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Feitan hated space.
He also hated space travel and anything that took away his ability to control what was happening around him. Gritting his teeth as he pulled the collar of his jacket over his mouth, Feitan’s eyes were left to wander the dirty port of the Kakkin Sector of the city. Ships lined the docks, although instead of bobbing in deep waters, they floated above the concrete on magnetic waves, waiting for their cargo’s to be loaded and engines to be fueled.
Instead of wooden fleets, the ships were expertly crafted with large wings, and metal hauls that would survive the journey out of the atmosphere. Even the pilots who lingered around the ships were well trained to handle any and all issues that they would find on such an extreme mode of travel. Feitan knew that not anyone could own a spaceship, the cost alone being more than an average person would see in their lifetime. It was a hellish industry only the elite had managed to put their foot into.
The city around Feitan was in shades of grey and black, mostly metal and platinum constructing the huge walls meant to show elegance and dominance over those who entered them. The Kakkin Empire was shady and corrupt, with a strong influence on the drug, slave, and sex market. It was a dark reality for most who lived here, unless they were part of the oligarchy or an additionally influential family. It also made sense why there were so many ships here, the import and export of goods (no matter how dubious) had a clear impact on the city and its people. No one slept here, it seems.
The fumes from spaceships constantly marred the sky, making it seem like a never ending night. The red light districts gave the sky an amber glow, and the night markets were open far longer than they should have been. Time was removed here, and Feitan had lost himself in this city, his mind corrupted by brainwashing and propaganda until he was made into a Kakkin puppet.
Not anymore, he decided.
It had been a lapse of clarity that had allowed Feitan to escape his confines in the Kakkin Estate, or maybe his refusal to consume whatever drugs they had pumped in his system. His lethargic mind had left him in a place of complacency, until that one instance where it had all felt wrong. The night he escaped had been a blur, with his hands, face, and teeth covered in the blood of whoever had tried to approach him that night.
Despite his best efforts to recall his memory of that time of joining the Shadow Beasts, it was only hazy figures that flashed before his eyes. That, and the bitter taste of blood tainted with something exotic and illegal. He was sure his blood would have the same acidic taste, even after being off whatever drugs had been given to him.
When Feitan had escaped the Empire, his first thought was to crawl into whatever small hole he could find and wait-out the search party destined to be after him. Making his way to the slums was easy. He slept on streets and in the back of shady buildings, the drug withdrawal causing spasms and seizures. He might have eaten a few live animals, but he couldn’t remember. Feitan wasn’t sure how he survived those first few weeks, confident that he had lived more like a monster than a man. Considering how the other homeless seemed to be in a similar state, at least Feitan had fit the part.
The only way he could tell that time had passed was from the dark stubble that had grown out on his face, and how his short black hair was now grown past his ears. He was filthy, and felt exhausted, but was relieved that at least now he could retain rational thought. He was sure he had been driven to the brink of insanity before, and his body had a long way to go before it was back to his pre-Shadow Beast days.
Sneaking into random establishments to bathe and eat was barely a challenge, Feitan’s body used to being quiet as he infiltrated whore houses and cyberbars. Feitan for once felt truly clean after stripping from his rags, shaving his face, and trimming his hair. He had stolen black garbs from the men's sector, and a bag from the women’s, before making his escape.
He was clean, he was unrecognizable, and he was on a mission to escape this hell planet. As long as the Kakkin ruled the sector, it would be impossible for Feitan to have any sort of life. He knew he had to escape, perhaps enter a lawless planet where the reach of the Hunter Association or the Kakkin Empire wouldn’t reach him. He was a wanted man, that he knew for sure. He had never known freedom, sold to the Kakkin Empire as a dog to be trained.
Warped, beaten, abused, brainwashed, drugged, tortured…
Even with the memories of the past decade foggy, Feitan knew that his lapse in memory was his own body’s way of protecting him now. There were some horrors that even his well trained mind could not bear to handle without fear of relapse.
Escaping the past, and the present, was a better option.
I do not need to linger here when the future is still uncertain.
Standing at the ports now, there were many ships that had been docked, but not many that looked to be picking up hitchhikers. Feitan had stolen additional clothing, food, and even money before approaching the ships. It was a known fact that some ships belonged to elusive space pirates who would bring anything across the galaxy for a price, and Feitan knew that charity didn’t exist out here.
Space travel was nothing new to Feitan, but it had been a long time since he was able to actually board a ship willingly and pick the destination. As a Shadow Beast, he had been herded like cattle to any part of the city where trash needed to be taken out, so to speak. Feitan killed leaders of political parties, other mercenaries, even envoys from other planets, if he was asked to do so by his higher ups. Knowing that he would have many enemies, Feitan wanted to find a ship with a crew that didn’t know that he was an escaped mindless, animalistic killing machine for the Empire. Feitan taps a finger against his thigh, trying to distract himself from the life he had lived, and was actively trying to run away from.
Plus, pirates were less inclined to ask questions, and take in bounties. He couldn’t trust an ethical crew to transport him.
Feitan was proud at the fact that he could sniff out a good con. He wouldn’t allow himself to be suckered into a ship where he was held hostage by the pilot, and possibly turned in at a checkpoint. It had happened before, and Feitan knew that escaping a ship in space was almost impossible. It was easier to choose death.
He took some time to walk through the port, maneuvering his way through the hoards of people, resisting the urge to pickpocket and line his own.
A musty yellow ship with stripes of green caught his attention, hidden somewhere more secluded and away from the larger, emblem adorning ships. It was atrocious, but the engines were top of the line, and the shape of the ship had been modified to accompany heavy artillery and military grade force fields. Fetian could also smell something peppery, and watched as shipments of spices laced with other chemical drugs were loaded to the back.
“Don’t look at my shit.” A voice snaps, causing Feitan to bear his teeth at the long haired man standing beside the ship, watching the shipment with half lidded eyes.
A group of people had been assembled there, and it looked like the man giving him attitude was a customer rather than a crew member.
A tall blond haired man was filling out paperwork as he smiled up at the customer, asking about payment and destination. A pink haired woman was manning a handheld powerlift that attached to her shoulders, moving crates easily into the back of the spaceship. The long haired man, who Feitan now noticed was wearing an outdated samurai sword, sneered as he answered the blond, filling out the forms and paying his sum.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Nobunaga!” The man chirps, his digital wallet being tucked away as he turns to face Feitan, “And are you looking for some transport services as well? I will warn you, we don’t come cheap, but we’re the most reliable in the business.”
Feitan watches the man for a few moments, deeming him an idiot before taking another moment to truly analyze him. The blond's demeanor was well crafted, probably as good as the ship. His mouth smiled with no ill intent, but his eyes were hard and suspicious, drilling into Feitan like a predator on its prey. Feitan felt himself shiver slightly, and pulled out his coin purse, knowing he was destined to join this pirate crew or be outed by the clever looking man. The phone held in his hand was flashing against his palm, and a finger had been scrolling ever since Feitan approached. Perhaps the man was looking through a fugitive list, trying to identify Feitan before admitting him entry to the ship.
“I have payment,” Feitan deadpans, holding the whole sack out and narrowing his eyes, “And I will part with all of it if you don’t ask anything of me.”
The man beams and takes the small bag, grinning at the archaic way of exchanging money. Inside the bag were chips, each holding crypto that could be transferred onto a device and extracted for sum.
“These look to be encoded. I wonder where you stole them from.” The man whistles, but takes the bag anyways, “Lucky for you I am an expert at getting into places I shouldn’t. I assume you’ve verified that they’re clean?”
Feitan nods and takes out another device meant for removing any Kakkinware from e-chips like this, hovering it over the bag and showing the man how much was actually being exchanged for this trip. It was easily a few million Jennies.
“I’m Shalnark,” the man greets him, knowing that Feitan won’t share his name in return. “You’re welcome to come onboard, but you must do whatever our pilot asks of you, no matter the threat, your personal feelings, or your hesitations. That includes keeping no secrets on our ship. We value confidentiality, and kill anyone who threatens this. If you can’t follow those rules, then you won’t gain entry to this ship and I will leak your presence to the empire. You’re clearly running from something, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what.”
Feitan narrows his eyes, but the words are true. Anyone willing to part with a large sum on an undocumented boat that was most likely fraudulent and carried illegal goods would have to be running from the law themselves. The only saving grace that pirates had was that they were part of the free state, which allowed them to travel under no jurisdiction as long as they carried a merchant's emblem. In this case, the two solid green lines that adorned the ship.
It was a calling card to allow passage, but to also be careful.
“I accept your terms.” Feitan replies, knowing that the choice is simple.
“Had a feeling you would. Don’t cause any problems for our other guests.” Shalnark waves him off, before joining the pink haired woman still hauling cargo to discuss their travel plans.
Feitan steps onto the ship with the grace of a shadow, silent but present. The metallic floor beneath his boots barely registers the faintest sound as he moves forward, his eyes scanning the narrow corridors with casual indifference. His dark coat flows behind him, a reflection of the air of danger that surrounds him. His expression is as unreadable as ever, but the barely perceptible tension in his posture hints at his readiness for anything.
The low hum of the ship’s engines vibrates through the walls, a constant reminder that he’s made the first step to escaping. His senses are sharpened, every detail around him registered as he makes his way deeper into the hold. The faint scent of something exotic—spices, most likely—lingers in the air, but it does little to distract him from his task.
In the cargo hold, the scene unfolds before him as Nobunaga, the other traveller, narrows his eyes in Feitan’s direction. The look on his face remains untouched by the quiet intensity of Feitan’s arrival. He doesn't speak up immediately, content to let the silence stretch between them.
Feitan pauses a few paces behind him, watching with the kind of stillness that could make even the bravest feel uneasy.
Just as he steps further into the room, a heavy thud shakes the ground beneath them. The vibrations travel through the walls, startling both men. Feitan's hand instinctively twitches toward his side, ready for whatever comes next, but he doesn’t draw his weapon just yet. His eyes narrow as he glances toward the source of the disturbance.
From the corner of the room, a man with long black hair steps into view, his boots making a much louder impact than Feitan’s own. He carries a suitcase—sleek, metallic, and undeniably heavy—like it’s as light as a feather. The ship’s lighting reflects off the suitcase’s surface, casting a glimmer of light that sharpens the air around him.
Nobunaga, however, remains unfazed, his scowl growing deeper. "Looks like we’ve got company," he mutters, clearly not surprised by the unexpected arrival.
Feitan doesn’t flinch, but his eyes are locked onto the man. There’s something off about him—something that doesn’t sit right with the atmosphere of the hold. He’s not a regular traveler, that much is clear. His presence feels like an intrusion, an anomaly in the otherwise routine hustle of the ship’s operations.
The man with the suitcase sets it down with a deliberate motion, his long black hair shifting slightly. His eyes scan the room, and when they land on Feitan, they pause for just a second longer than necessary.
Feitan meets his gaze, an unreadable expression on his face, yet there's a quiet threat that lingers in his stance. He crosses his arms, his lips curling into a near imperceptible snarl, a challenge without words. If the man is from an estimated family, this might be a cause for concern. However, if the blond out front allowed him passage with those careful eyes, then perhaps the man isn’t some spy or informant. Feitan would not calm his suspicions until he was gone from this sector, and hidden away on the other side of the galaxy.
The stranger doesn’t break eye contact, but after a moment, he speaks, his voice deep and measured. "You reek like desperation," the man says softly, his words violent in their intent.
Feitan’s eyes widened just a fraction. “Perhaps desperate to get away from you.”
The tension between them builds, silent but undeniable. The suitcase between them, heavy with significance, feels like a spark waiting to ignite. Feitan shifts, his gaze flicking briefly to Nobunaga, who’s watching the interaction with disgust, before returning to the stranger. Nobunaga stares at the stranger wearily, not liking the official uniform he wears, or how clean he looks.
“Are you sure you’re on the right ship,” Nobunaga shoots out, his clothes smelling like exotic herbs, “this ship isn’t the one for the kind of business you’re doing, Zoldyck.”
Feitan looks between the two men, spotting the shifting of weight for Nobunaga, and the bitter malice from the other man. Did they know each other? Perhaps they were experts in their field, or wanted men just like how Feitan was.
“Do not refer to me as that name.” The man says robotically, “I am only referred to as Gittarackur now.”
Nobunaga covers his mouth coyly with his hand, “Why? Was being Illumi Zoldyck, the son of the largest military sector, too much pressure for you? What kind of idiot doesn’t hide such obvious features? You’re wanted in half the galaxy for your betrayal to the army.”
Illumi stares down Feitan, who is oblivious to whatever argument the two are having.
“As the Hazuma drug lord from the lost sector, your head is easily worth as much as mine.” Illumi taps his finger against the handle of the large case, “Your potent spices are laced with the hybrid children of monsters.”
“So you’ve heard of me,” Nobunaga seems to perk up at that, enjoying the recognition. “It takes time to cultivate the specific genetic material found in Dark Continent beasts and blend them with my family recipe. Have you ever tried it?”
Illumi has the decency to frown, “Disgusting. I have no use in ingesting a drug that lowers thought process to that of a beast. It is because of you that this sector is barbaric, although I do appreciate how easy it is to hide in plain sight when the empire has subdued its own citizens.”
Feitan perked up at that, assuming that whatever drugs Nobunaga was currently traveling with, had been involved in feitan’s own torture. A sickening blend of poison that rotted the mind, weakend the body, and strengthened the will of the owner of the victims. Feitan’s mouth went dry, remembering how he had heaved and vomited blood as his organs boiled inside his body as his mind craved another injection while his body destroyed itself simultaneously.
His teeth hurt just thinking about the substance, and how long it had taken for Feitan to feel anything close to normal after weaning himself off of it.
For Illumi, talk about the drug trade was a formality. For Nobunaga, an opportunity. For Feitan, a reminder of his own personal hell.
“You’re no better,” Nobunaga disregards Feitan’s look of unease, focusing on the suitcase that Illumi had, “you probably stole some kind of nuke in there. Don’t think we don’t know what a military grade case looks like. I won’t have you fucking up my shipment with your family bullshit.”
Illumi tilts his head slightly, considering both of them, and the secret his case holds. The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s about to make a decision, but then, with a deliberate motion, he opens the suitcase just enough for Feitan to see inside.
The sight of whatever lies within is enough to make Feitan’s blood run colder than usual.
“I’m carrying something more dangerous,” Illumi says, his voice flat, yet it carries an undeniable weight. “You should stay away. It’s not worth it."
It’s a promise, a warning, and an invitation, all wrapped up in a single, cold sentence.
Feitan’s hand twitches again, and for a moment, he almost steps forward—but instead, he falls back. Even he knew that Illumi was dealing with something greater than he could handle on his own. Nobunaga visibly pales, looking at the suitcase with wide eyes. Inside lay a child curled up in Cryosleep, their body hidden by a sleek silver suit that clung to them. It was obvious that the child had been injected with something, as their skin was iridescent, reflecting the light from the ship. Strips of mechanical substrate lined the child's cheeks, hands, and arms, blending naturally with the skin.
“A test subject?” Feitan asks, noticing the dollike form of the child, and the emblems of the Army threaded into the hardware. Most likely a child soldier, or a human made super weapon, or an abomination. Any would suffice.
“They are my kin,” Illumi mutters, the name Kalluto inscribed on the inside of the case, the most human thing about the child. Illumi closes the case up again and pushes it against the wall. “A nuke can not compare to the wars that will be fought to gain this knowledge.”
Nobunaga bangs a fist down onto the metal table he’s sitting at, “Are you insane? What you’re carrying is a bioweapon! No, worse than that! It’s a catalyst—something that could unravel entire systems, entire planets, if it’s misused. Biological, technological... hell, even the laws of nature itself aren’t safe from it!"
The room seems to drop in temperature at the outburst.
“Regardless of what you perceive this child to be, we share the same blood, and you will keep this a secret.” Illumi threatens darkly.
Nobunga lashes out, “does the captain even know what you’ve brought onto his ship? I might be smuggling drugs, and he’s probably a terrorist, but you have a weapon so powerful that half the solar system is looking for you. This isn’t just a secret, it’s an act against humanity.”
“I don’t know why the fuck your yelling back here, but it’s giving me a goddamn headache,” a new voice snaps, and Feitan is drawn to another tall blond. This time, the man appears to be dressed in pilot gear, although he carries the two green stripes over his chest proudly.
“Phinks, you knew he’s carrying a Cryo Weapon?”
Phink’s sighs, running a hand through his gelled back hair, his eyes sharp and calculating. “We don’t keep secrets here, and I sure as hell don’t let just anyone onto my ship. You know the rules, and what I say goes. He’s being transported to the next system over, where one of the freeships will escort the Zoldyck to where ever the fuck he needs to go. If he wants to start a war, that ain’t my problem, as long as it has nothing to do with my ship. I’m here to transport and deliver, not serve and protect. The same way we let you peddle your drugs into communities and destroy them from the inside out, the same way we’re going to let a bioweapon into space. As long as the price is paid, and the terms are agreed to, I don’t give a fuck.”
Feitan can’t help but gawk at the pilot and his poetic choice of words.
Phink’s turns to stare at Feitan, and tilts his head, “I don’t know what kind of sick shit you’ve been up to, but I know a Hazhead when I see one. Don’t get high on Nobunaga’s supply, or I’ll throw you off the bridge. I don’t need you fucking up my flight.”
Feitan snarls, not enjoying being called a Hazhead.
Nobunaga would have found it amusing, and would have tried to rope him in as a customer, if he wasn’t so pissed with Phinks’ dismissal of the whole bioweapon thing. Illumi did not seem interested in the slightest, and made no effort to continue the conversation. Instead, he nodded politely at Phinks before grabbing the suitcase and retreating to his designated room.
Nobunaga opened his mouth to lash out, but Phinks gave him a hard glare.
“Enough.” Phinks hissed, and Nobunaga knew that agreeing to the Pilot’s terms was part of the deal. In anger, Nobunaga retreated to what must have been his usual room on the ship, his body shaking at the stupidity of it all.
Phinks breathed in deeply, trying to relax his furrowed brows - well, the space on his forehead that would have had eyebrows if they were not shaved off.
After a moment, Phinks leans casually against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, a grin now playing at the corners of his lips. He’s tall, imposing, and his eyes twinkle with the kind of mischief that always seems to get under Feitan's skin. The corridor of the ship is dimly lit, and the hum of the engines is the only thing filling the silence between them.
“You know,” Phinks starts, his voice smooth and playful, “It isn’t too late for you to find another ship if you’re scared of a little danger, newcomer.”
Feitan’s eyes flash briefly to Phinks, a sharp, cold gaze, but he says nothing to the Pilot. Based on the way Phinks and Nobunaga argue, this persona is part of his usual routine. However, there's something about the tone, the way Phinks is leaning in, pressing in on his space, makes Feitan tense up just a little. It’s a new type of danger, perhaps more unpredictable than the Kakkin Empire itself.
Phinks chuckles, the sound low and full of amusement. He leans even closer, his breath warm as he grins wider, his gaze drifting over Feitan like he’s enjoying the sight of him, the quiet tension between them almost palpable.
“I’m not worried about you,” Phinks continues, his tone shifting from teasing to something more suggestive. “I think you can behave if you’re given the right motivation.”
Feitan stands perfectly still as the door to the ship closes, the other members having boarded on a separate entrance. Something shifts behind Feitan's eyes—a flicker of warning, a coldness that matches the very air around them. He doesn’t respond to the insinuation, doesn’t even move, as if challenging Phinks to try him. Feitan has already accepted the terms of the ship, and was included to play along with the whims of the pilot, whatever they might be. With the doors closed, it suggested that once again Feitan was left in a situation with limited escape. At least this time, it had been on his own volition.
Phinks, however, is undeterred. He takes a slow step forward, his grin turning more confident, almost predatory. “You’re tough to read. But I like that. Keeps things interesting.” He pauses, looking Feitan up and down with an almost unnerving level of interest. “Tell you what, whenever you feel like sharing your story, you know where to find me.”
Feitan’s lip curls into a faint, threatening smile, the tension crackling between them. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move an inch.
“You want me to join you in your room?” Feitan’s voice is low, as icy and calm as ever. This is the first time he’s addressed the pilot, and knew he was biting back his own tongue. Despite the sharp edge to his words, the reaction makes Phinks chuckle.
“Yeah, anytime,” Phinks replies with a smirk. "I’m sure you’d enjoy yourself.”
Feitan doesn’t react immediately, the silence stretching out between them like an unseen blade. He’s always been someone who doesn’t shy away from danger, from the dark, twisted games that people like Phinks seem to enjoy. But something about the way Phinks is pushing him, testing his limits—it’s almost like Phinks is trying to provoke him into a response.
The silence is broken by Feitan's cold, measured reply.
"If that’s what I’m instructed to do, then I find myself unable to refuse," he says, voice flat. "But I won’t be forced into a corner."
Phinks grins even wider, uncrossing his arms and standing upright. He’s clearly enjoying himself, the playful energy in his posture impossible to miss. “I like that answer. You’ll learn eventually that I’m the most dangerous thing on this ship. ”
Feitan finally steps away from the doorway, his gaze never leaving Phinks, cold and calculating. He moves past him without a second glance, the air around him dense with unspoken warnings.
“Just take me where I need to go,” Feitan mutters, barely loud enough for Phinks to hear, before walking off toward the hallway where Shalnark is waiting. He doesn’t look back.
Phinks watches him go, a satisfied chuckle escaping his lips as he heads in the other direction to the cockpit, ready to fly the ship. Phinks’ knows exactly how to play the game with someone like Feitan—give them a little push, a little tease, and see how far they’ll bend before they’re putty in his hands.
Shalnark watches the exchange with more interest than he should, and takes a mental note to investigate this further.
“It seems like you met our elusive and notable pilot! I’ll show you to your room where you’ll stay as we transport you.”
When they reach the room, Shalnark opens the door, revealing a sparse, functional space. The walls are metal and stark, with only the bare essentials. But standing at the door by a panel, like a quiet sentry, is the same woman with pink hair. Her gaze is sharp and calculating, like she’s already weighed Feitan in a single glance and decided how much of a threat he is.
“Machi,” Shalnark announces, “this is our newcomer. Newcomer, this is Machi, our maintenance and support engineer. She’s the one who keeps this ship running, so you’d do well to not interrupt her unless it’s absolutely necessary. Her time is far too valuable.”
Machi’s eyes narrow slightly at Feitan’s presence, but her expression remains otherwise unreadable. She gives a short, dismissive nod, before her gaze flicks back to whatever task she had been tending to before they arrived.
Feitan stands in the doorway for a moment, taking in the room and the woman’s stance. He doesn’t trust Shalnark’s introduction or the implication that he’s supposed to be on his best behavior. It’s clear that this is a crew built on tension, secrecy, and a complete lack of patience.
Shalnark gives a half-hearted shrug. “I’ll show you the rest of the ship later. For now, just stay out of our way.”
Feitan nods, but his mind is already elsewhere, processing the interactions, the power dynamics, and the tension he’s walking into, not only with the crew, but with Illumi and Nobunaga as well. There’s something about this crew that doesn’t sit right with him—too much game-playing, too many veiled threats. He can’t help but feel like he's stepping into something he’ll regret.
With a cold, curt motion, he steps fully into the room, letting the door close behind him, cutting off the last glimpse of the rest of the ship. For a moment, he feels relieved, but then the fear of his escape has him rigid again.
He doesn’t need to look back at Shalnark, Phinks, or anyone else. Feitan's mind is set on one thing, and that’s surviving this journey.
As the ship hums around him, and he’s free of Machi’s unreadable gaze, part of him can’t shake the growing sense that, perhaps, the journey itself is the least of the dangers he’ll face on this ship.
The door clicks shut, and the silence of the isolated room settles over him. Feitan leans back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The journey? The other passengers of this ship? The Pilot specifically? He could already tell he was going to hate them.
But then again, Feitan was very good at dealing with things he hated.