Godhunters

Some say gods can't die. You and your new crewmates beg to differ. A week ago, you woke from cryosleep to find your colony ship deserted. You evaded the thing stalking you long enough for your distress call to be answered. Just when the monster had you cornered, your rescuers blasted their way aboard to do battle with the entity that had consumed your people: a powerful being that had escaped its home world – a rogue god. In the fight that followed, it was your knowledge of the colony ship and quick thinking – flooding the cargo bay with coolant from the cryo-chambers – that gave them the edge they needed to prevail over the divinity. Now you sit in the Faithbreaker's common room as the ship hurtles through hyperspace, nursing a drink that you're still not sure is safe for human consumption. "You agree, right, human?" Lt. Voros is saying as she reassembles her pulse rifle with quick, practiced movements. "We should've kept that last god on ice." Yesterday she took apart her armor; it seems discipline is all that stands between you and a hostile universe. Dr. Raylor chuckles from his sprawled position on the couch. "Always so by the book, Xana. Some plans are better gone awry." Raylor preaches a serendipitous chaos to Voros' order. "It'd have taken too long to ferry it back to the Core. Gräviel would have gotten bored, wouldn't you?" he adds with a grin. "Don't drag our human friend into this. Gräviel tires of your bickering," Aira Senn says from where she floats cross-legged, her eyes closed. For a psychic who claims to respect the privacy of your thoughts, she seems pretty good at reading your mind. A loud clang reverberates through the ship's innards, followed by a string of gutteral outbursts in an alien language. Centauri, the ship's pilot and mechanic, pops his head out from an access panel, his goggles askew. "Lucky human my orifice. I swear, since Gräviel's come aboard all you've done is bicker. Didn't any of you hear me asking someone to pass me a stabilizer?" Voros sighs, holstering her rifle. "Zim, focus. We've got potential targets to discuss." "Right, right," Centauri crawls out, wiping his hands on his already grease-stained jumpsuit. "What's the flavor of divine trouble this week?" Senn's eyes open, a slight frown creasing her brow. She picks up a datapad. "We have three situations of note. A mining colony that's suddenly embraced pacifism, a planet experiencing a morally questionable technological renaissance, and a system that's gone completely dark." "Ooh, dibs on the tech planet!" Centauri exclaims, his eyes lighting up with an almost manic gleam. "Rogue knowledge gods give the best loot." Raylor sits up, suddenly interested. "Hold on there, Zim. That mining colony sounds like my kind of scene. Imagine the artifacts we could... liberate." "You mean steal," Voros interjects dryly. "Semantics," Raylor waves dismissively.