Blood Drunk - Short story [RP]

[MimicFaux]

Blood Drunk

Begin report:
The use of local native species for employment has been on the rise as a cheaper alternative to shipping in crew from off-site facilities. Boasting a number of benefits such as: Plentiful, disposable, and as far as mining operations are concerned, already familiar with the hostile environments. Allowing for more desirable staffing opportunities in the more rigorous positions aboard our research stations for our standard crew. Initial surveys show native 'Ash Walker' species to have a comparable aptitude with standard crew and that despite some physiological drawbacks, are quite capable of being taught to work alongside normal crew. The only lasting concerns lie with the species more violent tendencies.

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She awoke with a start to the sound of the dull drone of the morning alarm. The start of another shift welcomed in the dark, cramped bunk. She reached blindly for her provided jumpsuit hanging on a hook on the wall. The jumpsuits were standard issue. Well designed and with carefully considered features for the harsh environment she would be embarking into; just not well designed for her. The pants of them would have to be sliced off before her legs would fit. The boots were left in the footlocker. Unused. Dressed, and filing out into the halls the station began to come to life with the hum of activity.

She tugged absent-mindedly at the bolted collar around her neck that marked her as one of the 'reformed' Ash Walkers. Most of them didn't care. To the bulk of them she was just another reptilian crew member like they had been hiring for years. But a few of them had noticed. A few of them knew. She had come wild beginnings, savage even, and arrived as a slave. She had fought to survive down below with only hunger and injury for companions. These days she fought to be seen as an equal from the more callous crew. She stared at the locker in front of her. Half the provided equipment completely irrelevant to her. Having to resort to under-performing and dangerous tools just to do her job at the base level. She had seen some others like her give up on trying and hand over their limbs to the roboticist to augment. It was disconcerting to see one of her own wearing boots with legs that bent the wrong way.

A small crew of miners piled into the ferry that would take them down to the planet. She was left alone to her thoughts, thinking deeply on to the restless sleep she had endured in her bunk. Nightmares that had come in the night. Dreams of smoke and fire. Visions swirling ash and pools of blood. Above it all, the keening unearthly wail shrieking unceasingly. Condemning those that would trespass over sacred ground. Everyone knew of the Necropolis. An ancient city of impervious rock that sat nestled in a lake of fire miles from the outpost. Runic carvings adorning its arches in a forgotten, blood-soaked language. Fearsome, decaying statues keeping watch at its borders. The place was largely ignored by all but the most daring of hunters seeking to pillage any outlying chambers. Meena-Sheer knew better however, she knew it was more than just a place. It was a pantheon. It was an ideal.

The pantheon consisted of the 'Lords of the Necropolis', as she called them, to any who cared to ask her. Powerful spirits that tested only the most powerful who strayed into their domain. The Arbiter, a colossal judge that bore no love trespassers. The Hierophant, an exacting teacher that suffered no rhythm but it's own. The Flesh King, violence incarnate spewing blood and gore and impossible to wholly banish. The Guardians, terrifying nearly-regal looking drakes that patrolled the skies breathing fiery death on those they came across. The Howling Voice, an echoing spectre that commanded the winds and storms. And the Blood Drunk Miner, a lost soul consumed by the Hunt and the glory it promises. An empty shell rendered mindless and a vessel for the Necropolis' wild power. The ideal was a simple one; instinct to every Ash Walker born, and imprinted on every miner that visited. A truth that resonates even beyond the confines of that harsh world. 'That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.' A guiding principle that teaches every blessing of the Necropolis was dangerous, but could strengthen those that accepted them. Even the lowly cactus had its place in this precept. Giving life to the careful, and dealing death to the careless. Meena-Sheer had survived these wastes time and time again. Her earliest memories of wandering the narrow canyons with nothing but a small dagger sharpened from a bone.

Rock splintered and shattered as she dug her way through the shifting landscape. Other miners would have the option for a compact, versatile Accelerator mining gun. Considered the gold standard for miners, the device featured a wide variety upgrades and features including being able to fire on the local wildlife from a safe distance. They also featured a narrow gap for the trigger guard, as such her large claws wouldn't fit such a device without significant changes. Her implement of choice was the unwieldy 'Crusher'. A Frankenstein combination of various existing designs culminating in a serrated club at the end of long shaft. There wasn't even anything the station could provide for her in ways of upgrades for the weapon; but she was used to working on her own by now. She had caught the trail of one of the guardians of the Necropolis, an Ash Drake and was moving in on the beast. This close to the outpost, it would be dangerous to leave alone. She checked her bearing and began to crack the rock in the direction of her quarry. She steadied her breathing and focused on the enormous creature ahead of her, taking note of her surroundings. Honing her concentration to just this fight. No concerns of the station, no concerns about tomorrow. Only her, the drake, and what it would take to survive this. Nothing else mattered. She remembered what it meant to be dying and afraid, she remembered tasting blood and victory. She once spoke to a chaplain about this ideal the Necropolis taught. He called it religion, and she agreed.

Distant memory had faded and the present returned to her. The adrenaline that had pushed her every step faded, and the twisting pain that had sharpened her wits slowly replaced it. The Hunt had taken hold of her and guided her hand as she fought the drake; Darting past its ragged, snapping jaws to deliver the death stroke. She collapsed to her knees, as exhaustion came. Braced against the long shaft of her great axe. The beast let loose a primeval roar that shook the rocks around them as its death darkened its eyes. Leathery hide rotting rapidly as flesh sloughed off from the bone and the creature crumpled to the ground. Whatever dark power had given it life had been driven from its now steaming corpse. Thinking clearly again, she unpacked her few supplies and began to bind her injuries. A luxury many miners took for granted. Approaching the ruined frame of the Ash Drake, she said a few short words of prayer before harvesting from the remains. When she had finished she was adorned in bone and leather. Taking from the fallen its regal appearance and fierce spirit. As was the law of the land, the weak fed the strong and she had proven herself the better.

From out of the shadows, half a dozen spear tips emerged glinting in the low light of her makeshift camp. Ash Walkers, wild ones, approached cautiously. Scavengers looking for anything they could take to survive. Drawn to her from the sounds of battle they had watched from a great distance and had picked a path through the winding tunnels and canyons to find her. A spoken word to them in her hissing native tongue halted any immediate aggression, and after introductions were made, they hailed her as a fine Huntress and invited her to join them resupply their own nest. She agreed and they moved as a pack, descending on a Goliath breeding grounds. Striking in twos and threes, they made short work of each of the beasts. With no guns to worry about they were able to work in the tight quarters without fear of friendly fire. She marveled at their coordination and teamwork; Pulling allies out of harms way. Tossing a spear to friendly who's had theirs grappled away. The entire operation was smooth and efficient, with only very minor injuries sustained out of all of them. She helped haul the corpses to their nest, everyone was pulling their own weight so to speak. She was again amazed by the success of this tribe. It was one of the most successful and thriving tribes she had the pleasure of seeing. They had gardeners tilling earthen mounds, champions striding around in full bone armour wielding huge axes and boasting loudly of their prowess. Others were squatted over piles of collected bones and leather, stitching together new equipment for the rest. A proper village. Bustling with activity and with greater numbers than she had seen in ages. She felt a kinship. A sort of pride. Knowing how hard it must have been to have built all this up from the ash up. Nothing came easily in the wastes, but these people, her people, had carved themselves out a place to call their own. Together, they embarked on several other hunts. Emboldened with each passing success their strength grew as piece by piece they took scraps of the Necropolis' power for themselves. In the beginning they had called her Huntress, now some were beginning to call her a Queen. Every victory they took was bloody. Every time it was glorious, enthralling. To feel as though nothing could match your power. To have titans wail in agony beneath you. It was intoxicating.

Back at the camp they celebrated wildly, the beating heart of their nest a treasury of unrefined gold and diamonds. Their greatest warriors dressed like gods of war with Meena-Sheer chief among them. Amidst the revelry, a bloodied miner limped into the camp, a broken arm bound up in a makeshift sling. He had followed Meena-Sheer's own GPS signal looking for help. Dragging behind him was the bloodied corpse of an Ash Walker who had wandered too far from home. The look on his face was more surprise than anything, clearly not expecting so many natives. A rallying cry rang out and the miner was quickly brought to the ground under the press of bodies. Torn to shreds as various home-made implements designed to break bones and sever ligaments ripped into his flesh. His screams of agony did not however go unheard. For the longest time the radio that had been background noise to Meena-Sheer had become shouts of swelling outrage over the radio. No... they would come down with their guns, and their bombs.. all of this would be destroyed. She could feel the anger rising in her heart. They were wrong. They had to be... these people, HER people were here first.. -they- were the trespassers! She could hear people on the radio crying out for the armoury doors to be opened. No... they couldn't leave this alone, they wouldn't leave it alone. Not until every one of them were dead. She could feel reason slipping. Dark whispers in the back of her mind urging her to take up bone and blade again. To do what she so clearly was good at, what she loves to do. To Hunt. She was mighty and with all the backing of the tribe and the power of the Necropolis at her call. The voice was so very compelling. Soothing her mind and enraging her heart. She felt like she was drugged.

With a trilling war cry she raised her weapon over her head and rallied the tribe to war, pointing back through the canyons towards the outpost, and towards the station. Her last conscious thought was the comforting warmth of the churning ash beneath her clawed feet as the entire tribe raced towards blood, and glory. She had fleeting memories of what came next. Blood streaked halls. The security wing with shattered windows and pools of molten rock. Medbay littered with fresh corpses, most of them burning. Familiar faces contorting in rage and agony.

She felt a stab of pain, and finally, darkness.

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Regardless, in light of recent events, the board of directors have elected to review company policy regarding the employment of all local captured native species. If operating costs do prove to have a net profit, it will be business as usual. If however it is found to simply be too expensive to continue to employ the Ash Walkers, then they will be 'phased out' and their records stricken from the central database. Bear in mind the existing policy is not suspended during this audit, and as always these reports are only for company executives and captains of the affected stations.
Glory to NanoTrasen.
End Report.

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Comments, criticisms, and compliments all very much so welcome. Inspired by a real round, and put to words on my phone.