A hint of gold, a flicker, even, in the sea of red that was the eyes of the Junovian in the restaurant. It was the larger of the two that was marked with the Sigil of the Damned. Male, most likely, from what Bonechill knew of their biology. Wearing a jacket with the insignia of the GCP. An officer in training.

Bonechill ducked behind a corner as the female looked in his direction, narrowly avoiding detection. If civilians got caught up in his hunt, the rogue Junovian might find a way off-planet. Not to mention the relations between the local lifeforms and the System Collective would worsen. More lifeforms would dissent, and Bonechill would have more work to do to try and quell any potential rebellions.

And if he failed, the entire system would have its planets cracked and harvested for resources.

Waiting in the shadows of the nest-like structure the rouge Junovian was in, Bonechill formulated his plan. He'd follow the lifeform for a while, learn his patterns and habits. When the time was right, when the thousand eyes of this planet's native residents were turned away, he'd strike. A single laser blast to the head should be enough.

It had to be.

Bonechill glanced around the corner, watching the rouge Junovian leave with his contemporary. The female looked over her shoulder in his direction for the briefest of moments before continuing to walk beside the male. Bonechill stepped out from his hiding place and followed them, trying his best to blend in with the crowd walking to and fro.

But as he continued to follow them, Bonechill noticed a figure just off to the right, barely in his line of sight. He glanced at it, trying to define its shape. It wasn't Junovian, or Human either. The thing had strange bends and twists at its joints, and skin that looked like it folded in the wrong direction. A pair of beady eyes stared back at him, and the thing reached out in Bonechill's direction.

Before he knew what was happening, the thing had closed the gap between them. It gripped the sides of his head in its hands, pulling his face close to a gnashing set of teeth. Teeth that would not bite, though not for lack of trying. Bonechill drew one of his plasma pistols from its holster and fired twice directly into the thing's warped face.

His shots missed their target. The target was... gone.

The actual target, however, was very much still there. The rouge spun on his heels, staring directly at Bonechill, who was standing in the middle of a dispersing crowd with a smoking gun. They locked eyes, and time slowed to a halt.

Bonechill lowered his plasma pistol until it was level with the rouge and fired. The green, slimy trail of the shot arced through the air in slow motion, like it was moving through water. The delay between the first shot and the second felt like an eternity. Bonechill's trigger finger was working well enough, but the weight of it was far too great. The plasma pistol wasn't jammed, he'd checked it before landing in this nest-city.

It was a monumental effort to concentrate.

Just another second. That was all he needed to take a second shot. Unfortunately that second was taking hours to pass. The rouge took advantage of Bonechill's sudden inability to exist in linear time and formed his three fingered hand into a tight fist.

Another second passed after an hour. Bonechill's vision was flooded with bright, colorless light. Soon after he was airborne, soaring meters off the ground and backwards.

Backwards? Bonechill fought to think, to regain his bearings.

The front of his exosuit had taken the majority of the damage, protecting his body. There was a tear from his right shoulder down to his abdomen, exposing his ribs and spine to the elements. Still though, he held onto his plasma pistol. He fired another shot at the rouge male, who now stood alone. The female had fled.

Bonechill's second shot was intercepted by another explosion, propelling him away from the rouge even faster than before. He turned his head and, using the propulsion system in his exosuit, righted himself before he collided with one of the larger nests. The structure was, surprisingly, made of layers upon layers of paper thin material that cushioned the impact.

But it didn't stop him from crashing through the wall and rolling onto the floor.

Inside, a family of Junovians were enjoying some kind of meal. A sentient mushroom-esque organism writhed and thrashed on the table as an adult and two adolescent Junovians tore into it with cutlery. The adult noticed Bonechill first, and instinctively moved between himself and the two younger lifeforms, holding a sharp instrument outstretched toward him.

"I-I know you!" The Junovian said, his voice unsteady, "G-g-get out!"

Bonechill dusted himself off and surveyed the scene before him. The two adolescent Junovians were cowering behind their parent, taking nervous glances at him from the safety of their parent's legs. The adult was only armed with that sharp piece of cutlery. Six, maybe seven centimeters, close range. His foot placement was terrible, as if he had never seen combat before. There was nothing else Bonechill could see that would pose any immediate danger.

The Reaper was not one to waste an opportunity.

The weighted feeling from early was gone now, which made pulling the trigger all the easier. A single shot between the adult's lower mandibles brought him down to his knees, the second, more dominant set of mandibles clattering against each other as he screamed. The milky white Junovian blood pooled in the adult's mouth and spilled onto the floor where the younger ones stood. They knelt down, trying to pick the adult up, panicking and crying all the while.

Bonechill walked toward the adult, who was clutching his face with two of his hands and holding the pseudo-weapon in the third. He dodged the adult's feeble swipe, sending the weapon clattering on the floor with a swift kick. The Reaper knelt down, meeting the adult at eye-level. He turned his head slowly, examining both of the younger Junovians.

Both female, both shying away from his gaze but never leaving their parent's side. If he still had skin, Bonechill would have smiled.

"Thank you," Bonechill said, plain and dry, "You've done a great service for the System Collective."

As he finished speaking, Bonechill rose to his feet and fired a shot into the head of the Junovian to his right. In the same moment, he snatched the other one by her throat, aiming his other plasma pistol at the adult.

The adult tried to protest, but the blood cut off any vocalization he tried to make. Bonechill dragged the young Junovian kicking and screaming toward the hole in the wall where he'd entered from. He peered over the edge, trying to calculate the distance between this floor and the ground. Fifty, maybe fifty-five meters. Easy enough.

He leapt from the building, Junovian in a tight chokehold. He landed on his feet, or, more accurately, on one of the Junovian's legs. She cried out, a shrill, feral noise that was grating to the ears. The surrounding Junovians stared at him, then looked further down the road toward where the rouge was last seen.

Fortunately the rouge was still there, slowly walking toward him.

Beside him, though, was that figure from earlier. Without the crowd of bodies obscuring its full form, Bonechill could finally identify what it was that attacked him.

It was the Precog, standing there with abject hatred in its eyes.