[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/TQJqtqf.png[/img] [b][color=49b65b][sup][h1]LANTERN FALL[/h1][/sup][/color][/b] [sup][sup][h3][color=darkgray]C H A P T E R O N E / / [b]H A L J O R D A N[/b][/color][/h3][/sup][/sup][/center] [hr] [indent]Rani Spaceport was a small space station carved into an asteroid in the Atria System, orbiting its red sun on the very edge of Sector 2814. Constructed some hundred years ago by a ragtag group of pirates, it was a popular hotspot for criminals and lowlifes, the tunnels that made it up filled with cheap bars, expensive brothels, underground casinos and black markets. Floating in neutral space, it was within the Green Lantern Corps’ jurisdiction, and as far as most places in the Sector went, it provided plenty of opportunity for arrests. And plenty of information. Hal Jordan walked through the dense crowds of the Hospitality District, noting, not for the first time, the irony in its name. People knocked into him without so much as a glance in his direction. One of them, a Karnan, let out a throaty growl as they bumped shoulders, his feline features twisting into a snarl. All around, people eyed each other with open suspicion, weary glances moving from one person to the next. In a bar to Hal’s left an argument was brewing, about a dozen men rising to the barkeep’s side as a Krolotean yelled and made obscene gestures. An Insectivorid gestured to passers-by, persuading them to buy from a suspicious batch of what looked like Belamort-infused cakes. Belamort was a psychotropic drug that enhanced its user’s senses. The natural herb, grown primarily by Kahloans, was okay in small doses. The synthetic version, however, messed with your synapses, and often led to brain damage; eighty-five percent of its addicts wound up dead, the remaining fifteen spending the rest of their lives as vegetables. It was also significantly cheaper. The chances that it was in those cakes was much higher than that of it being the “safer” variant. Hal almost laughed. “Hospitality District.” Sure, the name might have referred to the food, drink and accommodation provided to the patrons here, but no one could really lie to themselves – there was nothing hospitable about it. Just a bunch of crooks, thugs and deadbeats trying to get one last drink in before they got stabbed in the back. Hal had half a mind to bring them all in, if only his ring had the capacity to do so. According to his ring, there were about one and a half million people in this rock, which meant about one and a half million people who would either walk faster, run away, or start shooting at the sight of a Green Lantern. To avoid any trouble, he didn’t wear his uniform, only keeping his ring on for the life support, his hand tucked into his jacket pocket. As unlikely as it was, if the station got depressurised, he didn’t want the change in atmosphere to affect him. Experience taught him that, and it taught him well. The cantina was wedged between two hotels, a squat metallic building of outdated Dhorian design, sharp edges and alloyed spurs giving it a less than welcoming appearance. A holographic sign above its entrance gave the cantina’s name in an alien script, a nondescript humanoid raising a glass in an animated loop. Hal entered, the artificial light of the tunnel outside dimming into near-darkness, pierced only by the weak glow of the orange bars that sat across the ceiling. Looking around the booths, Hal searched for his man; blonde hair, blue eyes, probably wearing a red jacket – Got him. He sat in the far corner of the room, a tall glass in his hand. They made eye contact. Hal nodded. Peter Quill waved back. “Hal-friggin’-Jordan,” Quill said, grinning, as Hal sat down opposite him. A thick blue liquid sloshed around inside his glass, the pungent smell of alcohol burning Hal’s nostrils. “How’re you doing, man?” [b][color=49b65b]“Peter-friggin’-Quill,”[/color][/b] said Hal. [b][color=49b65b]“Not too bad. I was hoping you could help me out.”[/color][/b] Quill took a swig of his drink, his smile never leaving his face. “What else is new? Shoot.” [b][color=49b65b]“A Solon freighter was boarded by pirates two cycles ago, just outside the Acrux system. They took anything of value they could find, then escaped into transluminal space. Left six crew members dead. A survivor caught a glimpse of their ship, says he saw the Crimson Star Mob’s insignia on it. As far as I can tell, the entire organisation’s gone underground. Knowing your experience with them, I’m wondering if you can help point me in the right direction.”[/color][/b] Hal found the freighter floating through the vacuum of space, its hull breached with what looked like high-payload explosives. The crew had managed to improvise an airlock to prevent depressurization, but the ring told Hal that they were losing air, and fast – the air recycler had been damaged in the blast. He’d needed to call in John and Guy to get the crew out safely, and for the next forty-eight hours he tried to chase down every lead he had on the Crimson Star Mob, to no avail. The gang was up in the wind. So here he was, hoping that Peter Quill, the self-proclaimed “Star-Lord”, could help him cover some new ground. He and his crew had had numerous run-ins with the Crimson Stars, enough to make Hal hope for some sort of tangible info. “Jeez,” said Quill, his smile fading. “I’m sorry, man. Can’t say that I know anything.” Bummer. No cigar. “I know a dude, though,” he continued, reclining backwards with his hands behind his head, “Does gun runs for them. I can see what he knows.” [b][color=49b65b]“Mind giving me this gun runner’s name?”[/color][/b] Quill’s grin widened. “No can do. Sorry. Outlaw’s honour.” Hal raised his eyebrows, a smile working its way onto his lips despite himself. [b][color=49b65b]“And what exactly are you up to these days? Guarding or ravaging?”[/color][/b] “A little bit of both. Trying to keep things interesting, y’know? Keeping Rocket from boredom’s like trying to download songs on a Walkman.” Hal chuckled, shaking his head. [b][color=49b65b]“Right. Thanks, Pete. If you could follow up on that gun runner, I’d appreciate it.”[/color][/b] “You got it, dude.” He stood, using the table to push himself up. [b][color=49b65b]“I’ll see you around, Star-Lord.”[/color][/b] “Catch you later, GL,” said Quill, giving him a thumbs up. As if on cue, his ring came to life inside his jacket pocket, a bright green glow illuminating his arm. [color=6dc076][i]ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.[/i][/color] [color=6dc076][i]ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.[/i][/color] [color=6dc076][i]ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.[/i][/color] Hal sighed. That couldn’t be good. Taking his hand out of his pocket, Hal’s uniform engulfed his body, green burning bright around a black that chilled, a cacophony of hot and cold that still made his nerves dance after even ten years with the Corps. The cantina’s patrons seemed to collectively recoil as his emerald light filled the room, slack-jawed and angry-eyed, unable to believe that a Green Lantern was able to sneak into their fold. [b][color=49b65b]“Don’t hold your breath. I’m not here for you,”[/color][/b] he said to them, before flying out of the tunnels and away from Rani Spaceport. He willed his ring to trigger transluminal travel, and his vision began to blueshift as the stars stretched out behind him. [/indent]