep through, "the I.G stands to lose quite a lot of money if the hostile is caught by any one of the millions of bounty hunters in this galaxy. I, and a few other government operatives, are the only people standing between the I.G and that loss. I suggest you hand over all control to me while Project Eight is still on Mars."

Scowling, it took only a few seconds for the Director to walk me to the communications room. From there, I was able to contact and send a picture of Eight to all the police on Mars.

"I want a two men on each street. Keep to the crowded areas. She'll most likely try to blend in with the crowds and so on. I doubt she isn' t already aware that we know she's here, so she'll be looking for a way out."

A few affirmatives came through on the radio. I turned to the director. "Contact the transport board. Tell them that extra security checks will be needed at all public transports." The director seemed sullen but agreed to it. "Also, I need your special ops. team."

"We only call them in for terrorist situations! Besides, she's just a girl."

"I want them here in five. I'll be taking them out on a sweep of the city. Make sure they're on speeder bikes."

I'd be damned if I let Eight get away again. I adjusted my glasses and watched as the director angrily radioed in for his special ops. team.

[Gopher]

"What's up with the dress?"

Lynch stared at the picture of the the blond haired girl on the holographic bounty poster. His head was cocked to the side. Burriko stood nearby with a glass of wine in her hand, holding it informally.

"Aww, she's just a girl Lynch."

"It looks stupid. Nobody wears crap like that anymore, she'll just stick right out."

"Well I think it looks nice. Wierd...but nice."

"You want me to get you a dress like that?"

Burriko rolled her eyes. Just then the door slid open. Burriko looked as a familiar face walked in, cloak around neck and wine in his hand. Lynch didn't even look at him, recognizing the all to familiar staggering that came with the resident drunk. Whom Lynch knew to be Pyro. Or Synge. He kept forgetting which one was the real name and which was the alias. Lynch and Burriko continued their conversation about the stupidity of the bounty's attire until,

"Just get out."

Gunfire and flames were the result the last time someone ignored Pyro's "orders" in his drunk state. Promising Dist he'd try to avoid fighting and beating the crap out of his fellow hunters, Lynch just raised his head and sighed, walking out, muttering something about poison and wine. Burriko followed him. Lynch walked towards the armory. That was a nice place to be. It had a telescreen, guns, vending machine, guns, Xbox 9,000, explosives, and guns. Burriko headed to her locker and pulled out her trusty blaster, the Larscorp model S19 Hand Cannon, a large, futuristic revolver with room for 14 bullets. She then proceeded to the "rack", the place where all the bigger guns were kept. She laughed with glee as she considered her options.

Lynch walked to a large workbench and set his right arm on it. It split open and a large, stationary wheel behind the bench spun slowly towards him. It held several heavy weapon attachments, ranging from high velocity gattling guns and flack cannons to grenade launchers and even a bazooka. He let it spin a few times, grunting and sighing at a few options before finally picking the gattling attachment. With that, the gun extended from its holding spot into Lynch's arm. It clamped into place as the arm shut.

He let the barrel spin a few times. "Hey Burrito, where're we goin again?"

Strapping a bandolier across her chest, Burriko reached for a shock rifle with a round, ammo drum. It looked like a tommy gun for plasma rifles.

"Century City." She replied, not addressing the name issue. She was so used to him calling her Burrito now that she might as well have it legally changed.

Lynch walked to the rack and took an SMG. As he did, a panel in his leg protruded and he put the gun in it. It shut after he did.

"Man, Century City is gonna suck after this." He said in response. His hood and mask reflected an emotionless killing machine, but behind the mask he was grinning. This was the ultimate test. He had modified himself countless times over to make himself the ultimate hunter, and the final test of his abilities was Eight. After that, the possibilities were endless. Exclusive contracts with the I.G., benefits, mebe even "premium citizenship".

"Sorry kid, but you're goin' down."

[Pyro]

Pyro couldn't help but smile at his "drunken" state that everybody thought they knew. The thing was, Pyro had a gut for wine. He rarely ever got intoxicated from it, never the less drunk. He decided to stand up after Dist had headed back to the cockpit, in which he then strolled over to the screen of the girl called 'Eight'. He brushed his blond hair from his eyes, taking a closer look into the hologram.

"Don't stare too long," a voice rang out from behind him. "you don't want to give the impression that you care for somebody."

"Shut your mouth Dist." Pyro growled, knowing that Dist had obviously turned around and come back to the room.

He turned around and saw Dist sitting on the couch, and Pyro leaned against the wall next to the hologram. He didn't break his eye contact from Dist, because even though they weren't talking the conversation went as follows:

Dist - You DO wanna seek her out
Pyro - So?
Dist - She's a wanted criminal, nothing will come of it
Pyro - Who said I wanted something of it?
Dist - You think I haven't known you long enough?
Pyro - Don't make me kill you
Dist - I'd like to see you try
Pyro - I hate you
Dist - I love you too

Pyro simply shook his head and sighed before walking out, realizing that Dist had won this specific battle between them. He decided to make his way down to the weapons room, where he decided he would pick up a silencer for his 9mm that was concealed within his left boot. He stepped down into the weapons locker, drinking down some of his wine and looking to Lynch and Burikko.

"Hello there dearies." Pyro said with a smile.

"Hello Pyro," Lynch replied.

"Hey sir." Burikko smiled with a wave.

"Call me Synge," he nodded and walked past them slightly, turning and grabbing a silencer off the shelf. He reached down to his boot and drew his 9mm, threading the silencer into the gun. He turned back and saw Lynch talking with Burikko and laughing, and then decided to join.

"So we're gonna go after this 'Eight' girl?" Lynch asked.

"Dist seems hell bound on it. He wants his battle ship." Pyro stated.

"I don't think it's a good idea." Burikko replied.

"I know it's not a good idea," Pyro smiled. "But what's life without a few stupid moves?"

"A safer one." Burikko replied.

"Ah, but drinking is much more relaxing." Pyro couldn't help but chuckle at his own joke.

He nodded to each of them, who nodded back as he walked past them and made his way back to his own floor on the ship. He did truely wish to relax for the night, think about what was going on. Burikko looks cute too he smiled to himself. I'm such a whore

[Bang]

[[Okay, just so I’m sure, everybody is on the ship heading to Mars, correct?]]

Burikko blinked and watched Pyro walk out. As soon as the automatic doors closed she let out a sigh and shook her head. He was drunk again. Why did he do that? She looked down at a un-opened soda can someone had left behind. She pulled a crazy straw out from behind her ear and proceeded to drink the warm pepsi. She was only 17, but had lied about her age to join Lynch’s mob. As far as anybody was concerned, she was 21.

Lynch was keeping himself busy by… erm, cleaning his weapons.

Burikko could honestly care less about how much the girl was worth; it was the adventure that thrilled her. I mean, she would never admit it out loud, but any mission considered ‘dangerous’ only excited her more. She would say something like ‘It’s not worth our lives’ or ‘Maybe we should sit this one out’ to cover up her immaturity.

She bit hard on her crazy straw as she gazed at the picture of Eight. Funny, by looking at her you wouldn’t even think she was a murder.

“I’m so excited!” Burikko blurted out, nearly crushing the can under her hand.

Lynch jumped a little and turned around to Burikko raising a brow.

“Just a second ago you weren’t sure if you wanted to go to Century City.” Lynch said, but didn’t seemed confused by Burikko’s actions. …She certainly was a weirdo.

“Ah, come on! You didn’t believe that bullshit, didya?! You know how much I like adventure and the thrill of looking for a murder knowing that we might not make it back. I just have to act my age around the others.”

“Burikko, you’ve blown your age since the day I met you.” Lynch with a smug grin. “I think the others know it too.”

“Really?” Burikko asked, tilting her head to the side. “What gave it away?” She took another sip of her crazy straw.

“Gee, I wonder.” Lynch said sarcastically as he thought about all those Saturday cartoons and 20 dollars worth of candy she would waste her life on. “Still, for a teenager, you act like your ten.”

“I do not!” Burikko gasped offensively as she stomped her foot.

“Don’t worry. Nobody on my squad will say anything. Just keep your mouth shut if we run into another bounty hunter squad, they might not take it so lightly.”

Lynch looked down and continued to clean his weapons.

Burikko finished her Pepsi and threw it at a trash basket. There was nothing else she could say, and waited for orders or any news on the one called Eight.

[Skid]

Dist maneuvered the ship through traffic, hell bent on getting to Mars... FAST. He finally came to a dead stop as he proceeded to go through the line to have the cargo checked. It was strange, without even going through with it yet he knew what the conversation would be. It would be questions of the strange assortment of weapons, alcohol, food, drink, sweets, and ultimately the eight-hundred bottles of red-wine Pyro would keep in his section of the cargo hold.

A holographic image of the cargo-hold inspector appeared, after he was done surveying the cargo. "All good to go sir, we don't see a problem here."

Dist was slightly taken aback at this, considering this was the cargo inspector who broke the thirty-four streak of inspectors who asked questions. "Thank you?"

"We couldn't help but notice the 'Lynch Mob' logo on your doors, so your bounty hunters correct?" The man asked, obviously getting at something.

"That's correct. Guess we're getting pretty well known huh?" Dist grinned, it was only just recently their names were beginning to spread around. It wasn't a household name, but it was something.

"We were instructed to give information regarding Eight to any bounty hunters who passed through, so heres the data file regarding her." The man pushed a few buttons on his PDA, and soon enough a new holographic screen popped up nearby in Dist's cockpit. "Have a good day sir."

"You too." Dist replied, shutting off the man's link and eagerly going over the new information. "Century City... Glad I made the right call on that one, I figured a cargo ship would be heading to a city with a huge trade district." Dist talked aloud to himself, before finally clicking a few buttons and bringing up a new screen.

"'Ey Lynch... We've got new information." Dist grinned widely, spooking his crew captain.

Lynch gave a sarcastic grin to the floating image of Dist. "One of these days your gonna pop your head in on something you wish you hadn't seen, Marks."

"What was THAT supposed to mean?!" Burriko chimed in the background, earning a earnest laugh from Lynch.

"Settle down Kiddo," Dist laughed as well. "We've got new information on the bounty... apparently she was in the western trade district in a weapon shop, and killed a bounty hunter and severely injured another. Take a look." Dist sent over the information, complete with photos of the violent scene.

Lynch looked over the photos carefully, then finally said something "Those two are the Vincent brothers... They're considered among the top bounty hunters in the whole business."

"Either way, we're landing near there... Might wanna arm yourself heavily... and covertly. We don't want to be obvious or get into a direct confrontation." Dist thought out loud, it was an annoying habit of his. "We'll be landing in ten minutes, I have the ship in auto-pilot so I'm coming down there to stock up on weapons as well." With that, Dist closed his screen and made his way down to the armory.

[Pyro]

Pyro made his way back up towards the section of the ship Dist and he shared. He walked slowly up the stairs, much farther then he should have been then when he had started. He had decided to lean up against a wall and drink down some more of his wine, and what he never realized was that everybody thought he was a drunk.

"They don't know why," Pyro said to himself just low enough to hear.

"They don't know because you won't tell them." Dist replied, turning the hallway from in front of him.

"It's not exactly a conversation starter." Pyro answered.

"You'd be surprised." Dist walked past him, heading towards the weapons room. He disappeared behind the door that separated the hallway from the weapons room, and then Pyro realized he hadn' exactly gotten himself prepared for the mission fully. He continued his way up the stairs, and then entered back into the 'lobby' type area that lead to each of their rooms, and the cockpit.

Pyro walked through the lobby, and made his way over to a panel of the wall where he tapped his fist twice against the exterior, a piece of steel with a gel pad sliding out of the wall. Dist had the same thing for his room, it only right next to Pyro's room. They had dished out some extra money to get it installed, should the ship be boarded they could find a place to come up with some sort of plan of action before taking the ship back. It also looked really cool.

As he entered his room the panel slid back into place and Pyro flicked on the light switch. It didn't make sense to keep lights on all the time, even if the ship had it's own source of power.

He scanned the room, the walls lined with guns and blades and several other types of weapons. Above his bed though is where he kept his personal favorite weapons, his staffs. They each had a different feel to them, and he had acquired each one in a different way.

The top one was a simple staff he had received from his father when he was younger, just a simple balanced staff that he learned to fight with. It was, without a doubt, one of his favorite staffs.

The second one down was a lighter color, a redish-pink color that Roxie had given him. Oh yes, that amazing woman knew the way to his heart, and the one time that had been closed off she found another way in. The staff had been given to him on his birthday, and even though he hated the fact it was slightly pink, he cherished it very closely.

Third down was pitch-black, given to him by Dist. It was different from the others, mainly because it was carved out of wood. The rest were types of metals that allowed it to compact and expand for easy carry. Dist had made this one for Pyro out of wood back on earth, and even though he couldn't keep it compact it was his most used one before they had to begin to be stealthy. He had used it during several assassination missions back when he was with the Fire Gods.

The final one was a solid chrome looking staff, but in reality it was titanium. Very light, very easy to move around with, and his most recent purchase. He had bought this one on Neptune, just on a random, routine trip. He had seen it, it's shiny exterior caught his eye almost instantly. He had to chip into his savings, but he bought it and it was his most recently used one. It was so light it honestly felt like you weren't carrying or swinging anything, he loved it.

Pyro grabbed that one and compacted it down to it's tiny size, then reaching to his wrap around head stand that went around his circular bed against the wall, he grabbed his belt off it and strapped it around his waste. This belt consisted of holsters for blades, compacted staffs, a pack, a place for clips for his 9mm, and several small compartments to hold throwing knives. He stocked it up, placing each item in it's compartments. He brought all his staffs aside for the wooden one, he would end up carrying that as a walking stick and quick battles.

He scanned his room, before stopping and looking around in the center and feeling like he forgot something. He checked his desk, no. His nightstand, no. His bed, no. Headstand, no. Until he looked to his dresser did he realize what he was missing, and he strolled over to it. The green case had dragons that wrapped around it on each side, a present from his Grandpa after he had died. His grandmother gave him just about everything inside of it, lots of Irish rings, necklaces, etc. The one thing Pyro kept in there that wasn't a present from her was the butterfly knife he had taken off of Roxie's body after he was forced to kill her. He grabbed it, and spun it out and open before eying the blade. It was almost like seeing her open it and cut his eye up again.

"That amazing, beautiful son of a bitch..."

[Yaz]

(( Just to clarify, if you read Flame's post carefully - only one bounty hunter is dead. ))

I pushed some of the glass away with the toe of my boot, nudging the large, bulky body as I did so. "You're sure it was her?" A clerk was asking the man behind the counter. I looked up from where I stood. "It's her. No one else could have done this." I glanced over at the skinny bounty hunter who had, barely, escaped death. His kneecaps were being tended to by the medic on the special ops. team.

"Stupid -- ah! -- freakin' bitch," he bit out, wincing as his legs were tended to, "fucking shot me in my fucking legs -- I'm never going to walk again, am I?" The medic looked up from the bloody kneecaps somberly and didn't look very hopeful. The bounty hunter groaned and glanced to where I stood. He suddenly looked very sad.

"Me ... me 'n' Jim have been doing this for years. We started out when we were young, ya know," he mutter, his voice becoming thick. I nodded, as if I cared, and glanced at the body once more.

"His jacket's gone. Did she take his jacket?"

"Yeah," the skinny bounty hunter said, wincing again at the medic's touch, "she took it. Put it on and left."

A special ops. member walked through the door hurriedly. "She's not in the area anymore. She can't have gotten far though, it's only been a few --"

"Don't assume that," I cut in, "Eight is extremely fast. I want you and your men to spread out and search the outer areas of the trade district. Check any garages nearby as well, she'll probably want a ride." The policeman nodded and marched out, ordering his men to mount their speeder bikes.

I took out my comlink and called the police station, wishing to know of any new information. There wasn't much, besides a little something that neither helped nor made it worse.

"More bounty hunters?" I said this with a little apprehension.

"I have a few names," replied the Director, his voice a little fuzzy, "ever heard of the 'Lynch Mob'?"

I scowled, unhappy immediately. "Unfortunately, yes. I've heard of them." If there was anything worse than bounty hunters, it was bounty hunters who were able to organize themselves. "When did they arrive?"

"They'll be landing in about ten minutes. One of them's probably drunk, by the way."

"Drunk?"

"They faxed me their cargo inventory. None of the inspectors questioned it because of the new specifications, but they had around eight hundred bottles of red wine. If that doesn't tell you that at least one of them has a drinking problem, then I don't know what does."

"Your skills at deduction astound and amaze, Director."

"Yeah, yeah. Just watch out. I've heard stories."

"Affirmative."

[Skid]

((OOC: My bad... I knew one of them was alive but I guess I wasn't really paying attention to what I was typing. I edited it.))

Dist stocked his utility belt of sorts with tactical grenades, a few guns, and filled his jacket with a few throwing knives, extra ammo, and ultimately his laser katana. That was it for weaponry, there was also a few tactical items Dist tended to carry along, such as a tracking device. All he needed was a little blood of the prey and he could easily find him or her. There was also nets, ropes, cuffs, all that sort of non lethal stuff. All in a backpack. After all, they had to bring Eight back alive.

All four of the crew members stepped off the ship, making a mental note of which dock they were parked at. "Alright, split up. We gotta go catch ourselves a bounty before the police beat us to it." Lynch said, loading a gun and then hiding it on his person. Everyone nodded in agreement, and went together towards the trade district and separated from there.

The first place Dist went was towards the gun shop that Eight was sighted at. The scene was pretty bloody, as the police and repair men hadn't had a chance to clean it up yet. Dist examined the scene as much as his partially trained eye would allow him. He noticed the officials all over the place, so it was safe to say it was Eight. What really caught his attention though, was the broken glass of the gun cabinet. It was broken into obviously, but it was impossible to say if Eight had taken any weapons because the police had seized everything in the cabinet as evidence by now. There was also a body bag on the scene, and a skinny man answering questions as much as he could. He recognized him as the one with the shot kneecaps, as the bandages implied.

Dist left the store, and as soon as he was far away from it enough not to be heard, he spoke into his radio link. "Eight is trained in weaponry, and possibly carrying a gun. Proceed with extra caution." With that he shut off his speaking piece as to keep the channel quiet. Dist scanned his surroundings, keeping the bounty's face fresh on his mind.

That wasn't all that was in Dist's mind though. One-hundred billion credit... That's a lot of credit to offer for any person. If the government wants her that badly, it must be a lot more than the killing of government officials. Dist turned a corner, surveying the fresh faces of the new street. And if thats the case, Eight must have something or know something the government doesn't want the public to see or know. That's the logical thing to think, considering how desperately they want her back. Dist thought further. They want her alive... So if it was something she knew, they would easily say dead as well, to silence her. But they want her alive. So she must have something on her that they want.

Dist shook the clouds from his head and looked down an alley, before moving on in his search. Even if all that were true, its all assumption. She might not even have anything. Besides, theres plenty of time to talk AFTER we've caught her alive.

[Pyro]

Pyro had separated from the group, walking down the streets of the Mars planet and looking around for a place he could buy some red wine if he had run out. He kept some in his pack in a small flask, it had fire carved into it, and was very fun to just look at. It seemingly changed colors upon moving it around in the sun light, and now it was filled with red wine. What a great item.

He walked through the streets before he saw an alcohol shop, and made his way towards it. Peering through the windows he saw a very old bottle of wine, and remembered the saying "it only gets better with age". If only everything were that way, Pyro would be loving life more and more right this second.

"Eight is trained in weaponry, and possibly carrying a gun. Proceed with extra caution." Dist's voice came through the radio link they all had, each little ear piece stuffed annoying into their ear. Several affirmatives came through the radio followed by 'over' immediately after. "Got'cha chief." Pyro said smiling. "You always have to be different, don't you?" Lynch's voice came through the radio link. "You're damn right." Pyro replied. "Over."

He continued his walk, humming the words to a song he enjoyed from a very long time ago. When he was much younger he had learned the song and he always sung or hummed it to keep himself calm, especially on bounties. "Could you whisper in my ear, the things you wanna feel? I'd give ya anythin' to feel it comin'. Do you wake up on your own and wonder where you are? Live with all your faults. I wanna wake up where you are. I won't say anything at all, so why don't you slide?" He stepped to the rhythm in his mind and even slide when he sang the word 'slide', but stopped as soon as Dist's voice came through the radio link going: "Damn it Pyro, mute your link if you're gonna do that." He did so and continued the song, never letting his 'tough guy' exterior break as he walked. He still had to command some respect.

Eyes turned to him as he walked, and he returned a few of them as he began to just listen to the song in his head. People would start thinking even worse of him if he walked down the street looking like he did with so many weapons singing a song about being with somebody. An asylum was not something he needed at the moment.

His head turned down each alleyway behind each building as he walked down the streets, not taking any precaution but to keep his wooden staff tight in hand. Each alleyway consisted of garbage cans and stuff laying on the ground, but it was fairly clean given the standards of normal alleyways such as the ones in New York. Pyro un-muted his radio link so the rest of the group could hear him before saying: "Hey guys, are we going after any other bounties aside for Eight?"

"Couldn't hurt right?" Burikko replied.

"I'm strictly going after Eight." Dist's voice rang through.

"Round it up, all credits could help." Lynch replied.

"Aye aye boss." Pyro acknowledged him. He crossed the street over to another alleyway where he leaned up against the wall, right next to a man mugging another man was going down.

"What do you want punk?" The man asked.

"I'm a bounty hunter and I'm going to take you in. Alive, unfortunately. It'd be much more fun to do it the other way around." Pyro smiled. "But the Lynch Mob has quite the nice jail cell, so lets go."

"Are you really asking me to walk with you?" He laughed.

"I could easily subdue you, this is just so much less painful for you." Pyro smiled at the man who then burst into a laugh as Pyro took a few steps back.

"What are you gonna do now?" He smiled. "Ask me to give you a hug?" Pyro looked the man up and down and then forced out a ridiculous laugh that was without a doubt obviously fake. He grabbed his gut before doubling over and then bringing his wooden staff upwards to meet the man's chin. He stopped laughing as the man flew backwards onto his back and Pyro walked up, pulling the gun out of his left boot and placing it against the man's cheek.

"Lets go back to the ship." Pyro chuckled. "You're lucky you're worth a bit more then the crap i'm gonna get for you if you were dead. You're only worth what? A hundred credits dead? One fifty alive? Maybe... It WOULD be much more fun to kill you..."

"Bad Pyro." Dist's voice came playfully through his radio link.

"God damn it Dist."