Oᑌᖇ ᗯᗩᖇ [ᗷᒪOOᗷᒪᗩᑎKET ᙭ ᗰETEOᖇᗩ]

[Strange Days]

Times had definitely changed for the dwellers of the Independent Systems. A silent shadow crept over them, menacing, those that puppeteered it having set their sights and greed on the lesser Colonies that formed it. None could halt their advance, and none could hope to stop the aims of the Federation, or the Empire, from claiming their soil as part of their own dominions, so crushingly superior if raw military power was taken into account.

However, such thoughts were but mere sleazy bar talk in the settlements that blanketed OMC-459. For most of its' inhabitants did not even bother to raise their eyes to the sky, or to question their place in the vast reaches of the Galaxy. They had work to do, work that required their energy. What little could be spared was best left out to staring at the bottom of a tall, dirtied glass or bottle of cheap beer, or what was sold as such. As long as it got the job done, it may as well have even been jet fuel, and no one would have dared to complain. One could consider themselves lucky if they even got their parched lips into contact with anything other than a mouthful of sand.

They were Scrappers. To those who still appeared doe-eyed and inexperienced, leaving the planet may have yet seemed like a feasible task. One that could be completed with enough blood, sweat and tears. However, by the time the harsh reality of their dusty existence rolled around, their backs crooked and hands cramped from the tools they used to saw, bash and weld the opaque metal they worked on, most chose to simply carry on with their dull, menial tasks and a wage that barely scratched their primal itches. For it was the only way they knew how to make a living. Like their fathers, grandfathers, and those that came before, hard work was the only way to survive.

And they liked it just like that, no questions asked.

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~ Memories Of Dust ~

[ Well, lookie here. Maybe we'll be having something tastier for dinner today. ]
​

Layla Rasmus's thoughts surged through her like an electrical jolt across a foot of wire. Her jumpsuit stuck to her body, and made it difficult for her to climb over the remains of the colonists' folly. Her leg brushed against a microwave, then an old washing machine and lastly, missed a sharp, protruding metal beam, which likely once supported one of the many settlements that sprawled the barren land like ant nests. But she had to press onwards. The Junkyard did not allow any sort of hesitation or carelessness to those brave (or foolish) enough to go prying its' depths for resources. A Scrapper only needed where to look and enough spare parts to repair what they came across, and usually, the end result was salvageable.

What had gotten her attention was a certain gleam among the rubble. And it looked like a big catch, something that would have raked in plenty of Credits should they have managed to get their hands on it. Her visor's surface foamed as her increasingly more frantic breath clashed against it. Cursing herself for not having prepared better for such an unexpected occasion, she would eventually find the source of the light, buried into a trench not too far from her position. It was shallow enough, but with the way the junk piled on top of it, there was no way she could have lifted it up by herself.

Looking back, she would see it. The vehicle used to get there in the first place. The only vehicle she could've even claimed to have owned for as long as she could remember. A beloved gift from her past.
The Big Boss or "Biggie" as she had taken to calling it, was on standby. Having it around was a life-saving experience, no matter how battered, scratched and rusty it looked, it was a very comforting sight. Even more comforting perhaps, was to know that she wasn't alone in piloting that thing. The hatch located above the cockpit was wide open, though the mech itself stood completely still. Layla would sigh and take her communicator, nearly shouting into it so that she would be heard by whoever else happened to be on the other end of it. Maybe not snoozing off on the job again, or so she hoped it to be the case.

"Errant, are you done playing with the beacons? We already know that there may be some rare junk around these parts. Take Biggie and help me lift all o' this stuff right in front of my face, instead of lazin' in the back. Lunch break will be soon, don't tell me you are tired already?"

She would pause. She didn't need to be polite to get her point across, and by now, her partner was likely used to her abrasive requests and rude tone. She did not attempt to hide her impatient nature when business was at hand. They couldn't afford some prime materials such as what they were about to uncover to be taken away. She was sick and tired of crummy rations and water, or having to go without a shower for a week and instead needing to use a slightly wet tower and a bar of soap to scrub the grease and dirt off of her back. Today, hopefully, there would have been a change for the better and not a pointless fight as usual. She could have used some peace once in a blue moon. If the planet had one, that is. It was an odd place.