Many come to the Frontier in hopes of power, wealth, and fame. The lucky ones leave in body bags.

That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always will be.

There’s much comfort to be found in an unchanging status quo. It meant old dogs like Jaxl’s (or in his case, old lizards) didn’t have to learn new tricks to get by. There was a perfect foundation for him to keep walking upon, even if he took a long, long break from the biz.

Hadron was an example of a place that doesn’t change. Sure there’s new faces and new conflicts, but the core principle hasn’t changed since the day it was established.

You came to do business. Others came to do business. Sometimes there was a conflict of interests, which could be solved with blood, coin, conspiracy, or even camaraderie in especially optimistic conclusions.

‘Twas was a time to go out there and engage the free market at its purest. The Relic he recovered was a fine lead on his ultimate objective of investigating the source of the Qliphoth, but this was Hadron. Not every contract was related to what you were looking for.

Most that became Relic Hunters did so to chase after rankings. Reaching Class 9 or making it as a Named meant the whole world had to acknowledge your existence. Even if you settled for Class 6 or 7, the Bureau would provide plenty of benefits to you and your family. ‘Course you had to fight when they said jump, but nobody was stupid enough to pick a fight with the Oracles.

Nobody except Jaxl.

Class 0 meant he was less than nothing. He was an unperson. Had to pay extra on everything, barred from plenty of services, a real pain in the tail.

But being an unperson had its benefits.

Say, for example, you wanted complete plausible deniability when it came to a job. There was somebody you didn’t like. Maybe they screwed you over, had unfinished business from the mainlands, denied you a promotion, fed your cat without your permission, whatever. No matter the era, you can always find a reason to want somebody dead.

Say, for example, he was somebody. Somebody with guards. A real somebody who could probably cover for his own ass by putting you in the ground first.

These were the perfect jobs for the unpeople.

Most Class 0s were poor schmucks who violated a Syndicate rule and got a toilet plunger shoved into their credibility’s asshole. These losers were the types with nothing to lose, the ones who would happily carry a bomb into a building and blow everything to ash.

Higher ranked Hunters were expensive. Barely any hesitated to get their hands dirty, but if you’re strapped on budget, sometimes you couldn’t afford to settle things cleanly.

Jaxl wasn’t a goon who’d up and tarnish his old friend’s name and new place. Not without paying amicable rent, at least.

Jaxl was a smart man. He knew things would never be the same. Too much time had passed, too much distance had grown between the old guard for them to ever be the same group of fresh-faced Hunters willing to take on the world.

He himself probably didn’t have much time left. But that was fine. There was only one thing left on the bucket list, anyway.

He’d do his best in the meantime. That is why today, before he returned to the workshop, he checked into a public bath and made sure to wash away the blood and ashes of strangers and Husks alike.

After all, if you want a job done right, you have to keep your best smile up and do it yourself.

The R-pills took him out for three days. Jaxl expected to get an earful for reckless behaviour and wasting resources, but the only thing waiting in the workshop were two near-corpses and a drone that did nothing but stare at a corner. He didn’t need to hear the story when he could extrapolate what happened from the day-old blood stains and the other contextual clues scattered around the place.

Somebody came over to refine the Relic. Tapio blended engineering and spellcraft to create a drone it could interface with. Thinking he’d get lucky with a risky lead, they met their match and then some.

Poor tactical decisions? Dramatic irony? Just a bad draw? Whatever the case, it didn’t change their fate.

He thought the Relic was a miracle worker when it helped patch him up, but it turns out those miracles were made out of duct tape and industrial lubricant. They were the Arts equivalent of stapling a car back together and hoping nobody would notice the actual wooden door you used because you lost the driver’s side door in a ditch somewhere.

Arts were just that: A form of art. They had to be carefully crafted, cultivated for each individual’s particular temperance and personality. Each was a beautiful piece unique to each performer.

The only thing keeping whatever the hell the Relic was doing from the territory of Heretical Arts was that it was trying its best to help.

Jaxl grimaced as he looked over the two comatose Hunters. When a wound is bad enough, you don’t need to be a doctor to tell how bad the situation is.

These two would never fight again.

Their bodies were healed, but their Qi Meridians were gone. Shredded. You could be a Hunter without any Arts or Meridians, but you’d be entirely reliant on equipment to pull off the superhuman feats that came with being a Hunter.

That, or you’d have to rely on your Stigmata, if you were unfortunate enough to have one. It was a one way trip to destruction, those damned things.

Whatever they wished to do in the future, it didn’t really matter to him.

He knew about the Four Rings and their connections to the Qliphoth. Luckily for Tapio, their interests aligned once more.

The last door that hid the answers he desired was almost in reach. Even if it didn’t know anything else, that Relic he found would be the sledgehammer to smash it open.

Tapio was awake when Jaxl got back the next morning. He didn’t appreciate the offerings of warm milk, porridge with raisins, and a single poached egg very much.

“What is this, a senior’s home?” he snapped, baring his fangs. “Go back to the dumpster you crawled out of. Take this toddler’s food with you, you bastard.”

Jaxl smirked. He took a seat at Tapio’s desk and opened a can of amber ale, saying, “You’re welcome.”

The cat-eared man was bedridden, no way around it. Career Hunters used Meridians until they basically became fused to their muscles. With his Qi-processing system basically destroyed, he’d be lucky to walk with a cane for the rest of his life.

“I made do with what was in the fridge,” Jaxl said. “Blame yourself for a house of condiments and no food.”

Tapio winced. Looked around, trying to look for hidden cameras and the works. When he was sure it was just him and Jaxl in the room, he asked, “How’s Owl doing?”

“Alive. Heart’s beating but she’s not back yet. Give it a day or two more, I guess.”

It was a haphazard reassurance, but Tapio took it. “Piss off and order me a schnitzel from Lila’s,” he said, laying his head back on his pillow. “Use my card, get me some actual food.”

So Jaxl did. Placed down the order and grabbed another beer.

Not like he could get drunk, anyway.

He looked around the office, admiring the brass furnishings and oil paintings. It was a Republic home for a Republican inhabitant, carrying all the ritz of a moonlit ballroom in its prime. The biggest painting depicted the host and his family dressed in silly blue and white uniforms that probably cost more than the average person’s apartment.

He gestured to the paintings. “Those real?”

“It was a vanity project,” Tapio said. “My son’s, the third one — the rascal with red hair. It was his graduate project.”

“Didn’t take up the old man’s craft?”

“Why would he? He’s got a trust fund burning a hole in his pocket. Oldest daughter’s the only one being remotely productive — she just became an Arts Medicine practitioner.”

“What grade?”

“Fifth. Decent place to start out at.”

Jaxl paused. “Damn.”

A huge family, multiple homes, the start of a legacy. Even an apprentice following in his footsteps.

Tapio really had it all.

He had everything somebody could desire from the world.

Jaxl covered his grimace with a swig of beer and continued, “Got anybody else to cover the heavy lifting around here? You don’t need to fill me in — I already know about Whitelight and the Rings. All you have to do is point me in the right direction, and I’ll be on my way.”

Tapio sighed. “So you were building a dossier on me. Bastard.”

“How else would I know when to swoop in and save the day? If things really went tits up, I would’ve helped.”

“I’ll let you know now — I don’t keep any physical files or evidence about this. It’s all in my head, stored with extra strong mnemonics, and the newest data indicates that they’ve been setting up around Granport. I’ll mark the coordinates, but I have one condition.”

“That being?”

“Take Owl with you.” A slight pause. “Personal stakes. You know how it is.”

Deadweight supervision. Better than working underneath Pale Dawn officers who had no idea what they were dealing with at the very least.

Owl was a sniper. Decent shot, too. He got lucky with the circumstances — she could’ve probably killed him dead had she tried shooting him again. No doubt had some resentment towards him for nearly killing her, but a common enemy would alleviate that for now. As long as she did her actual job and didn’t go charging in to hit people with her gun, she’d be able to mobilize in a few days.

Gunslingers like her were a rarity in this day and age. Most take anti-ballistics training and equipment from the very first day they’re on the field, so there must be a reason she’s sticking to that bolt action of hers.

“Can do,” he decided. “Think you can get the Relic a better body?”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” Tapio scoffed. “I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.”

The Relic seemed nice enough. He needed new friends, it needed new friends, so this was the perfect situation to use each other to their heart's content. There’s nothing stronger than a relationship built on mutual needs of survival. Maybe it had an interesting thing or two to say, now that it’s been situated.

Happy with their mutual arrangements, both men nodded to each other.

This was proper business, the honest business Jaxl liked.

No contracts needed. Only honor and clear intentions here, just like old times.

He had a feeling he was getting close to it now. The answers he’d been clawing at for twenty years were close now.

“—What a lucky turn.” Tapio worked up the strength to sit up and face Jaxl. “Everything’s finally falling into place. With you coincidentally picking up that Relic, who knows how many of the Frontier’s secrets we’ll be able to pry.”

Jaxl nodded. “It’ll certainly be interesting.”

He agreed with all of those sentiments, except for one.

Coincidences.

Republicans didn’t believe in destiny, and Tapio was a prime example of that. Back then, he had the greatest potential of all Hunters at the time. But instead he became a craftsman and abandoned the way of the sword.

“It was a coincidence,” he said to Jaxl all those years ago, after selling his weapons for a lifetime lease on a dingy little building in Hadron. “Perhaps something will come of it.”

Everything was a coincidence to a Republican. Fate didn’t exist in their vocabulary.

Jaxl liked to think he knew a little better.

Many years ago, this part of the world was a world of rivers and lakes. Much had changed since the days of antiquity, but the rise of the Frontier allowed old roots to flourish once more. Contaminated and twisted by the ideals and technology of the modern era, at sky’s end bloomed an iron tree that was watered with blood and coin.

In their world of steel and mercury, there were no coincidences — only carefully constructed contrivances.