Stowaway (G/T) (Ongoing)

2

No one ever wants to go to ATMO5.

Arden knew that it would be nothing but trouble when he heard the name, but a job was a job and he had to do it.

In the middle of nowhere, governed by its own handpicked board of authorities on the upper decks and guns-for-hire below, the station was a hotspot for criminal traffic, laundering, and anyone looking to avoid the eye of the law. It served as a home to more than six hundred untraceable digital markets, banks and data analyzers, as well as massive physical markets for all different species to sell their services, no matter what it may be; Doctors, drug dealers, mechanics, mercenaries, you name it. If you were looking to buy or sell, you were welcome on ATMO5.

The trouble was, despite the chaos, the station still had its own laws and a zero tolerance policy for breaking them. For small offences, punishment was up to a fortnight in a cold, hard, lonely cell. For repeat offenders or more severe cases, consequences were anything from 'shoot on sight' to 'captured and never heard from again'.

Somehow, through the terrible chain of events that was his life, Arden had landed himself in an uncomfortable position somewhere between those last two.

He'd arrived at the station nearly a month ago on an overcrowded, unmarked ship, with nothing but a fake identification number to his name, and the meagre amenities supplied by the job. He was the only Human across their small fleet, which operated their ruthless scavenging routines under the guise of 'traders', travelling the cosmos stealing things to sell.

He knew that it was immoral, but over years of spacefaring with ragtag crews he had learned to keep his head down and his mouth shut, staying quiet about things he knew he shouldn't talk about. He often knew more than he let on about their questionable business affiliations, but there was hardly anything he could do about it as a human. It was a big universe, and as long as he got paid he didn't really care what happened.

Or so he told himself, up until the moment that they got caught.

It was pure pandemonium. The ships and everything inside of them were abandoned with haste as bodies scrambled in all different directions, fleeing for their lives. Sounds of pulsefire and indistinct yelling filled the pressurized atmosphere as the thieves scurried between the guards, disappearing into the panicked crowds.

Arden never truly learned just what exactly went wrong that day, he just kept running. But since that moment things had only gotten worse.

The station had confiscated everything. By the time Arden had come out of hiding to check if the coast was clear, there was nothing left- Not even a trace of an outburst. Perfectly, eerily, covered up.

While he was grateful not to have been swept up like some of the others he saw, he no longer knew where to go. The ship was gone, he was out of his pay, and the nearest Human civilization was millions of lightyears away.

To make matters worse he couldn't speak or understand the regional common dialect, and the low-grade vocal transmitter he'd been given stopped functioning since it was being powered by the ship he was stationed on. Without it he was universally unintelligible, and he ended up taking money for it when an extremely bright-eyed Devori offered to buy it from him.

Surviving quickly got hard.

Due to being one of the smallest known species on ATMO5 and to ever traverse the stars, not a lot of accomodations were available. Most beings that passed him by paid him no mind or didn't notice him at all, and more than a couple of times he was nearly crushed under boot, claw, hoof, or worse.

He wasn't too familiar with the many different faces that he saw, unsure what to do whenever one of them approached him. A few had tried questioning him whenever they caught sight of him, and he'd explain himself cautiously every time, but they never reached a coherent solution.