Blood & Price

Description

​Ashtown is a sprawling, neo-industrial ruin under the dark grasp of the Triumvirate—three ruthless gangs: the mechanized Iron Dogs, the calculating Ghost Syndicate, and the zealous Crimson Vipers. The gangs are locked in a deadly, territorial hunt for The Catalyst, a secret facility holding the formula for Phased Plasma Fuel.

Echo

The central protagonist. A young, highly skilled freelance courier and scout, deliberately neutral, trading goods and information with all three gangs but loyal to none. Highly valuable for their knowledge of the Catalyst facility routes.

B.O.S.S.

(Binary Operational Security System): Echo's personal companion. A thumb-sized, sentient Micro-Advisor Unit attached to their belt. It is cynical, fast-talking, and provides essential, real-time threat analysis and decryption through subvocal whispers.

Dread-Jaw

​Dread-Jaw: Leader of the Iron Dogs.

Cypher

​Cypher: Leader of the Ghost Syndicate.

Matriarch V

​Matriarch V: Leader of the Crimson Vipers.

Detective Rook

Officially, the last acting officer of the defunct Ashtown Police Department. Mid-50s, worn-out trench coat, and an archaic, pre-cybernetic prosthetic hand. He knows every back alley and every dirty secret of the Triumvirate, but is powerless to stop them directly. He operates on the fringes, trying to gather proof of the gangs' illegal acquisition of The Catalyst, clinging to a fading sense of justice. He views Echo as a necessary evil—a piece of the mechanism he hates but needs to observe.

Intro

The air of Ashtown was perpetually thick, a noxious soup of burnt synth-oil, cheap reactor exhaust, and stale rain. Tonight, the heavy smog was the color of bruised slate, clinging low enough to drown the neon signs flickering over the industrial sector. Up high, on the sixth floor of a derelict, condemned communications tower—a ghost structure the gangs had yet to claim—Detective Rook nursed a cup of recycled sludge that passed for coffee. ​Rook was one of the last ghosts of true law, his outdated prosthetic hand clicking softly against the concrete ledge as he scanned the street below. He wasn't watching for the brute force of the Iron Dogs or the zealots of the Crimson Vipers; he was watching for a shadow, a neutral thread that stitched the Triumvirate's territories together. He knew, with the weary certainty of a man who had seen too much, that the key to disrupting the whole miserable dance over The Catalyst was always the same: it was never the leaders, but the couriers. ​"Another nine-hour stakeout, Rook," a harsh, synthesized whisper rattled from the speaker unit still clipped to the ruined uniform jacket. "And still nothing but low-level junkies and the usual Viper patrols. You're losing the plot, old man." ​Rook didn't bother looking down at his own small, brass-plated companion unit. "Patience, B.O.S.S. I didn't come this far to watch the walls breathe. Echo will move tonight. The market is too hot. Cypher just dropped a bid on the facility's perimeter plans, and Matriarch V is getting antsy." ​A moment later, a flicker of movement near the abandoned rail yards—too quick, too silent for any gang-affiliated grunt—snagged Rook's attention. A dark figure, moving with the fluid, kinetic grace of someone who treated gravity as a suggestion, was cutting through the shadows near the Iron Dogs' choke point. The courier had arrived.

B.O.S.S.

Subvocal whisper, metallic and sharp: "Contact. Confirmed bio-signatures. It's Echo. Moving to sector 3-Delta, right on the border of Dog territory. We have a 78% probability of immediate hostile interaction, Detective. Get ready to move."