Original release: 2020
Two paths stretch before Jora as he awakens in the hospital without memory nor any known records: on one, a doctor wishes to help him recover his memory; on the other, a scientist wishes to do the same. However, on their quest...
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Walking through snow is slow, for those unaware, and tends to be an aggravating and uncomfortable process for those unused to such a thing. Bain, spending most of his life in the comfort of space stations and Proclaimer ships, naturally found the process hellish as he returned to the double crash site he was temporarily forced to call home.
I get he wants me to carry my own weight, but come on. Anyone with half of a brain could tell this hunting trip was doomed the moment it was assigned, Bain's thoughts grumbled and growled as the pistol in his jacket pocket bounced against his legs, Why can't he just eat all that food he has stored in his base?
Minutes passed as Bain marched onward before finally arriving at their camp. One hour had passed since they were able to exit Banco's ship without having to worry about freezing, based on the clock in Bain's inner terminal, so he figured they had two hours left to finish repairs on Bain's vehicle. Looking around, however, Bain found himself apparently alone, the only sign of life being noises coming from his crashed Proclaimer Minor.
Banco crawled through the snow, out from under Bain's Proclaimer as the other protogen stood by empty handed. As he pushed himself off the ground, he brushed the snow off of the shoulders of his jacket and smiled at the failed hunter.
"Glad to see they haven't changed these things too much!" Banco practically cheered his status report, "This thing's engine seems to be working alright, but the battery was dead as a doornail. I popped out the battery from my ship -- might be a bit strong, but lucky for us, the thing actually fit... Who would've guessed! So, any luck on that hunting trip?"
Bain sighed, shaking his head and slipping an unloaded pistol out of his jacket pocket. Banco's eyes rested on the firearm with a disappointed frown before taking it out of his partner's hands, and dropping the weapon into his own coat.
"Marksmanship never was my thing," Bain confessed, "My efforts were bound to lead to disappointment. Now... I take it the ship only needs fuel to depart?"
"Of course. I may have a container of backup fuel somewhere in my ship's storage room, so I guess we can take care of that now..." Banco's voice trailed off, his view lost somewhere over the horizon as his mind drifted somewhere else. Bain tilted his head, not sure what to make of his counterpart's apparent loss of attention.
"Banco, are you alright?" Bain asked, one of his drones waving its hand in front of the other protogen, "This isn't a good time to be dozing off."
"-- Oh! Yes, I am, very much so," Banco was dragged back into reality by the scruff of his neck, "I was just thinking about how I'll almost miss this place, when we leave."
Bain stared into Banco's visor, his own remaining in the same expression it always had. Banco gave him a confused look, but Bain figured the other knew what he was feeling. Surely, his voice was expressive enough on its own -- making too big of a deal out of emotions is, above all, a glaring weakness for anyone and everyone to take advantage of.
