If there was one thing that was surprising about Track’s beds was how comfortable they were; Casper had expected that they would be made from old seat cushions, but as it turns out they felt relatively new. The stay at the inn only costed a few Shells too. His spine had been hurting even since he slept in that supermarket, so it was safe to say that Casper woke up feeling well rested; always good to appreciate the little things, such as a nice bed and a good meal. As the morning came, he kept to himself in a little corner of Tracks, right outside an old rail car; the gravel that made up most of the terrain of the town was still wet from the brief rainfall that happened last night. Not doing anything of note, just polishing his gun as he watched the sun rise. In his head, he pondered what was up next.

First, he would meet up with the man known as Rakkan… And then what?

He wasn’t promised anything. Only implied that there was a possibility that he could theoretically get a line to the Coalition… Maybe. With an outstretched arm, he aimed his revolver at a trio of empty food cans balanced on a table; the contents of one of them he had for breakfast. The pistol’s black polished and gold highlights shined in the morning sun. With a deep breath, he sharpened his senses, and fired.

Bang bang bang! Three shots!

A clean smoking hole was blown through each of them. Well, almost all of them. The one in the middle only took a grazing shot, causing it to spin in place, before falling to its side. The other two were flung back off the table, away from Casper.

“Hmph!” Casper scowled, then, spoke in a dramatic deep voice. “Just grazed ya… Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. The next shot will take your head clean off.” His expression turned to a smirk, as he walked over to the fallen can, like a bounty hunter to his target, “Sorry to do this, but money is money… Even if it can’t buy me my freedom.”

“It’ll only buy you a funeral and a funeral for those you love.” A voice from behind Casper said, speaking in a similar dramatic tone.

The sudden intrusion startled Casper, who swiftly turned around with a gasp, from the look on his face, he was clearly embarrassed.

The voice belonged to none other than the Hyena he met the day before, Trace. She was clad only in a tank top and shorts, a row of studded bracelets running down her singular arm. An awfully casual outfit compared to the body armor she had on the other day. With a loud yawn, still quite sleepy, she brushed her red mohawk back; the colors were fading a bit, revealing her natural hair color of black. “That was… The Bakery on Down the Road? Never took you for a movie fan. But you certainly have good taste.” She pointed at the fallen can with her stump of a right arm and made a shooting motion with it, complete with mouthing out a “bang” sound.

The Sphynx, still clearly embarrassed from being caught in the act of fooling around, holstered his revolver, “Er… I wouldn’t say that. I just happen to really like a few movies. Haven’t had the chance to watch them at all lately.” His ears perked off, shrugging off his embarrassment, “I watched The Bakery a lot when I was a kitten. I really liked the main character, still think he’s cool as an adult, as cheesy as some of his lines are.” When he said it out loud, he realized how the movies rarely had any sense of subtlety.

“Mhm, I met a guy who collected Pre-Bloom movies and we hit it off pretty well.” She shrugged, “Hope he’s doing good wherever he is. Those were some damn good times.” Stolling over to a wall, to lean against it, the Hyena hummed, “Sometimes a bit of goofiness is great. Can’t always be serious now can we?” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out something that looked like a cigarette; but as she unwrapped it using her teeth, Casper realized that it was a lollipop. “Anyways, sorry to bother you about this again, don’t think this is weird or creepy, I always have my mind on the people who come in and out of Tracks; I’m kind of the Team Mom like that. But why exactly are you seeking the Coalition’s help and not, say, an independent group like the Snipehunters? Hells, even the Sunseekers will work for the right price.”

Casper paused, rubbing the back of his neck, thinking about how intentionally vague he was. Part of it was from how sleep deprived he was at the time. He didn’t blame her for being curious. As much as he wanted to give the same response that he did before, he instead chose to let her know a bit more.

“I don’t want to say too much. Personal business and all that.” He said, walking around the table, picking up the cans that he shot, and setting them back up, “But basically, there is a lot I need to get done and very little time to do it. Several things.” He said, talking fast, as he prepared himself to shoot the cans a few more times, “But one of them requires getting into the Weald.”

The Hyena’s eyes widened. The mere mention of the Weald giving her a brief chill. While civilization had mostly returned to Qest even in its fractured state, particularly on the continent of Vox where they now stood, other places weren’t so lucky. These areas, where the Empire hadn’t yet gained a foothold and the Coalition had little to no influence, where the most powerful of Amalgamates roamed and only the most powerful of Scavenger tribes made their homes. A good place to be, if living a life of constant danger and terror was what you wanted to live, or if you wanted to get yourself killed at the hands of the entire forest.

The Weald.

“…And why…?” Trace asked, crunching her lollipop, keeping the stick in her mouth. On one hand, it wasn’t polite to keep prying, on the other hand, she was just too damn curious for her own good. “Does it…” She paused for a moment, her eyes focused on the back of Casper’s neck, “Does it have to do with that mark on your neck?”

It was a small symbol. A brand, burned into his naked flesh, the symbol of an ornate sideways hourglass, enclosed in a circle. The Sphynx lowered his gun, a nerve struck, and rubbed the back of his neck, his claws digging into the symbol, as if he wanted to tear it right off. “...Yeah.” He said, no more words for her.

Neither did Trace, who couldn’t help but feel like she made a mistake. It didn’t help that she recognized what the symbol meant.

After a brief moment of being lost in his thoughts, Casper got ready to shoot again. Best not to focus on these things, he had the idea to get back on the subject of movies again. Opening his mouth to speak, remembering a good one, it was then that a third party entered the scene. The Greyhound from the day before, Casper forgot his name and didn’t care to remember. “Eh! Tracy! Sphynx guy! Rakkan is here! He says he’s lookin’ for someone to fight! This is gonna be good.” He said before immediately departing, not wanting to miss out on anything apparently. The man’s excitement was enough to get Trace to grin once more.

“Ah, ya hear that? Come on, we should go meet him. See if he can help you out. Can’t hurt right?” She said, clearly the optimist of the two. In the distance, a multitude of voices could be heard. It would appear that Tracks was a town consisting entirely of morning people; guess that is what happens when your entire population is travelers and merchants, just passing through.

Casper, once more holstering his revolver, looked in the direction of the voices. Guess it was now or never, huh?

“So, uh… Once you meet him, what are you gonna do? I mean, he can at least point you to Terminus or get you a line with one of their higher ups?” Ruffling her hair, the Hyena, snickered, “If it helps, the Coalition is famous for taking special requests.”

As she rambled on, Casper puzzled over it for a moment. Thinking about what was the best option. Rakkan was a traveling fighter and a man who understood that actions spoke louder than words; at least that was what Casper assumed. Which meant that there was a way to speak to him in a way that spoken language or writing just couldn’t do. With a confident smile and a crack of his neck, Casper boasted, “Simple. I’m going to fight him.”

“What?” Trace said, dumbfounded.

Elsewhere, in the forests surrounding Tracks.

It had to be here or it was here. Constantly going over the same spot and crossing the same paths, patrolling the area over and over. Amalgamates were known to be drawn to places associated with themselves.

Cho was kneeling over a footprint, one matching the description of the Amalgamate that he had been tracking these past few days; a strange footprint that more resembled a five fingered handprint. This Amalgamate had been troubling people coming to and going away from Tracks; while no one has been killed, there have been injuries and destruction, which was enough to call upon someone of his skills. With a groan, the fox stood up “Such a pain.” Putting his finger up to his ear, he activated his transceiver, built into his mask, contacting whoever was on the other end. “Vramoso. It’s Cho. Update on the situation. Pick up the line.” After a small period of waiting, there was a clicking noise, his call answered. A conversation that an observer would only be able to hear one side of, “Sprag?” Cho said, not getting the person he called for, “Sprag, put Vram on the line… Right, then. In that case, when she wake up, give her this message… Yes, I’m still tracking the Artist Amalgamate… It’s more elusive than I initially thought. It isn’t believed to have invisibility or camouflage, it’s just good at hiding… Has a nest perhaps.”

As he explained things, Cho wandered around the immediate area, looking for more clues to the target’s location. More footprints that lead somewhere of note, a broken tooth or a piece of the monster that came off in a fight. Literally anything useful. From how little he was not talking, it seemed that this Sprag on the other end was in a particularly talkative mood.

“It’s been patrolling Tracks, I don’t know how long. It rained last night so this footprint has to be very recent. If my theory from before is correct, which it will be, it only now recalled its attachment to this place. Drawn here years after its transformation.” Cho shook his head, “No, I don’t take bets on the job… If you want to lose money, challenge me to a game of skill. I will be heading back to Tracks soon, but I’m not returning to Terminus until I kill this things. Tell the others I said hi. Cho signing off.” The fox said as he hastily hung up. With another groan, something he had been doing a lot of lately, he commented, “Annoying brat. How did you ever become a Holy Diver?”

As he got back on track, better to focus on the task at hand, he began to head back to Tracks, “It’s been about 80 years since that day… Now you’re finally back for more.” He said, talking to himself. “I promise you, Tracks will not suffer the same tragedy twice.”