Chapter 46: High Moon
August 5, 3240,
High Moon Super-maximum Correctional Facility
High Moon, Pol 454 Segue D system
3000 Lightyears above galactic plane

The disk of the Milky Way galaxy was high in the sky. Stretching from horizon to horizon. It was an amazing sight from the surface of the planet, particularly at night time. The planet of High Moon orbited a star that was so far away from Human inhabited space that it didn't even have a formal name, only a sector designation. Even in the daytime it was amazing. There were very little stars in the sky. They were all drowned anyway by 400 billion other pinpricks of light that were in the galaxy. For the very few people that inhabited this planet, the sight of the galactic disk was not only one of absolute beauty, but as a discouraging picture for those that have done wrong.

High Moon was a prison planet, and a hellish one at that. Larger and heavier than Earth, it served as a cauldron for the worst criminals in the entire galaxy, though it was explicitly a UEG controlled world, though "controlled" was a malleable term.

High Moon and its star system was so far away from the UEG that it would be a waste to travel all the way to attack it in any case. The star itself was set in the near complete void teetering on intergalactic space. When the galaxy was not in the sky, it was nearly pitch black. Without any moon there was no reflected light either. Near perfect darkness, which was a depressing sight for anybody, prisoner or guard.

The population of the world was under a million and the entire planet itself was more or less considered one large facility. Fifty percent of those were prisoners.

It was here that Julian Kintobor was sentenced. They could have sent him to any prison in the galaxy, but he was sent here. Kintobor, known formerly as Robotnik, but more commonly as Inmate #533416 nowadays was tried in front of a combined court with military and civilian personnel. He was tried with crimes against Humanity, crimes against an allied race, among a long list of war charges. He was sentenced to life seven times over, and the UNSC promised him he would live to see the end of his sentence if he hadn't gone mad.

Exactly what this entailed, they did not say.

Robotnik had called High Moon home for about a year or so. A ridiculous amount of time was sent on a prison starship. Prisoners were not put into Cryo Sleep but were kept awake in small cells. Kintobor had spent the three month trip with serial killers and sociopaths. The man on his right disturbed him the most, having murdered over a thousand people through removing their eyes and then stabbing them to death bothered him the most. Several days, he said nothing, but looked at Robotnik, gently tilting his head and sitting cross legged staring through the strengthened barrier that separated their cells.

One day he had asked the man what he was staring at. The prisoner, who only identified himself as 'Bubby', wondered why he wore glasses all the time. Kintobor had responded that it helped him see, almost absent-mindedly. Bubby said that he found that funny and then told the doctor what he had been arrested for. Julian then slept on his side facing away from Bubby's cell for the rest of the trip. The man on his left hung himself with his own bedsheets four days into an extended Slipspace jump, and thanks to a majority of the crew being on ice, they didn't discover the body until after they had emerged seven days later. Kintobor then slept face down for the remainder of his trip. He didn't get much sleep on the rest of the way to High Moon.

But now he had been indoctrinated into what was commonly referred to as Slam Life. Here on High Moon, there was a code. There was a culture, and there was respect. When he had first arrived, he was a fish, flopping about not knowing what was going on. The guards paraded him through the hallway announcing who he was. Kintobor may not have realized it, but several of his proxies that he worked through over the last five years had ended up here on their own charges. When they shouted out things like, "You set me up, you son of a bitch! I'm going to pick you out of my teeth!" or, "When I get my hands on you, they're gonna need to clean you up with a fucking mop and bucket!", he found that they really meant it.

Processing had been the easiest thing to do. Entering information. The staff had difficulty verifying his information since the government this information had been created under no longer existed. The staff had been forced to concede that they were unable to proceed due to the individual originating from a failed state. This meant that they had to spend several days recreating information all the while Kintobor literally had to sleep in the processing center because legally he couldn't be admitted until the process was completed.

Not long after finally having been entered, Kintobor realized that any romanticization about the prison life was just not founded on fact. A riot broke out a few blocks away. Several lifers had killed each other in a lunchroom brawl while injuring several prison guards. The resulting firefight that ensued when a prisoner managed to wrench a shotgun away from a guard was even more agitating to the staff and the inmates of Robotnik's block, which was immediately on lockdown.

When he was let out, he realized he had to be nasty to survive, which was something he was good at. Robotnik began to fraternize with the inmates in his square. When he told him his name was Robotnik, several looked at him funny. Many of these men were from planets where English was not as commonly spoken as others. One of the prisoners, an assassin named Baal serving 240 years said, "The fuck kind of name is that?

"I'm an engineer and a scientist."

A small man name Mordon asked, "What, like on robots?"

"You could say, yes."

"I think your name should be, like, 'Gears' then or something." Mordon said. "Makes you sound like you've got a screw loose or something."

"I like it." Solokov, an interstellar arson – who had explained that yes it apparently was a crime worthy of Super Max – said.

"Uh, forgive me for asking, but why are you so nice to me?"

"Because you need allies here to survive." Solokov added in his sliding accent, clearly based on some Eastern European language with a little Russian thrown in. "You don't make friends, they think you are a non factor."

"That's right." Baal said. "Get a bit isolated and it's easier to shove a shiv into your back." He tapped his chest with his thumb. "I should know. Done it a few times."

Robotnik was aghast. "You've killed people in here?"

"Maybe." Baal said. "Just because I'm in the pen don't mean I'm off the job!"

"Do they care?"Julian had to ask in amazement.

"Mate, look up in the sky. What's that right there?"

"… the galaxy?" Robotnik said a little uncertainly. He was actually quite off his game talking to a man who killed on the inside.

"You see that galaxy? You know how far away that galaxy is?"

"3,000 lightyears, give or take a parsec or two?"

"You know how long it takes for a ship to get here? Months. There is virtually nothing between here and there, just vacuum. Listen very carefully Gears because I'm only going to say this once: they don't give a shit about us."

"You mean they'll let us die here? Without oversight or anything like that?"

"You sound like a smart guy." Baal said. "You can probably figure something out.

Julian Kintobor was smart. Exceptionally smart, but he needed the resources in order to do anything about it. He was able to find out what he could about the planet he was on. It was a certified death world. Metal poor and barely even containing a magnetic field strong enough to keep the prisoners from being dosed by radiation. The surface reached temperatures of well over 100 degrees on a calm day, and the only water on the planet was locked in vast underground lakes that had been sealed through billions of years. Every precaution was taken so that when a Prisoner was kept on High Moon, they would serve their sentence, regardless of whether they died by the end or not.

Robotnik was not going to die in this prison looking at the galaxy he thought he would take one star at a time. He was going to get out there and do it.

But it was a slow process. Robotnik needed to gain influence here in the prison world, and as a new arrival, he had none to speak of. He was not a killer, but he was a manipulator. It started small. He heard about a prisoner being harassed by a larger and much deadlier man. The skinny prisoner who called himself Willy, who was in on, as he claimed, framed murder, said that the larger prisoner named LaBrutto wanted him dead for an unknown reason. Robotnik used his resources wisely. It was fortunate he met Baal.

"I don't know why you want me to get rid of this guy, Gears." the assassin said. "Not smart to get rid of a high profile prisoner like LaBrutto."

"It's not about killing him." Robotnik said. "It's about gaining prestige and by gaining influence."

"I'm an assassin." Baal spat. "I'm not supposed to be recognized for my work!"

"Then say I did it."

Baal scoffed. The man's eyebrow arched. "Right. Look mate, the only thing you'd look like you'd kill is a plate of nachos."

That made Robotnik scowl, but the man was right. He was not a physical man in the least. "Appearances can be deceiving you know." Robotnik smiled the same toothy grin that had enticed Max all those years ago. "Trust me."

Baal rubbed his temples. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Alright, I'll do it. It's gonna be subtle. If I find out you pointed fingers at me..."

"The only fingers I'm going to be pointing is at myself, Frances."

"Don't call me that."

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one slit throat."

Baal turned to leave. "Nah, too simple. I'm going to get creative."

LaBrutto ended up dead in his cell four days after that statement was made. He was untouched except for a single syringe lodged in his neck. Prison medical examiners removed the body and quickly performed an autopsy. Their result came just as quickly after performing a test on the syringe. Apparently, a bad batch of illegally made steroids was the cause of death.

The authorities quickly captured the culprit though. The local dealer who had been known to brew every now and again was accused of murder. Naturally, the dealer denied it, and was unsuccessful at warding off the guards.

When Baal returned an additional two days after that, Robotnik could only stand impressed. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah, well believe it. LaBrutto's dead, so you can tell that little punk that you've saved his insignificant life."

"Not insignificant." Robotnik shook his head. "Now he can tell his friends that we can solve their problems."

"You mean I solve their problems." Baal said.

"Not necessarily. Depends on the problem that needs solving. Point is, we're going to own this place one day."

"Gears, you do know we just opened up a power vacuum? LaBrutto was an enforcer in one of Block D's gangs? If they find out we did this, they're going to get us, and good."

"Don't worry." Kintobor reassured. "I've worked through proxy before and it seems you have too. We just need a disposable layer of idiots that can take the brunt of whatever the larger gangs are going to dish out."

Baal's jaw dropped. "You're serious then. You want to really do this?"

"Absolutely. How about we fill in that power vacuum?"

The fabric of a prison system was a delicate thing that ebbs and flows with the passing days just as a grassy meadow bows in the wind. Robotnik was a firm believer in Chaos Theory – a mathematical principle that, basically put, meant that the smallest change could exponentially change scenarios around it. The old saying was that the flapping of a butterfly's wings could create a sandstorm thousands of miles away. In this case, the killing of a single man in a closed system could create scenarios and outcomes that would work for him. With the death of one man, there would now be arguments as to who would replace him. All Kintobor needed to do was wait.

Not ten days following the death of LaBrutto, a riot broke out in the cell block that housed the gang he worked for. Dozens of injuries were reported, and more than a few fatalities. The entire block was locked down and now each of the prisoners were placed into solitary confinement – every one.

That had unforeseen consequences, given the fact that this syndicate had its own economic circle. Robotnik knew this, but he didn't know how far this gang's influence extended. The group, known as The Family, had exported prison-brewed narcotics, opiates, operated smuggling rings, not to mention hired muscle for smaller groups or 'VIPs'. Now that they have been taken out of the picture, the smaller gangs moved to jockey into position. They had grown complacent in knuckling under to The Family, but now that they were locked into solitary for what would be months, or even years on ice, they realized that now was the time to seize power.

Two standard months after the prison civil war erupted, Julian decided to intervene again, calling upon the services of Baal.

"I have another target for you to look at." He told the man in his cell.

"Again?" the man shook his head and sharpened what looked to be a shiv. It may have once been a screwdriver, but the edge was no longer star shaped, but instead looked like a spear. A reddish-brown substance was caked on the spike. "I hope this isn't going to become a thing."

"It won't." Robotnik said. "We're making excellent progress. The Deer Hunters have struck an additional two dealers. The guards have no idea where to even start looking. It's a full blown war out there!" A smile was plastered across his face.

"So, where do we step in?" Baal thought to ask. "Where do we interject into all of this? Because I'm not seeing the genius of you plan here, Gears. All I'm seeing is that we're knocking off a few people, and the whole prison burns to the ground along with them."

"I don't see the problem with that."

"The Warden is going to be calling for help if this keeps up."

"I thought you said they didn't care."

"I did." the assassin said. "I said this before you kicked off a war. I said that before I see two guys being stabbed to death with spoons in the lunch room. With spoons!"

Robotnik did have a plan, but it required more bloodshed to come to fruition. "Please trust me."

"Says the man who played Kingmaker. Yeah I heard about what you did. I got ears too."

"Yes, you have little reason to, but I beg you to see my side of things. I did what I did through slow progress, but when I have the opportunity, I'll snatch it. I did this to educated individuals with trained bodyguards and a whole political council. You don't think I can do the same for semi-literate prisoners with drug addictions?"

Baal sat in his bunk and looked at the floor. Robotnik saw the man's tattoos on the side of his body, a long bloody knife lined in some language he couldn't understand. "OK. Alright, alright. I'm in. Who do you want gone?"

"Captain Davis."

"Piss off. You want me to kill a guard. A guard captain."

"Are you saying you can't?"

"I am so tempted to shove this right up you ass, Kintobor." he said rising. "A fucking tweaker is one thing, a guard captain is another! You know what will happen if they catch me?"

"You won't get caught, because you won't be doing it."

"You lost me." the man said backing off.

Mordon managed to do a job for me, pulling some gang insignia off some poor individuals who died in the last few months. I only ask you to wear these when you go out. The goal is to make it seem like the gangs were in charge of your hit."

"That would mean looking like the Griffyns."

"They are the ones to beat, yes. They have a good chance of seizing control from what's left of the Family. That's not going to happen."

Baal did the job as he was told to do. Robotnik was sharing a glass of smuggled vodka with Sokolov in his cell before lights out. Julian sipped the delightfully strong drink and laughed with the man next to him.

"So… where did you say you were from?"

"To be fair, I hardly remember." Sokolov said. "Ah, I remember now, it was Maito. Or was it Maiyo? Well, it started with an 'M'. I haven't been there since I was a child. I left when I was a young man, and eventually found my way here!"

The men laughed.

"Your name is Sokolov."

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to Russia?"

"What's Russia?"

"You have a Russian last name and you've never heard of Russia?"

"I thought it was a Maitian last name." he said.

The conversation was cut short when Baal entered the cell. He was half naked from the waist up, but otherwise completely cool.

"How did it go?" Kintobor asked.

"Give me a swig." Baal said asking for the bottle. Sokolov generously handed the man the drink. Baal took a small drag on the bottle. "Fuck. That's good."

"Is Davis dead?"

"Yeah. Got him in his bunk. Snuck around some of the vents. Good thing they build them large here. Left the gang threads there was a calling card."

"Excellent." Robotnik said. "You've done well, Baal."

"When is this change going to take place?"

"It will start in the morning." Robotnik smiled.

Change was an understatement. When it was discovered that a guard captain was murdered in his sleep by a gang assassin, the Warden essentially declared open season on the Griffyns. The confusion on the gang's part led to even more brush wars. Within three weeks, the Griffyns were eliminated through 'accidents' that would not be reported as murders by the prison staff. The back and forth war led to an erosion of the gangs. By late 3238, Robotnik decided to finally step in. He offered to become a leader for some of the small gangs that had been devastated by the civil war. They were all to ready to accept him, since what else could they do? Robotnik then joined smaller groups together. Gang that controlled only a few cells moved on to dominating the whole block. By January of 3239, Julian Kintobor owned the district simply by extending the hand of peace and being the voice of reason. By June of 3239, he had become in essence a general of what he considered an army.

The guards answered to Robotnik. The Warden had little to no control over the matter. Through a combination of extortion, diplomacy, and outright murder, Julian Kintobor in essence became leader of the prison in almost two years. He was the undisputed king of the big house.

But High Moon was a large planet. The Warden simply chose to his mansion a little further away from the main compound. Despite being de facto leader, life in this one particular complex went on as normal. This was because Robotnik had little to no need to move up his operations, which he had already drafted a time table for. He was right on track to develop the next stage of his plan, complete control of the complex and expansion of his influence. He also received 'tithes' from the districts. Robotnik gathered what could be interpreted as 'wealth'. Currency, raw goods, and favors fell into his possession. He would need to sit on them; let them grow over time. Eventually he would make use of them.

Several times the view of the galaxy whipped around the skies of High Moon. Several times Robotnik asked himself why the other prisons on the planet moved to try and recapture this complex. It was an easy target and hardly a challenge to assault thanks to the surrounding terrain, and the occupants were just as willing to kill each other as an attacking army. Robotnik satisfied himself with the words that Baal told him: they just were not worth the trouble. Nobody, not even the guards wanted to be out this far in the first place. Could it be that his own doing was actually a step in the right direction? Was he in fact improving their lives?

He couldn't say. It was still too early to tell. It was also worth noting that almost two years into prison and he hadn't developed any sort of addiction. He had always thought himself a straight-arrowed person who didn't need sedation or stimulation to do his job. Robotnik figured that the problem itself was a drug suitable to capture his attention. If problem solving was an addictive substance he was hopelessly hooked.

One day in the wee days of 3240, a shuttle arrived at his complex. A set of prisoners were being moved. With the usual parade of orange was a man dressed in a pure white jumpsuit. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation and his eyes were lined and hollow looking. He stared dead ahead without looking at those around him.

"Got a special treat for everyone!" one of the guards, a thick and muscled woman named A'Bazia said. Her voice was accented with something Robotnik couldn't pin down. "Let me present to you President of the UEG Troy Marshall!"

Jeers immediately erupted throughout the cafeteria, where new arrivals were brought through. A hail of food and drinks flew at the man who was called President. Marshall didn't even react. A plate came from the crowd of prisoners and hit Marshall edge-on at his temple. The man spun to the ground with blood coming from his eye socket. He said something to the guard, but she shook her head and picked him up by the chains in his hands.

"You're dead, Marshall! We're gonna have fun with you!" someone shouted.

"Can't wait to play with you in solitary!"

"Heard you blew up hospital ships! Heard you killed little kids! You're gonna die on this rock you piece of shit!"

Marshall didn't react further. He just hung his head and followed the guard out of the cafeteria and towards the Solitary confinement wing. The prisoners followed him, mocking him and threatening him along the way. The guards didn't push them back. They had presumably been told the nature of Marshall's imprisonment.

"What do you think he did?" Baal asked putting a piece of chicken into his mouth. "You think he fucked up?"

"Badly to be sent here." Robotnik said. "I should go speak to him."

"Nah, it's Solitary. He'll be there for the rest of his life if he's lucky. It's the one thing the guards really will stand up to you about."

"I suppose you're right. But a politician, even a disgraced one, could be a useful tool."

"Take it from me. I've seen more than a few politicians run through this place. They all end up dead within a year, and usually because they off themselves. This guy? He doesn't even look like he'll have the strength to do that. He's a coward. Let him rot, Gears."

A'Bazia returned a few minutes later. "Doctor." she said.

"Hello Elara. How's your cold?"

"Better, sir. Thank you." she said, barely hiding a smile. "There's a visitor to see you."

"A visitor?" Robotnik said. "A visitor all the way out here? On the edge of the galaxy?"

"I'm as surprised as you. He and his associate want to see you in Processing."

Robotnik got up and patted Baal on the shoulder. The assassin smiled warmly and went back to eating his lunch. Robotnik moved with more energy than he did before. If prison did anything for him, it was increase his physique. On Mobius, he had been complacent and sedentary for most of his life. Here, he was forced to adapt or lose. This meant exercising. Julian Kintobor looked like a man half his age and twice as active. He could do pushup and run a mile in just over twenty minutes; something his old self would drop his jaw at.

Robotnik half jogged to where a small collection of guards were waiting around two men. He didn't recognize either of them. One was a Human, the other was a Mobian. An Echidna to be precise. He wore a long white coat that came to his knees. Underneath, finely tailored clothing. His hair was bright white as well. In fact, most of his body was colored white, obviously dye, but still jarring. His eyes though got Robotnik's attention. The irises were bright gold and they moved with unnatural swiftness. Julian determined immediately that they were cybernetic replacements, Obviously the organic versions were too slow for him. Strangely though, he wore pince-nez correctives on his snout, near the end of his nose. The glasses were well decorated with engravings, indicating that he wore them out of perhaps style rather than function.

The other man was tall and looked like the physical sort. A full beard covered his jaw, and he was in good shape. He wore a simple t-shirt tucked into cargo pants. Twin combat boots were laced up. On both sides of his chest were twin holsters holding heavy pistols. This man was obviously an enforcer or body guard for the other man who stood with hands behind his back. The echidna extended a hand with a polite smile on his face.

"Julian Ovi Knitobor, I presume." he said. The man stood a whole head below Robotnik, so he had to look down to meet the gaze of the cybernetic eyes, which at this distance, he saw had whirring lenses and lit receptors that jacked straight into the man's optical nerve. Robotnik wouldn't have been surprised if there were a few implants in his brain.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, I'm just a simple case worker that was assigned to evaluate you. Call me… "Benjamin". Dr. Benjamin Finitevus at your service."

Robotnik knew the name. The first name was an obvious dupe, but the surname was legitimate. He knew who this man was, and he was certain that he knew who Robotnik was as well. Kintobor shook Finitevus' hand though. He felt a strong grip. Either musculature had been enhanced or he had his entire bone structure replaced. Robotnik immediately began to wonder just how organic this man was.

"This is my assistant and bodyguard, Mr. Reihner."

Reihner nodded without the smile and remained silent.

"A simple case worker." Robotnik said. "You flew almost twenty thousand lightyears to see me to discuss my case?"

"I'm sure we can work something out; get you back in front of a judge or something of that nature."

"I'm on a life sentence."

"Which I'm sure we can… commute. You have been busy after all."

Kintobor froze. "Excuse me?"

"Oh please, Julian. Your reputation proceeds you. I know that you've become king of this trash heap."

"Hey." A guard said, somewhat offended.

"Oh my mistake sir." Finitevus said. "I'm sure it's a wonderful trash heap." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "These guards answer to you. I'm assuming that you managed to turn the whole complex in a short amount of time? Good to see that your skills of… taking an advantage haven't been dulled."

"What do you want." Robotnik said. "What do you really want?"

"Mister… Reihner came to me some time ago to discuss a matter of importance. I want you in on this. I know you have the gumption that several Human agents simply don't possess. I want your knowledge of roboticization helping us along the way."

"What issue could be so important?" Robotnik asked getting straight into Finitevus' face. "I don't give a damn about conquering Mobius. That ball of dirt is no use to me. Now that I'm out here, I can do whatever I please."

"Well, it's good that you mention that, and please..." Finitevus shoved Robotnik. The Overlander slid back several feet. The guards had their guns raised and pointed at Finitevus. "...don't enter my personal space without permission. You can put those down."

"Do as he says." Robotnik said. "I want to hear this."

The guards looked somewhat confused, but locked the safeties on their weapons and stood down.

"My focus isn't Mobius, Julian. Mister Reihner has made me see that."

The bodyguard spoke. The voice seemed too low for the man's looks. "How familiar are you with something called 'The Prisoner'?"

"What?" Robotnik asked. "What's that?"

"I can explain later then," Finitevus announced, "but needless to say it's the most dangerous thing we have ever encountered… and it holds incredible amounts of power. Mister Reihner managed to pull genetic information from some nameless little worm that was carrying information on it. The Forerunners were afraid of it and rightly so. This information held strains of something called the Didact and the Librarian. Useless to me though. What does interest me is a pyramid. I want to find it. It may hold they key to controlling the Prisoner. The best part is, we already know where the beast is: Sagittarius A*."

Robotnik licked his lips in anticipation. The buzz of excitement was coming back. "We'll need ships."

"I brought ships." Finitevus grinned. Twin incisors were tucked into his smile. "Many ships."

"We'll need an army."

"And you have raised one, and many more once we have our way with the other complexes."

"Weapons?"

"Enough to level whole worlds." Finitevus promised. "What do you say? Are you ready to hunt God?"

There was no doubt in Julian's mind.

"I'm in."