Hammer had not been idle in the weeks since his conversation with the Broker. The image of the Trishula logo fresh in his mind, Hammer found that the little crew he had was willing to accompany him on his self imposed quest for vengeance.  The Harpy became a winged vehicle for his will, but he needed more crew.

In the years since the shattering, many of the shards had found their new place in the scattered universe of their new world. Some had been lost to the dark of space, never to be seen again, while others had coalesced into bright shining beacons where the populations had not only survived but had begun to thrive in the new world order. Places like Hope, where frontier societies had sprung up and began to produce food that was being sent out across the shards, to those who were not blessed with a temperate climate and easy access to sun.

Then there were other places, ones like Jade’s Mine where the seedy and the space centric cut deals and lifted off for the cold void and the spaces between safe harbors. Other places were worse than this however, and those were the ones where Hammer began to haunt.

He was looking for men and women he deemed skilled but also expendable. His crew were not supposed to be around for a long time, they were here for a purpose. Not that he had to share that with them of course. Asdrubal and Fatima trusted Hammer and they knew whatever this crusade was, it was something close to him and something he wasn't willing to share much about. They did their end of the job, they ferried the fighter across the shards and welcomed the team of killers aboard their ship. Though they did begin to lock their cabin doors at night.

Hammer was looking for one more member to bring the team to an even twelve. He had found killers from all over the shards.  Mostly ex-military guys like himself, who needed a bit of direction, but whose sins were too grave to ever recover from. The last one he needed was not like the rest. He needed someone special.

Hammer and the Harpy had been on the trail of the last piece of this very particular puzzle for weeks now, but it seemed every time he showed up where he had heard the man was supposed to be, he was gone.

The latest chase had led them to a shard outside of what people were starting to call the Midring. Out towards those deeply scattered shards on the outer rim where… well… strange things were supposed to be happening.

This shard was named Harold’s Rest and it was not particularly big. However, that hadn't stopped its reputation from growing large. It was far enough that the fledgling governments of various shards did not extend out far enough to bother, and even the dreaded Meow Syndicate supposedly didn't drift out this deep. It was covered in pirates, common criminals, and people that were far worse.

Hammer had left the harpy and its mismatched crew at the ram shackle landing pads. He began walking what was labeled as the “High” Street, but this was not filled with nice shops and the like in the world that had existed before. This was a street with strung out spacers selling every drug and weapon known to man, and slaves.

Hammer's blood began to rush and his heart to pound when he saw the state of the people lined up along the street in cages.  Men chained to solid rings in the surrounding concrete blocks. Many were children and it was all he could do to not lose control on these people and their trade.  He reminded himself he was there for a purpose and tried to not make eye contact with any of the poor wretches he saw.

What he wanted would be in the arms market.