Colosseum Station, A new universe bar!? NO WAI! Options

[Jalisurr]

Survival Horror

"Nightwalk, we have to find supplies. We can't just stand around here all night!" Insisted Tristan.

"No," Father Nightwalk said firmly. "You go ahead and collect what you think we need. I must pray for the souls that were lost tonight."

"Fine," said Tristan, walking away and shaking his head. While he knew that Nightwalk was just practicing their faith, as a good priest of Amaunator should be, he had more pressing concerns on his mind. They could mourn after they got out of here.

-----------

Tristan had only one thought on his mind. Get armed, survive, get out. He knew that the sentimental Nightwalk would be trying to come to terms with what they had seen in the past few hours. He, on the other hand, would have to find some equipment for them to use. Now, it was just a matter of where.

First things first, he headed to the clothing shops. The Made by Helen store was well picked over, but the nearby stores still had some selection left. He picked up a red short sleeved shirt, black cargo pants, and a long black coat, making sure to get two of everything, so that Nightwalk would be well equipped as well.

Next, and more importantly, he would need weapons. He figured that the gun store would be more or less empty, and as he walked by, he saw that he was right. He entered anyway, and was surprised to find even the somewhat small handgun which he did. It would do for Nightwalk, but he knew that they would need to be better armed than that. He would just have to figure out how.

He kept moving, until he found a spot which was less densely populated by guards. Luckily for his purposes, they were all watching outwards. Finding the perfect victim, he struck. The hapless soldier crumpled to the ground, never having seen his assailant. Tristan quickly scooped up his gun, his grenades, and his sidearm. He grinned as his fingers curled familiarly around the shotgun. The priest training with the Disciples of Amaunator had included much more than just prayer.

----------

Nightwalk felt totally drained. He had never had to fight so hard for his very survival. Tristan made it look so easy, but how could he make the decision to kill in that split second? Nightwalk fervently hoped that he would never have to become so cold as that.

He wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. The events of the past few hours played repeatedly in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, someone was ripped apart in his head. He had to come to terms with this, and there was only one way he knew of.

Finally, he found the perfect spot. He entered the small abandoned, house, and moved to the back, to dampen as much of the noise as possible. He began to pray to his god, pray that he could be forgiven for allowing such madness to happen to his brothers and sister. He lost all track of time as he drifted in the depths of his thoughts, trying to connect to that greater being.

When he came to himself again, his head was clear. Amaunator had given him a message. His purpose, and that of Father Tristan, was to save the survivors. He must try to stop any more deaths from happening this night, but most importantly, Tristan and he were to get out alive. He may have to steel himself to killing. However, he and Tristan were a pair. Two ends of the scale of compassion and cold-heartedness. Let Tristan do what he must, and Nightwalk would take care of the rest.

The dawn would be when they would be tested. He knew that there would be a test, and they would have to succeed, or evil would triumph this day.

At that crucial moment in Nightwalk's life, that turning point from absent-minded, kind-hearted man to a true extension of Amaunator's will, Tristan walked in.

"You had to make it difficult for me didn't you?" He asked. "Here, I brought you a present." He gave the other Father a bundle, two handguns resting on top. "Get suited up, and let's go."

"May I ask how you got these?"

"No."

A few minutes later, Father Nightwalk walked out of the house. "I'm ready," he said, and he told no lie. The twin handguns were strapped to his hips, and he carried several clips for them. His attire matched Tristan's. He smiled when he looked at the other Father's choice of firearm. "You always have to have the bigger gun, don't you?" Tristan just shrugged and moved off.

There was holy work to be done.

[JoshTigerheart]

Survival Horror

After departing from the meeting, Colonel Ronald Dennis mused over the current circumstances. They were stuck in a spotlight blasted area for a few more hours before the sun broke and, hopefully, the sunlight would save them. If anything went wrong, whether it be the lights going out, the skies being overcast in the morning, who any other thousands of things, odds are they would all likely die.

Well, after having been through hopeless situations before, at least that last part wasn't new.

Though he wasn't given any immediate assignment for watching one part of the wall or making sure those soldiers didn't get drunk and loose focus, he still decided to collect some fresh equipment. He had already been given a clean uniform in which to wear, so getting a change of clothing wasn't an issue. Besides, the armory, guarded by two men who saluted to him as he entered, wouldn't have clothes anyway. However, it did have lots of firearms and ammunition that someone conveniently sorted into two categories: currently working and currently not working.

He mulled over the rifles, his eyes first settling on a sniper rifle. He considered it, but then decided against it. If he got thrown into combat, odds are he wouldn't be at a perch where he could just pick targets off. In the end, he settled for the same model he had earlier. Though it only shot mass rounds, it was based on Auroran design and, therefore, excelled at shredding armor. He doubted those creatures had shields. But, if they did... well, it probably wouldn't matter what weapon he had then.

He followed up on his rifle by grabbing a pack of cigarettes he spotted that someone had left out carelessly. They were good ones and unopened too, a steal in this situation. Smokes secured, he then made sure he had plenty of ammunition as well by grabbing some of the ammo belts and more loose rounds. He added to his selection with a side arm, a combat knife in good condition, and a bandolier of grenades. Six of them were explosive, but he also found it had a flashbang and a glue grenade, the latter one that sprayed a very sticky substance everywhere when it exploded, sticky enough to anchor at least a man to the ground. Normally they were used by tactical operations as opposed to normal military.

To crown his requisition of equipment, he put on a suit of SWAT body armor. Sure, there were much better, military grades armors, but those were all powered and currently laying in the non-functional pile. SWAT armor, while not nearly as protective, at least wouldn't be putting himself in a nearly immobile power suit and could perhaps keep some of those claws from his chest.

Dennis exited the armory afterwards, the guards glancing at his selection as his did. He went in looking like an officer and came out looking like that old movie character... Nambo wasn't it? They said nothing, however, and just simply saluted. He had the military clearance to access the stuff and they didn't have the authority to question him about it, so he was free to carry and use it.

The Colonel pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply before letting out a cloud of smoke. Afterwards, he glanced at his pack and frowned. These wouldn't last him the whole night. Looks like he had to go find another pack or two...

((in b4 Rag))

This post has been edited by JoshTigerheart: Feb 26 2009, 02:07 PM

[Malygos]

As Mentu' finishes zipping up his jump suit, a series of clangs are heard resounding against the hull. He glances out the window into space, and a cable attached, and leading above him in space. He dashes back to the cockpit, and follows another cable up toward a large rectangle floating in space. As he brings the sensors to bear on the craft, expecting to get an unknown classification, and guesswork as to where various primary systems are. Instead he gets a detailed readout of the vessel, which leaves him baffled. The ship couldn't be in any of his ships files, which means that he either the craft was broadcasting his tech readouts, or his ship's database was somehow changed, by an outside source. And since it was foolish to broadcast the specs of your ship that only left one thing. As his mind starts to wander to his dream of obscenely powerful triangle ships, and a world where his was just a game, his brain begins to strain.

He decides to focus more on the craft. Less strain, more important. The 'rescue transport,' as it turns out, is actually a Federation Carrier, Heavily Modified. He searches the database for the standard Federation Carrier, and, not surprised when it pulls up the information, he begins comparing the information. The most peculiar thing, is the fact that, relatively speaking, everything is upside down. It was redesigned, for starters, with the top being the bottom. The Command structures were removed entirely, allowing it to land flat, with what was the extended landing bay, now being the roof of the bay, with tow cable launchers attached. On the top of the ship a new bulge indicated where the bridge was relocated to. The two wing bays contained a total of four Pirate Vipers, modified only with grappling hooks. All other weapons had been stripped off the ship, as they were unneeded on a rescue vessel.

"Peacemaker Please respond." comes the crusty voice again

"This is Peacemaker" Mentu' calls. "I assume you want to give me a hand."

"That and give you hand before you get blown to space dust."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have any idea where you are?"

"Last I knew, Eltor."

"Eltor?" the grizzled voice starts, around a coughing fit. "Eltor. As in Eltor near the Dogovor system?"

"Yeah," Mentu' replies, as his ship is drawn into the bay of the carrier. "Why does it matter."

"Oh my, boy." the voice comes again, this time with a laugh. "What's your name?"

"Mentu' Fremah. What's so funny."

"Mentu', I'm Mazeroth Minka. And I believe I have a little explaining to do. But then so do you." Minka laughs once again. "But that can wait till later. Follow the men standing outside your ship, and I'll explain all. And please don't come armed. Oh and welcome aboard the Second Chance"

On the bridge of the Second Chance

Mentu' was left in awe bording the Chance. Most the time when you think rescue ship, you think of a run down vessel, beaten by weapons and time. Not this one. Everything and everyone on board is in immaculate condition, With the exception of four fighters in back of a strange design, which look beaten, but ready for more, and a couple others on the deck, in desperate need of repair. On the way up, he'd notice that everything else was as well. Nothing was out of place, nothing damaged, or dinged. As he strolled onto the bridge, he notices a man, average in height and build, only he seemed to have an aura of power about him.

"Mentu', my boy, welcome," Mazeroth calls, striding toward him, and extending an arm. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Mentu' replies, shaking his hand.

"Well you see I'm fascinated by your story." Mazeroth's responds, gesturing off to a side door of the bridge. "You see, there have been a few reports of someone starting in a system and ending up in somewhere completely different with strange new vessels. You can tell your tale while in transit to Colosseum Station."

"Well I'm not so sure myself, how I got here," Mentu' begins, and starts to relate the tale as far as he knows. What surprised him most though, was how Mazeroth seemed to nod and accept everything as fact. As if these stories had circulated the universe and what he was saying was just a new variation.

"I'm not quite sure on where the 'out of body experience' fits in but otherwise it sounds just like any of the other tales floating around the universe. Although, I am surprised that you chose to go head first into that frigate though. You had to know that you didn't stand a chance."

"Well it was that or be taken prisoner, have my ship torn apart, and have the technology they find used against my friends and family."

"True, that," Mazeroth crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "What are your plans for the time being?"

"Well, I'm not really sure. I can't get back anytime soon, simply because I have no idea how I got here. I so it's looking like putz around trying to fix my ship, and make a living while trying to figure things out." He pauses, glancing Mazeroth over, "Unless you have an idea."

"I probably wouldn't have asked if I didn't now would I?" Mazeroth chuckles, rising. "You go back down and fix your ship, on me. I'll look into a couple things, and let you know where to go from there."

"Alright, let me know," Mentu' says heading for the door. "You know where I'll be."

"That I do, that I do," Mazeroth states, activating a couple screens. "Anything new that I need to know?" he asks, toward a screen that has a red circle with a solid blue winged animal in front.

"Well there have been a few large ships poking around the outskirts of of Colloseum Station's system, but it seems that none are willing to try taking on the station in order to get what they want. Also, we have a new targeting system. We think it may be extremely effective, as all tests result in the enemy target being destroyed." comes a reply. The screen is still the same, with no identity revealing themselves.

"What do you mean,'think'?" he asks.

"Well, there may be a glitch in the testing computer, as every time the computer simulation activates the new software, the target seems to get locked in whatever the last order the ship was given."

"How many times did this glitch happen?"

"Every time we tested."

"Think you could outfit it on a fighter so we can test it."

"We could hard wire it into a fire and forget missile system, but that may take some time. Long enough for you to find a decent pilot I think."

"I already have one in mind. The delay will let me see how good he is." Mazeroth says closing the channel. Now he just has to convince Mentu' to fly for him.


> sorry computer went down for a couple months laptop, power cable with a short in it, and no money to spare

This post has been edited by Malygos: Mar 2 2009, 10:40 AM

[fishloaf]

OOC: How Ramon met Mustard. Sorry for the long hiatus, R0k, its the usual busy as a bee deal. This post is going somewhere you-relevent, but I'm doing it in installments interspersed with homework. I call it (this post), "Fast Times at Rommel Juvenile Reformatory Academy."


IC:
Hourglass, February 1162 NC


Breathe in. Study the back of this guy's head for a while. That is one big mole.

...Aaaaaaaaand breathe out.

Standing still had never been so exhausting. Ramon and eleven other cadets were rooted in a stoic human rectangle, one of two such formations. These two-dozen ex felons made up the top tenth of Rommel Juvenile Reformatory Academy's senior class, each of whom had mastered the art of standing one arm-length apart and staving off unconsciousness; the Federation Navy manual outlining drill and ceremony procedures had it that, if you were standing at attention and the temperature was below the dew point, you could only breathe once every four cadence beats so that you werent fuming unsightly vapor puffs all over. The end result of this earthshakingly vital policy was, every four beats, the column would erupt in a geyser of white cloud like it had been overrevved and burst a headgasket, and then go back to savoring the oxygen deprivation.

Someone, maybe the guy who thought up the breathing rule in the interest of asethetics, strode purposefully up to the cadet-Battalion Commander, corfam boots tromping recklessly through the icy grass without the slightest scratch on that impeccable polymer shine. The polish-free shoes told Ramon that the man was one of the fabled officers, and not some punk who needed to bargain his way out of an unexpected second count of breaking and entering because he didn't know the house was a duplex.

"Battalion--" The battalion commander addressed the crowd.

"Company!" The cadet-Comany-Commander, an alumni dragged back from active duty, relayed to their respective commands.

"At ease!"

"Pa-rade hess!" That translated to 'parade rest', which meant that their individual efforts to pantomime life as a two-by-four were no longer needed. Ramon put his hands behind his back, listening raptly as the officer doled out instructions.

This was a field training exercise, aka the big-leagues; Ramon had spent the last seven semesters getting up early to triple-check his uniform, running the hardest, and hitting the books with a vengeance, anything to be the perfect cadet. He hated every minute of it, but the incentive was that he could earn one of a select few honorable discharges the Academy handed out in lieu of enlistments. The only reason the discharges existed was to dispel accusations of being an unconstitutional draft, as if a 98% retention rate was more arguable than 100%, but what it meant for Ramon was that his only shot at freedom was in graduating Summa Kum Laude.

Ramon had no qualms about capitalizng on their PR stunt; if he earned one of these discharges, they would paste his tan ass up on a newsletter somewhere, he would get his record expunged, and then have a great self-reformation story to put on his college admissions and scholarship applications. He had the grades, he had the rapport with instructors, and he had a spotless record since the day he arrived. So did a hundred other smooth-talking criminals who hadn't changed other than becoming more discreet. To set himself apart, Ramon needed all the extracurriculars he could get and that was what brought him here to Hourglass for a week of Survival-Evasion-Resistance-and-Escape training.

SERE. That struck Ramon as the last subject you would want to teach an inmate--sorry, cadet--but maybe it was some kind of test to evaluate whether the upper crust students really had given up their heinous ways and could be trusted with knowledge and weapons. Either way, he resolved to eat, breathe, and sleep the subject matter until he had proven that his debt to society was settled.

"Company, ten-hut!"

Two dozen sets of boots clapped together as the cadets resumed At-Attention.

"Fall out and carry out the orders of the day!"

...for all of five seconds.



They gaggle-marched to the base camp, their home for the next week. For cadets, the buddy system was law, and violating it meant an instant infraction that put you that much further from ever seeing freedom again. Since the day he had enrolled, Ramon had literally zero time alone except for when in the very act of taking a s###. Find a partner to go anywhere was like planning a clandestine strike, only harder to orgnanize--traveling in a gaggle just made more sense.

This treated Ramon to all kinds of enlightening conversation as the less reformed cadets from both campuses got to know each other by swapping the age-old social currency, stories. It didn't matter if these guys were the elite ten percent of cadets and on campuses light years apart, they all had the same flavor of 'shady douchebag' to harmonize on. It was like a universal constant.

"--so there we are in the janitor's closet and I'm all, 'that's right baby, choke it down'--"

"--we were so blazed that night, I can't believe the night watch didn't hear us."

"--yeah man, that prick is due for another accident. Tell you what, get a couple solid dudes together and--"

Lovely. How people got away with this stuff, Ramon would never know. It certaintly wasn't for lack of supervision, as there were cameras everywhere; obviously, the people behind the cameras were turning a blind eye, but how the cadets set up this arrangement and for what price was a mystery.

Someone elbowed him, and a plastic baggy full of off-white powder brushed against his hand. "Ten credits, yes or no?" A voice asked him.

Ramon did a double take. "How the hell did you get that on the transport?"

"Didn't. I met a couple of cunjo hunters who hooked me up when we got here."

"What? We've been off the ship for two hours, how do you have contacts already?"

"You learn the system, you know?"

"Right, the system." Ramon rolled his eyes. Some people could split the atom, others could read minds...this gentleman's gift apparently was in finding ways to get high against all odds, which Ramon was sure would take him places. Like the nearest public restroom or friend's apartment, for example. "Do me a favor and put that s### away."

"C'mon big guy, don't be like that. Ten credits, I'm practically running a charity here."

"Dude, I am this close to getting a discharge moving on with my life, you think I'm going to ruin my chances over some...some...which is that, FATE or just freebase?" Ramon could never tell.

"Its the one I'm not selling for twenty million on Altair, ######stick."

"Er, right. Well, it isn't worth it."

"Whatever you say, Captain Justice."

Ramon sighed, glancing over his shoulder as the dark-haired guy left to hustle his wares on someone else.



They passed the next twelve hours much like any other 'first day', learning about all the ground rules and fun ways one could to get oneself busted and be shipped off to a full penn. There was also a fun little rack-and-stack exercise to help the instructors determine what they thought was a ranking order among the cadets, this one being race to see who could pitch a four hundred pound tent the quickest while still remembering customs and courtesies. Failure meant drawing a chore out of the helmet. Ramon, who was all of five feet six inches tall, he, uh....

Ramon was better at the intellectual activities. He was a fine marksman, too, they really should have had a shooting range once in a while.

He glared down at his flashlight while a whistle bobbed on a chain around his neck. He had drawn night watch, meaning that tomorrow he would have a nice head full of cobwebs to help him make a good impression with the instructors, and he groaned to imagine what kind of crap he'd run into tonight. Ramon was not good at asserting himself--he had the force of personality, but his attempts to administer discipline with such a modest physique were likened to a Mexican jumping bean, not to mention what a dashing figure he cut in his gym shorts and tee made complete with an oversized steel helmet balancing on his head.

Add to that the fact that these kids were still prison inmates by all counts and that being on the night watch was a lot like being an informant, a snitch...the whistle around Ramon's neck was not for aiding reprimands. You used it to call for help.

The sterile, icy woods crowded on all sides against a chain-link fence. Ramon paced along the tents row by row, smoothing out the waves of goosebumps running down his arms everytime the wind picked up and suppressing thoughts of taking a nap. To keep his mind occupied, he did random circuits around the grounds to turn his job into a topology exercise. It worked, before long a pale streak on the horizon told Ramon that he was on the home stretch.

Of course, that was when something decided to dart in the corner of his vision. Great. Resigned, Ramon turned his flashlight on the movement.

"Get lost."

And just as quickly turned away, going a little pale.

Ramon knew the Company Leader, not to be confused the Company Commander who as an active duty guy . The Company Leader was a cadet who had opted to stay for an extra year as an intern of sorts, something that the badly understaffed Academy rewarded with all kinds of latitude. He was a very bad but also dangerously smart guy who ruled the cadet core with terror and uncanny stealth, and was said to have been convicted of manslaughter after bargaining down from double homicide. Horror stories circulated about permanent disabilities he had given his enemies, and at least one boiler room was informally named in his honor.

It did not surprise Ramon to see him, stalking around camp with blood on his sleeve and an assault rifle in the wee hours of the morning.

Ramon got lost.

Or, tried to, making it all of ten steps before he was bodily grabbed and pulled toward an equipment tent. He scuffed furiously in the dirt as a hairless arm snaked over his mouth and a boot snagged his leg, toppling him. Any second now, the billy club was going to meet the hamstring.

Instead, he was simply pinned. Ramon opened his eyes.

"Hi." Said a familiar voice. Still muffled, Ramon nodded up at the would-be dealer from earlier today, in full uniform and a ruddy smear running down from his nose. 'Mustardseed', read the name tag. Ramon had to read it twice just to make sure.

"Hi...I'm about to be killed."

"Mmf!" Ramon spat free of the guy's hand. "That's nice."

"Wanna help me escape?"

"Uh, no." Ramon smirked. "Wanna let me go so I can call the security forces for help? You know, like a normal person?"

"The po-po's? Who do you think let him have the gun?"

"Rifle."

"Whatever, rifle." the cadet rolled his eyes. "All they're gonna do is help him drag me away."

Ramon narrowed his eyes. "What exactly did you do?"

"Heh, er...it turns out that grade-A freebase and wheat flour? They look really similar." The cadet admitted sheepishly.

Ramon stared, dumbstruck "...You aren't that well-versed in your occupation, are you?"

"Hey, I don't do drugs. Drugs are for people without character who need an emotional crutch to get through life. Anyway, c'mon, lets jet." The cadet tightened his arm-bar. "Make like an atom and split, y'know?"

"How about, 'make like a reasonable person who is not wearing body armor and--'" Ramon winced.

"Fine, goldenboy." Mustardseed produced yet another baggy from his fatigues, cracked it open, and began dumping it on Ramon's face. "Here's a chance to live a little."

"Mmffffpk-ptoo-ptoo-glag!" Ramon gagged through the cascade of bitter tasting powder, trying to keep it out of his system; that was not flour. The last of his legitimacy was shot.

"Still wanna talk to the security forces?" Mustard asked, sprinkling the last traces around for good measure and shook him for emphasis. "What kind of piddly ass ambition is getting a discharge, anyway? You gonna spend your whole life looking for handouts from the man? Or do you wanna climb that fence, and seize ownership of your life? Its your choice, man!"

"And I'm choosing to talk to the security forces! Freely!" Ramon snapped just a little too loud. "By your reasoning, get the hell off of me! I've got one month, do you understand? One more month and then I can be as free as a goddamn bluebird, and I can do it without dropping everything on a whim and--"

Several bullets stitched through the tent wall, pelting the dirt floor around them.

"Lead the way."

"H'yeah! You won't regret it." Mustard grinned, dropping Ramon and disappearing into the adjacent tent. Ramon gasped for air, fighting back a sudden sense of prophetic dread.

They scrabbled desperately under the taut canvas walls, valuting over sleeping cadets, jostling equipments and freezing solid at the uncannily close potshots; somehow, the discreet puffs of the suppressed rifle were more alarming than normal reports. Several tents later, the two peeked out from under the canvas wall for to gaze upon Freedom's very countenance: a daunting, razor-wired fence towering mightily over the compound. The homicidal Cadet Leader's dancing flashlight beam fluttered to and fro over the metal links.

"_{Goddamn, I've always wanted to do this}." Mustard guffawed, digging a starting block with a soily scrape of his boots.

"_{How are we getting over that thing?}" Ramon hissed.

"_{Just take a run at it. You'll see.}"

Ramon scoffed incredulously. "_{Dude, I'm not Peter Pan, schizophrenic, high on angel dust, or otherwise convinced I can fly. I'm gonna need you to be more specific about this, this little manuever you're proposing.}" (Deep down inside, however, he really didn't want to know.)

"_{Okay; go like} --this!" Mustard said out loud before taking off at a full sprint, herladed by a distant 'Hey!' and patter of bullets. With a small grimace, Ramon irrevocably discarded four years of hard work and singular diligence, following the lead of just the kind of steely eyed realist you wanted on your side during a jailbreak. With a leap of faith, he climbed on adrenaline-wobbly legs and took off....



Present Day

"C'mon, just take a run at it!" Mustard cajoled from across the station boulevard, crouched in front of a chain link fence and making a footstep with cupped hands.

"No!" Ramon mouthed emphatically, trying not to break character as he casually leaned against the nearest secure object (mailbox). Dum de dum doo doo, nothing to see here, just spending friday night like any other Schmo. Inopportune pedestrians critiqued the act with suspicious glances, circling widely.

"Hell-oo? _iVah-manos, poo-ta!"

Ramon rolled his eyes, unmoved by the flimsy abuse of his supposed mother tongue. He was not letting Jacky Chan there convince him to try some new, stupid stunt that would just end with them on the ground in a tangled ball. It was too important that they get this right, which is why today, Ramon had the privelige of drawing on rock solid judgement and prodigous talents of...

"Well, what're you waiting for?" Sil asked next to him.

"You can't be serious. This is our big entry plan? 'Climb the fence,' like we're just getting our frisbee back?"

"Y'know, retrieving a frisbee actually a pretty good analogy for this whole plan. Fantome really is about as useful as one." the synthetic mused.

"This issue is not a verbal Conziga; don't skirt it." Ramon said flatly, returning Sil's serve in kind.

"Fine." Sil sighed, "So you want to rappel in or pop through an air duct or some other Hollywood bulls###, amiright? Get all decked out in black and have your own theme-song?"

"It works for the 'Geese, doesn't it?" Ramon shrugged, humming a few bars of their drinking song turned anthem.

(Across the street, Mustard lowered his cupped hand, staring at the two in confusion)

"Look smart guy; you know what the Geese have that we don't?" Sil pointed up at the overhead lighting. "Nights. If we tiptoe around, they will see us, and the more serious we appear to be, the more likely it is that we'll get shot. The only way we're getting past the Feds is by doing it quick. If you don't have the motor skills to pull it off, then just go back to the ship and keep the drinks on ice."

Ramon knew what was coming and backed out of reach before the synthetic could push him aside, rewarded with an awkward fumble that Sil smoothly disguised as a laborious warm up stretch and yawn.

"Good luck, s###head."

"You too, jerkoff." Sil responded absently, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. Intently, he shot gestures of confirmation across to Mustard and, like an Olymian whose entire home planet was watching, lowered himself into starting position. Then, Sil looked up plaintively. "Can...uh...can you please watch for traffic?"

Ramon gave up the cool as ice act and surveyed vehicles racing to and fro in the search for that once in a lifetime break in the traffic. "Sure! Ready...sssseeeeet..."

Sil coiled like a spring.

"Wait...wait..."

Sil poised, zeroed in like a cocked revolver.

"GO-ohmygod, truck!"

"SHH--!" Sil's takeoff snarled to a halt as he fell, fell again, gave up on bipedal motion and then scrambled back to the safety of the curb on all fours. Panting, Sil glanced over his shoulder to see a vacant street and the imaginary truck that almost hypothetically took his life.

On the other side, Mustard spread his arms wide in a mixture of aggravation and disbelief as the eye of the vehicular storm disappeared.

"Good to know that we're all adults here." Sil grumbled, dusting himself off.

Ramon pointed at Mustard, the distant figure responding with The Bird. "Look, last time Mustard and I were in this situation and I trusted him, we ended up peeling potatoes for six months straight and then got sent to the front lines of SPC-1042 in Bumblebee™ exo suits. This is one of Mustard's ideas you need to just let play itself out."

"Nice friend, you." Sil deadpanned, watching Mustard turn his back on them and head toward the fence alone.

"Hey, I told him what I think and he kept his own council. There's no obligation for us to go down with him."

While they watched, Mustard bounded up into the spiraling barbed wire, fence clattering as he threaded himself up, over, and through.

"See, look--" Sil began.

The dragon shirt was the first victim of the barbed wire, followed by a pant leg, then the belt, and finally Mustard's pride and joy, the hair. Strung up six feet in the air like an especially defective marionette, Mustard thrashed, cursing loudly. At his side, sword taunted him indistinctly.

"...He's fine." Sil preempted Ramon.

An alarm shrieked in the distance and siren strobes came alive all along the fence, a chorus of dogs gathering in the distance. Mustard gaped and thrashed harder, and with a faintly audible rip, he dropped inside the compound. He disappeared.

"See? Didn't I say you wouldn't regret it?" Ramon elbowed a steely-eyed Sil. "C'mon, lets call Jason and bring in Knight--"

The synthetic broke into a run, weaving through the traffic and pouncing onto the fence midstride. Ramon gaped and, with a sigh, followed.

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Jun 4 2009, 11:09 PM

[Shlimazel]

<OOC> I think I'm going to need to do more that just two posts to wrap this up. I suppose I was a touch optimistic . Anyway, hope you like this one! </OOC>


"Flight Crew, this is Pouchbird 23. Condition indigo, launch when ready."

"Understood, Pouchbird 23. Engaging launch rails now. Be advised, we are entering combat readiness state, so clear the area promptly."

"Understood. Pouchbird 23 out."

The pilot of Delphis's dropship glanced back into the crew compartment. "Better buckle up, boys and girls," he said as the launch rails clamped to the dropship whined to life. "This will be a little on the bumpy side."

Delphis secured his restraints along with the massed ranks of Ubercept Deathstriker Elites in the back of the dropship. Already massive, bulking huge in their power armor, and covered with load-bearing gear to accomodate their massive amounts of equipment and firepower, the Deathstrikers filled the dropship.

"So, FCS Delphis, is that armor growing on you at all?" Sergeant Kallato queried. "Maybe you will be too afraid to go without it in the future?"

"Only little hatchlings need power armor," Delphis said blandly, slipping into the Deathstriker accent easily. "I prefer to pick up enemy tanks and crush them between my mandibles."

The Deathstrikers grated out laughs at that one. "Launch in fifteen!" the pilot called back.

"Recheck weapons!" Kallato ordered. "This is no time to get sloppy!"

"Launch in five!"

The Deatstrikers reported weapons ready. "You had better have a plan, FCS," Kallato said.

"And what if I don't?" Delphis retorted. "The worst that could happen is that the space god eats our souls like a side of roast Blik, after all."

"Well put."

"Launch in two, one-"

The launch rails fired.

The acceleration would have slammed Delphis into the back of the dropship if he hadn't secured himself. One unwise Deathstriker did just that, crashing into the back of the drop hatch with a clang.

"Who the corspine's hells is that? Is that you, newu?" Sergeant Kallato bellowed, using the infantry term for a skilled veteran as an insult to the new Deathstriker. "When we get back to the ship, you and I, we are going to have a discussion!"

"Sir!" the Deathstriker said from his brutally uncomfortable spread-eagle position on the wall.

Sergeant Kallato sighed and looked at Delphis. "That is the problem with new Deathstriker recruits," he said. "They think that since they are Deathstrikers, they can now take the G's of a dropship launch unsecured."

"Ah, youth," Delphis said.

"Indeed," Kallato said. He shifted in his chair. "Alright, strikers, listen up!"

Delphis tuned out the sergeant's pre-battle speech to his men to survey the space station in his HUD. The plan was simple; using the equipment they secured from the Witchmaster they would locate the space god and place dimensional reverb field generators around the space god's location. Once this was completed, Delphis would smuggle The Package into the space god's hideout. The Package was the only piece of hardware that they believed would have any effect-a high yield antimatter charge.

Normally no amount of firepower could even remotely hope to hurt a space god. However, dimensional reverb generators would ensure that the blast energy would be contained and magnified all out of proportion, utterly annihilating anything within the blast effect, and hopefully disperse the space god.

This was the only method that could stand a chance of defeating a space god other than annihilating the entire station, but it was risky. Delphis hoped he had made the best decision in arguing to do it this way.

"We have a giant ship entering the system," the pilot called back. "Looks like one of those enormous alien ships."

"Let us hope that they know not to mess with the Ubercept," Sergeant Kallato said. "For their sake."

* * *

"What is the situation?" Admiral Shlimazel demanded as he gained his chair.

"Sir, the Corebeam Sytem has not yet exited the hyperspace tunnel. It has such enormous dimensional mass that it is taking it some time to leave the tunnel," the Science Officer reported. "It cannot fire until it exits the tunnel, however."

"What a stroke of good fortune," Shlimazel mused. "So, what are our options?"

"I'm afraid that we only have one real option at this point, sir," the Science Officer said. "We must close the tunnel from our end and seal them out, to prevent them from arriving. This should destabalize the tunnel and cause an implosion which will de-exist the System."

"Hrrmmm," Admiral Shlimazel said. "Formulate a plan for doing this. We will need it immediately, so don't take too much time!"

"Sir!"

As the Science Officer directed his crew to action, Shlimazel sat tensely. He could only hope that they were able to close the tunnel in time.

* * *

"I think he's crazy," Vans said.

"Not so loud!" Derson said sharply as he made adjustments to his suit. The two mercenaries were in an appartment they rented. They were originally only stopping through on their way to Tichel, but when they discovered how good the money was here they were enticed to stay and ply their trade.

Now they were working for an enigmatic figure in all white, who had contracted them to take out a problematic alien and was paying them in solid platinum. But they had failed in their first attempt to take out the alien, and their employer had gone beserk on them.

"It wasn't our fault, can't he see?" Vans went on, running preflight checks on her jets. "If not for that robot, we'd have had that bug!"

"Look, you know how observant he is," Derson said. "He sees everything, hears everything. Just... Let's not talk about it, Vans."

"Don't be stupid-" Vans began. She was interrupted by a knock at the apartment door. They looked at each other.

"You get it, I'll secure our gear," Derson said.

"Gallant," Vans snapped, heading for the door. She took a deep breath, counted to three, placed her hand on her sidearm, and opened the door.

"Hello, Vans." her employer said, red eyes glowing. She gulped, backing up. "Hey Derson, it's the boss!" she yelled.

"So, uh.." she said, hoping and praying that Derson was wrong, "What do you need?"

"Just the sort of thing a crazy man might," the boss said demurely. Derson, just walking into the room, shot Vans a despairing look.

"Uh, about that job-" Derson began.

"Yes, about that," the boss said. He adjusted the white rose in his top buttonhole. "I have come to the conclusion that-"

An alarm went off nearby. The security signal intercepter that Vans had rigged blared out a call for riot-equipped security officers to a shootout between an alien strike team and local security forces.

"On second thought," the boss said. "Go take care of those aliens. The target should be among them."

"Sure thing, Boss!" Vans said quickly. She grabbed Derson. "We'll be there in no time at all!"

* * *

This was not working out optimally.

"Have your people put their weapons on stun!" Delphis yelled to Sergeant Kallato. "These people are being controlled mentally!"

"I can handle this, I think, FCS!" Kallato barked as he blasted a group of security personnel apart with a half power burst.

"Remember that this is my operation, and we're handling this my way!" Delphis clacked. "DO IT!"

"Fine! Fine! We will stun all the little sides of meat and put them aside for munchies later!" Kallato growled. He keyed his helmet comm. "New orders from the phis-brain...."

Delphis boiled at Kallato's obstinance, but set it aside. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now.

The Deathstrikers had encountered no trouble at first, but then they had come under attack by a group of security personnel just as they neared the location to set the first generator. They were forced to fight their way through-not that that this distressed them at all.

Delphis felt awkward in the power armor. It had been decades since he wore a suit last, since he hardly ever had to wear a powered suit in his line of duty, and although his training came back to him quickly he was still somewhat disoriented by helmet HUD, and the augmentations to his strength and speed unbalanced him. But the blaster bolts bouncing off of the massive, armored frame of the powered armor made the awkwardness worthwhile.

"Flier incoming!" one of the Deathstrikers yelled over the unit comm. Delphis looked up, and recognized the flashy red power armor that had helped to injure him so badly.

"Stay away from the humans in power armor! They are mine!" he growled. He vaulted over his cover and bounded forwards to exact a measure of vengeance.

[JoshTigerheart]

"Fried Eggs, Sunny-side Down"

Fen'Durshk
Adek Loral
Vella Olaralo
House Vella Territory

"This is the Fen'Durshk, requesting permission to land."

Silence.

"Repeat, this is the Fen'Durshk, requesting permission to land at the spaceport."

Still nothing.

"Strange," Korc'Helgen, captain of the Fen'Durshk, mused "not even a return signal."

"Maybe they're having communication troubles?" his first mate suggested.

"The whole planet?" Korc asked, "I doubt it. Something has to be wrong. Take her in."

"But sir, we don't have permission yet!"

Korc sighed, "I know. Hopefully they won't toss us to the warriors over it, but it doesn't look like we're getting any sort of response. I want to see what's going on. Plus, we're on a time critical delivery here."

Without word, the pilot set course for the spaceport. The Argosy slowly cruised through the atmosphere as it made its way. Adek Loral had only one public spaceport and the lack of traffic to and from it was unsettling. Korc thought he spied wreckage below him, but he couldn't identify it and it really could have been anything. After all, Auroran worlds weren't known for their cleanliness. What concerned him, however, was the stillness of the spaceport as they neared. They didn't even get any sort of signal in relation to their approach.

"Is the place deserted?" one of the crew mused.

"Land it, if something is wrong we need to find out so we can let the rest of Vella... What happened here?"

The crew went silent as they got near enough to see that the spaceport had, indeed, been attacked. Bodies, many of which were warriors, lay scattered about. The Fen'Durshk slid through the air as it found an empty landing pad and made its way to it. The craft descended and touched down neatly. Immediately afterwards, a ramp extended from the bottom and the crew, led by the captain, cautiously stepped down, armed with the weapons they had on board. Even with those, however, they looked more frightened than menacing.

The scoured the place, trying to find out what had happened. Everywhere people laid dead, many with strange burns that had blue veins extending from the fatal injuries. There was no sign of heavier weapons used. Aside from the wreckage of some vessels that looked as though they had been shot down and had crashed into the structures of the spaceport, there was no damage, just dead bodies. It was as though someone had landed and just decided to kill everyone. It looked as if there were no survi...

Korc nearly jumped as he heard a moan of pain break the silence. He spun around to find a warrior leaned against the wall, struggling to stay alive. Any warrior from another part of the galaxy would have long since gave out, but, living up to the Auroran's reputation, this man clung to life. Immediately Korc and his crew rushed over to help him.

"Are you alright?" Korc asked as he knelt next to the man, "What happened?"

One of the warrior's eyes slowly opened and searched for a moment before it found him, "We were... attacked by men we have... never seen before. There was only a few... but they wielded power unlike... we had... ever seen... and slaughtered us..."

"Do you know who?"

"No..."

"Get this man some medical treatment now!"

"No... I have fought and I... have failed alongside... so many against so few.... Our failure is a shame... I cannot live with.... My only... redemption... is that I held on long... enough to tell... you so... that you... can tell... everyone else... Now... let... me... rest..."

"Rest well, warrior," Korc told him solemnly, "Back to the ship, we have a message to send."


Classified
Classified
Classified

Admiral Samir Stukov listened to Rand's report with great pleasure. It seemed Proverb was far more successful than he could have ever imagined. A whole spaceport of Aurorans slain with a small team of men who can back without even a mere injury. Now it was time to act, time to do as he had planned all along.

"Those under you have done well, my apprentice," Samir started, "I am very pleased with both them and your own work. You deserve a rich reward for what you have accomplished, but we have yet to achieve what you deserve. The difficult portion of our work is now over, soon we shall both reap our prize. All we have to do is go out and claim it."

"What would you have me do, master?" Rand asked.

"Now that we know Proverb is a resounding success, it's time to use it. We will increase production and start deployment immediately. If you so wish, you do not even have to go with them, but can instead watch was what we have worked for will become ours. I can assure you, this day marks the beginning of the Bureau's dominance. Our enemies will submit to our rule or be crushed utterly beneath our heel. And that, my apprentice, is just our beginning. All you need to do is to go give my order."

"Yes, my master," Rand replied, before standing and going to go fulfill his master's commands.

Samir removed a small device from his drawer. It looked like a sort of modified communicator. He pressed the buttons on it in a certain, lengthy order. The middle then split open, revealing a key slot. Samir removed the required tool, inserted it, and twisted. The device beeped once, causing the Admiral to toss the device across the room. It beeped twice more and then exploded.

"Akasi," Samir muttered aloud to himself, "If it were not for your help I would not be this far yet. As I planned to do, I must thank you for that. I only hope you enjoy my gift as much as I have enjoyed yours."

[Malygos]

On the Flight Deck of the Second Chance
En-route to Colloseum Station

Mentu's back, hard at work, going through the guts of his ship. The good news was his ship wasn't totally scrapped. An intial diagnostic scan did was worse then worthless, as the diagnostic computer wouldn't get a signal through to the components. He went out to the repair deck, over to the supply counter, and managed to convince them to let him borrow a portable power generator, a hand held monitor, and a keyboard. Going back to his ship, he disconnects the computer core from the ship, plugs the power supply, keyboard and monitor into it, using cables from the supply counter, and it fires up right away. He begins repeating the on the life support, turrets, and the bridge controls, with the same results. It seems that something knocked out all the cables in his ship, which was good and bad. It meant that no, he didn't have to go out and buy all new parts for his ship, but he had to go and get new cabling to run through his ship.

"Son of a..."

"Am I interrupting something?" Mazeroth calls, from the hatch of the Peacemaker.

"Just a random EM pulse that fried my cables. Fortuenatly everything else was shielded more than enough."

"Not quite so random." Mazeroth replies, with a chuckle. "The system we found you in was planted with an EM generator that sends a pulse out through the system."

"Why?"

"Makes combat more challenging. Most ships' cabling is protected enough that the pulse just causes a slowing in the ship's response. Yours may not have been up to our specs, causing the short."

"Good defense," Mentu' mutters. "So what can I do for you?"

"Well, I have good news and bad." Mazeroth starts. "Bad news is, your bill." He hands over a paper, "Towing fee is 500 for Colloseum fighters, and small ships. 1000 for non Colloseum fighters, 2000 for Medium Ships, and for Large or Unique 5000. Yours is unique so 5000, also there's the matter of your docking birth on the station. Most people don't have to worry about it simply because they already have one. You however obviously don't so he went ahead and got one for you, paid the down payment, and first months rent, which comes out to being 50,000. We also went and paid for a bunch of wiring and spare parts to be brought to your bay, which was about 5,000."

"Jettison me into space now," Mentu says collapsing into a chair.

"Hey, remember there is good news to," Mazeroth starts. "I'm willing to waive the entire thing. And then some."

"And you want my ship in return?"

"No. You put a lot of hard work into that ship. That ship represents your heart and soul. It gives you a goal. I'd much rather use that drive and determination." Mazeroth pauses, "I'll get you lined up with a decent paying job, if you succeed, a ship that you can use while fixing up yours. All I'm going to want is a thousand per job you complete, and, should I need it, you to run any errands I may need. If your otherwise engaged, I'll let you finish and then do mine. And I shouldn't think it would be often that I'd need you, but just in case."

"How long?"

"Well that would depend on you." Mazeroth says, sitting across from him. "What I'm thinking is as long as you need the ship that I'd lend you. Wether it be till you got another ship that you could use, or till your ship is fixed, is up to you." He interlaces his fingers. "Of course i'd still ask you to lend me a hand, but I'd offer to pay and you could refuse."

"Seems that I really don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Well there's always a nice spacious place you could go that you might get a little lonely in. And you might find someone to pick you up." Mazeroth says, standing.

"Your paying for the parts in the bay already, right, and I have to pay for the rest?" Mentu' asks, shaking his head.

"Exactly."

"Let's see this ship, and tell me about this job," Mentu' says rising.

"Excellent. First let me tell you that while I don't like arm twisting like that, if I think it's required to get specific results, I'll do it. Most likely I wouldn't have dropped you into space," Mazeroth starts, heading out of the Peacemaker. "However I would have your ship impounded, and you'd be working for a boss you really don't want to, till you get me paid off."

"Do I want to know who?"

"Let's just say, you'd be working for the bartender, who can be, shall we say, a little cryptic." Mazeroth continues, with a chuckle, "You'll meet him soon enough. But the nature of your job is to compete in the Colloseum combat challenges, taking on opponents, defeating them, and moving up in the rankings."

"What kind of combat is it?"

"Star fighter of course. That will be your ship." Mazeroth says pointing to the back of the bay were an old beaten fighter sits. Covered in rust, this decaying fighter is on it's last legs. Most of the armor needs replaced, some sections look entirely blown off. "It doesn't look like much, but this old Coyote can be gotten up and running. It just needs a little tender love and care."

"And a massive overhaul. Entire sheets need replaced. This'll take me weeks to get up to speed, and find parts. Of course that's assuming if I don't end up destroyed after the first couple battles."

"Well you have a choice. We'd fund the money to get you a new and better one, but then you'd have to pay it back. Or you can pick through our salvage yard, and find what you need and that'll be that."

"Can I say decide after a good once over of the fighter?"

"But of course," Mazeroth says, gesturing towards the fighter. "I'll leave you two a little time to get familiar with each other."

"Thanks so much," Mentu' mutters, walking over towards the maintenance desk. "I don't suppose you can shield this section off from the rest of the ship?"

"That can be arranged," Mazeroth replies, heading off towards the bridge. "May I ask why."

"Wouldn't want to blow a hole in your ship, while I try powering things up." he grabs a set of tools and heads back to the fighter.

"No, we wouldn't. Fortunately, we are prepared for that." Mazeroth says, slapping the wall on his way out. Instantly, blue force fields jump into place sealing the fighter, and Mentu' along with it, off from the rest of the ship. "Holler if you want out," he finishes, walking out.

[Shlimazel]

"You again," the armored human taunted. "I guess you just can't stay away from me, can you?"

Delphis didn't deign to respond, instead levelling his arm-gun and unleashing a full power blast. The incandescent bolt carved a blazing trail through the air before blasting just past the human, who managed to dodge.

The human returned fire with a rolling burst of automatic cannon fire, strafing Delphis from above. Delphis didn't even bother dodging, letting the Deathstriker armor deflect the solid kinetic rounds. He dropped into a crouch, tensed himself, and leaped into the air.

The human barely had time to blurt a curse before Delphis's armored, nearly half-ton frame smashed into it and brought it down. They smashed to the decking like the swinging hammer of a god. The human's armor cracked and splintered.

Delphis lifted his fist to finish the human off-

-a grey, armored fist clamped around his wrist.

Delphis grunted with surprise as he was flung from the deck, crashing to the ground at the other end of the corridor. He pulled himself up out of the dent his armored body had smashed in the deck and adjusted his helmet. Delphis checked his weaponry and headed back into the fight.

---

Vans gasped for breath, her whole front a red mass of blinding pain. Every convulsive breath grated broken, cracked, and snapped ribs against the warped front of her armor. She saw Derson leaning over her and she thought she heard him speak, but she was too busy dying to listen.

Then she saw a terrible darkness, and she knew-

---

"Come on, Vans, stay with me," Derson said tensely as he punched the painkiller button on her armor. "Gotta keep it together, it's not too much, we can handle this-"

There was blood running from the fractures and cracks in her power armor. She was uttering an inchorent whine that set Derson's teeth on edge.

Then she slumped to the ground, limp.

Derson cursed bitterly. Standing, he turned to face the armored alien.

"Let's do it," he snarled.

---

Delphis heard the bulkily armored human say something, but he couldn't tell what it was. Levelling his arm-gun, Delphis opened fire. The human brought up an energy field and deflected the blast away, rocked back onto his heels by the force of the impact.

The human returned fire with a pair of high yield missiles. Dephis gunned one out of the air, but the other was too close, too fast-

So he slapped it aside with an open palm strike.

The missile, deflected from its path, blazed past Delphis and blasted apart the wall of the corridor. A fire erupted in the walls. Alarms went off and sprinklers turned on.

The two combatants faced one another. Then, as if by unconscious, mutual consent, they plunged into close combat.

---

"I have a plan," the Science Officer told Admiral Shlimazel. "I think I have a way to close the tunnel before the Corebeam System exits. Using our jump systems, it should be possible to short circuit the hyperspace tunnel. But we can't do it alone. We need to get our allies to assist."

"Send the specifics to the Comms officer. Comms, contact the Comandarian-ah, the Commandarian commander, and Captain Maylithiar. We'll need to co-ordinate our strategy."

Shlimazel leaned forward as his officers acknowledged him. He could only hope they were in time to prevent ultimate destruction.

[fishloaf]

Fresh ice clattered into a shot glass, only to erode as a flood of scumble seared over it with an evil hiss. No sooner than the glass had recieved its deadly payload, Kingfisher gulped it down with another chorus of--

"That did not just happen." he was getting hoarse.

Evergreen, the designated driver, morosely watched a ginger ale fizz into being at his request.

"Uncle Olaf is gonna kill us, you know that? He will peel our hides and make us into a rug."

The two men were dressed in garish t-shirts and gym shorts, the kind of leftover clothes you banish to the depths of the bunk dresser in your flightless, half-assembled project ship languishing in storage. Their decorum wasn't making the cover of GQ anytime soon, but it was a step up from when their escape pod crash-landed this morning, forcing the recently hijacked siblings to greet rescue crews while wearing a potato sack, a tied off curtain, and matching frowns.

"I can't believe I--" Kingfisher began again before shaking his head.

"Go on, keep proclaiming your denial." Evergreen goaded. "The fairy godmother is bound to make it come true any minute now. We'll be back on the ship, you'll recognize that any woman who falls for the line 'I'm no Fred Flintstone, but I can make your Bedrock' is playing you, and we won't have to go through any of that rigamarole."

"Will you keep your voice down?" Kingfisher hissed.

Evergreen rolled his eyes; Even if they had snuck out of the hospital before their post-adventure medical examination was formally 'complete,' it was unlikely to ever catch up with them in a place like this. "Pff, nobody cares. 'Hey Kingfisher, let's knock over the Tichel Reserve tomorrow'." Evergreen demonstrated loudly.

"_{Hit the Port Authority instead! More liquid funds!}" Someone chimed in helpfully.

"No, shut up; I'm trying to watch the holovision." Kingfisher gestured intently toward the blurry set, its picture forever marred after a speculator with a blaster got upset over the unusually high price of stuffed Knup-Knups on Altia in the Altair system. Evergreen followed his gaze and went stone cold...

"--while we take a closer look at the pirate ship that made has once again made history; The Unrelenting."


Tick-tick-tick-tick--!

"It has been called 'Succubus', 'Old Overkill', 'The Gale', 'Jaws', 'Money Pit', 'Sixpack', 'Bad News', 'Scary Mary', 'Black Queen', 'Glory Hole', 'Ammo Dump', 'The Viper Nest', 'Hungry Hippo', 'Project Car', 'Ball and Chain', 'Dragon's Breath', and 'Rusty'.

It is perhaps best known as the Unrelenting



"It is a name every freighter captain in the galactic North has heard, a testment to the power and ruthlessness of the galaxy's outlaws and a de facto symbol of dominance over the independent worlds of the North. It has scars older than most of its crew, having been been handed down between generations, hijacked and comandeered time and again. While it has been used for good on occasion, it would be a mistake to buy into popular cultures's romaniticized depiction of this vessel's heritage as dashing rogueishness. The men and motives behind its fleeting heroics are long gone, and the Unrelenting has slaughtered far more innocents than it will ever help. Far from bringing out the best in reluctant, square-jawed captains like certain holofilms might suggest, the vessel is often likened to a succubus for the way it tends to bewitch its masters with tyrannical pride and megalomania."

"No one knows where exactly the Unrelenting began life, but historians believe it was crafted to serve as an aritifical base in response to a Federation Navy crackdown on planetary strongholds, and most credit the shipwright Hrunyir Greyshoulders with its design. Despite its destructive capabilities and imposing design, the Unrelenting's original capacity was as a mobile service garage for an altruistic smuggling union founded by its first owner. Following its untimely destruction in an ambush, the Unrelenting was salvaged and rebuilt into its most famous configuration, a roaming slaughterhouse. It went on to achieve notoriety for feats such as singlehandedly overthrowing the corrupt outgrowth of its former syndicate, and less honorably, for when it subjugated the remote ice world of Vrenna and claimed the planet's entire treasury of sixteen million credits as tribute."



"Although the vessel has been reverse-engineered numerous times and spawned a generation of imitator designs collectively known as the "pirate carriers", none of these successors have ever quite matched the original's operating capabilities: The Unrelenting is known to have a private arsenal of nuclear weapons and estimates of its fighter compliment and artillery strength range from conservative to outrageous. It also boasts an unheard of three hot fission reactors to power its reheating ion-turbine engine stacks and GigaWatt class shielding. Aside from its nuclear weaponry, the Unrelenting deploys a multitude of guided missiles, and on more than one occasion has filled the battlespace with so many radar contacts that enemy tracking systems cease to function porperly. The ship is not thought to carry cloaking technology, but the occasional sensor log recovered from one of its victims will suggest the contrary."

"In seventeen major engagements and countless duels, the Unrelenting has only suffered anything resembling defeat once, after fighting a Federation Navy task force to a standstill. Thankfully, most of its captains have been content to remain out of sight, skimming off the independent worlds of the North but stopping just short of our borders, a shaky peace the Navy has been glad to accept."

As many of you know, all that changed two days ago when a cryptic video recording surfaced where a woman identifying herself as the 'Queen of Larceny' threatened to, quote, "steal Spacedock IV."

Few took it seriously...until a vessel matching the Unrelenting's description was spotted in the Nesre Primus system, and contrary to all precedent, turned on Navy interceptors and attacked with unbridled fury. It then violated Spacedock IV's no-fly-zone and proceeded to disable the station with several nuclear devices, leaving the installation adrift and without power. What happened next defies comprehension: the vessel reportedly pushed the station through the Primus hypergate and vanished without a trace. The station's whereabouts remain unknown.

A Federation Navy spokesperson gave comments on condition of anonymity. Naturally, there were limits to what he was able to share:

"Mr. [bleep], what are the Federation Navy's feelings about this situation?"

"Concern."

"'Concern', I see. And to the best of your knowledge, what is the Navy's next course of action in response to the brazen theft of this vital installation?"

"Retrieve it."

"What do you think has caused this sudden shift in outlaw activity from one of elusion to open confrontation? Could there have been some subtle shift in the power structure that suddenly put a different individual in control and if so, how would you characterize this individual as?"

"Agressive."

"While this insight provide a fleeting glimpse into the official reaction to this incident, the real question remains unanswered...are we safe?"

"Bad-ass!" someone exulted in the silence.

By the end, the two brothers gaped side by side while the holovision, content to have delivered its conversation bomb, spewed out a booming cacophony of advertisement. The ship, their family legacy, was being joyridden like some stolen Buick!

"...do you have any idea what that must have done to the paint job?" Kingfisher whimpered while a holographic soccer mom on the set presented the solution to that pesky 'no so fresh feeling.'

"More importantly, do you have any dea why we ordered drinks without our wallets?" Evergreen asked drearily, retracting his hand from an empty shorts pocket while expectant bartender-bot laid down a bill. Kingfisher looked at it, took a moment to count his collection of empty glasses, looked at the bill again, and facepalmed. Half-Price Happy Hour had ended five minutes before their arrival

The next commercial was cryptic ad for some new perscription drug (ask your doctor if Omnilax™ is right for YOU). While a very relieved looking actor on the commercial gave a carefree thumbs-up, Kingfisher and Evergreen waited for the bartender-bot to look away and then bolted.

This post has been edited by fishloaf: May 23 2009, 02:48 PM

[dsaf]

Already, Bastion's flight deck had been cleared of its Auroran weapons, repaired, and populated with several copies each of two Thunderhead variants. One, from above, looked like a normal Thunderhead but had four engine-Lance assemblies instead of two, and the second had six of said assemblies with the dorsal and ventral four mounted on small pylons to clear the forward weapon canards.

"Hey, looks like the Feds're making a statement on your little attack."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Hyper News Net drug up some Admiral who's prolly been desk-ridden for decades to do so."

* * *

"Several hours ago, a pirate force of unprecedented strength attacked the South Manchester system. It is currently unknown what their motives are as they did not attack any civilian ships nor did they board, capture, or destroy any of the ships they disabled. They are to be considered extremely dangerous as they are in possession of Polaris vessels and illegal EMP weaponry, which claimed the lives of several of our brave pilots who were defending their home ships. It is also unknown if this attack has anything to do with the recent abduction of Spaceport IV by the Unrelenting..."

* * *

Back on Naxos...

"Yeah, right," Torbin muttered. "Those pilots were probably glory hounds that got too close."

"Everyone knows that it's the Feds that use EMP weapons," Kala added.

"While that's true, the Unrelenting also has EMP weaponry. It's not such a stretch to believe them," Merin said.

"Anyone find it a coincidence that they've put very nice bounties on them?" Torbin asked.

"Nope," Garreth replied. "The Feds're still reeling from the beating they took at Sol and they don't expect to pay up when all's said and done."

* * *

"I've gotta go," Asarta said.

"What, find that spaceport?"

"Yeah."

"Don't bother, I can just hire Tirith's repossession services again. The bounty on the Unrelenting'll cover the repossession cost and more."

"You should wait a week or so. Oh and you don't own it. Wait, again?"

"Yeah, how do you think I got Omega?"

"You built it."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't normally keep it. The commissioner couldn't pay for it."

"So what did Tirith use?"

"A trio of Typhons, why? And why should I wait?"

"You've obviously have never seen an EMPed Commonwealth Star Carrier. He'll be using either Alliances or Executors next week."

"Hmm, speaking of next week, I should add several more wings of Thunderheads to the fleet."

"Why?"

"You haven't seen the bounty on them?"

"No." Then, "Wow, that's gonna bankrupt them."

"Yeah."

[Shlimazel]

The fight erupted.

Delphis towered near the eight foot mark inside his power armor, and approached half a ton in weight. The human, even in its massive suit of power armor, was nowhere near that heavy or tall. But it fought like it was the reincarnation of Mazel, making every blow count and dodging in ways that shouldn't be possible.

Delphis and the human brawled across the decking, landing smashing blows that cracked armor and shattered systems. Delphis grunted as a steelshod fist slammed into his gut, awakening an injury from the last time these humans had beat him up. Suddenly he chirred, filled with hate and wrath. His vision went blue.

Delphis roared. The human staggered back, stunned by the force of sound, and Delphis charged.

Delphis lashed out with blinding speed and extended his claws. They punched through the armor and seated in flesh. With a buzz, Delphis yanked the bladed claws back out, leaving a trail of blood in the air. The human staggered and counter attacked with an autocannon blast. Delphis shrugged it off, reached forward, and punched his claws into the human again. It uttered a choking noise.

This time, he didn't pull them out. He lifted the human off the deck and opened his mandible covers. His mandibles flexed and moved from the helmet slightly. The human lashed out and smashed him in the head. He staggered back slightly, then he jerked his head forward and bit off the human's head, helmet and all, and ate it.

He swallowed it down, muscular action crushing the head to a paste, and then distainfully shook the corpse off his claws.. His blood was beginning to cool again, and his head was clearing. He closed his helmet as he walked away.

Vengeance, he thought. At last.
---

"Are the generators placed?" Sergeant Kallatos chirred as he picked up a human and pitched it away.

"We have one more to lay, sir," the Deathstriker replied.

"Work faster!" Kallatos ordered, stunning a security guard with a shot from his rifle while knocking one unconscious with his other fist. "Or we'll just have to start killing these animals!"

Just then, Delphis erupted from the swarming mass of hypnotized human guards like a fish from water. He smashed down inside the Ubercept perimeter.

"What is the situation?" he asked, dusting himself off.

"Almost done with the generators," Kallatos replied. "Soon, it will-"

"Done, sir," the Deathstriker said, stepping away from the generator.

"Understood," Delphis said. "Sergeant, you and your Deathstrikers will need to keep these humans from disabling the generators."

"Very well," Kallatos said. The towering Ubercept, eight feet and a half outside of his armor and nine within, turned to regard Delphis.

"Good luck, FCS," Kallatos said, aware of the danger that Delphis was going to confront, and feeling only envy...

...and maybe a little awe.

"You too, Sergeant." Delphis said.

Delphis turned, and went to confront a god.

---

It was dank in the service duct, and brown with rust. He barely fit inside. He has left his other weapons with the Deathstrikers, preferring to rely on the trusty pistol he had used for decades, and had stripped to his under armor so he could fit in the duct.

Delphis pushed the antimatter charge ahead of him. By using the Great Death's scanners, they had managed to piece together a picture of where the god might be on the station. Delphis was headed into the center of the god's dwelling in the station.

He came to the exit, He opened it carefully, grabbed the charge, and dropped through.

The fall wasn't far, only thirty or so feet. Delphis landed on his feet, surveying the area. He thought he heard whispers, but then he realized it was just an attempt to psyche him out. He continued.

He headed down the corridor, hefting the antimatter charge over his shoulder.

He could see a shadowy webbing covering the walls. He ignored it, until it began to pool on the corridor ahead of him.

Suddenly, he saw the impossible. "Vassa?" he said incredulously.

"Yes, it is me," she said, stepping forwards. The webbing moved with her. Delphis shook his head pityingly; the space god was unused to dealing with Ubercept if it thought these third rate magic tricks would make him pause.

"Begone, phantom!" he said, striding forward. "I have better things to do than marvel at your sinister menace!"

Vassa faded away. For a moment, he walked in total silence.

Then he heard an aweful cry, and saw a terrible thing surging towards him.

Delphis readied himself for a fight.

This post has been edited by Shlimazel: Jun 3 2009, 12:18 PM

[Shlimazel]

He could barely see the thing, since his third eye was still blinded. He saw flashing unwebs, a sudden tooth, a glittering claw. A menace with a scream like the wind howling through a black rock canyon. A flash showing a figure unfolding multiple bladed limbs like a unfurling white rose.

It hit him like a freight train. He lost his grip on the bomb and was carried backwards to smash against the bulkhead. He grunted as he slammed into the wall, crunching a dent into the wall.

He grappeled furiously with the thing, barely able to see it. The limbs flashed and whirred in and out of his sight-range unpredicably. He lashed out and strove to counterattack. He found a limb within his grasp and grabbed it, spinning the creature furiously and slamming it into the wall, then whipping around to smash it again. It worked its way loose and lashed him with a chain-necklace of buzzsaw blades that tore his armor open and ripped an ugly gash in his exoskeleton.

Blow and counterblow, strike and counterstrike, all too fast for a human to observe. Delphis resembled a lawnmower, hewing and slashing with a furious frenzy of violence, his every movement a blur.

The creature was winning by dint of his not being able to get a good aim at it. He was gouged and cut all over. Liquid leaked slowly from slashes in his armor and darker liquid came from his exoskeleton.

Methodically, mechanically, he moved a step forward. And another. And another. An implaceable advancing wall of slashing blades and hewing claws, he forced the creature back, gradually at first, then faster. And faster. He strode forward, ignoring injury.

Until he had it inside the airlock he had spied at the beginning of the fight.

Moving fast, he forced it inside the lock and slammed the control. It didn't close-his hand was the wrong shape.

"Come on!" he snarled "Come ON!"

Finally he got it. The hatch began to close. The creature uttered a horrible sound and attempted to pull itself back out.

Delphis slammed against it. The hatch began to grind as it closed on the creature, still trying to escape. They went back and forth, shaking violently with the effort, before, with a mighty roar, Delphis managed to force the creature back inside.

Delphis staggered back as the hatch slammed shut. His hearts pounded.

Still shaking, he slammed the control to vent the airlock. There was a brief whoosh, then it was done. The machinery sedately reset itself with mechanical clicks.

Delphis walked over and retrieved the bomb. He could tell he was significantly injured, but he would recover. The shaking had stopped already. He had never had a fight like that before. It was...invigorating.

Picking up the pace, he strode into the heart of the darkness.

...

Segeant Kallatos's position was being overrun.

"Keep them back!" he roared as he picked up a double handful of humans and threw them bodily, before lifting his arms and stunning a swatch of them. "We cannot let these vermin accomplish their task!"

The air temperature took a sudden nosedive. Kallatos frowned.

A wave of... somethings, was approaching through the human's massed ranks. They could barely be seen, but he got an impression of flashing claws...

Sergeant Kallatos dialed up his guns to full power. "Deathstrikers, stand and deliver!" he snarled.

The fate of the station, and perhaps the galaxy itself, rested on their shoulders.

And they would not falter.

[Capt. Radio Will...]

A Starbridge flew through space. It was bright and shiny. But it blew up because it rammed into an asteroid.

[Capt. Radio Will...]

On a Auroran Planet, a child was born. The parents decided to name their child "Bob". They were ridiculed because "Bob" is a Federation name. Later, they were accused of being spies, and were jettisoned out into the depths of space.

[NTiOzymandias]

OOC: I like this thread. It's exciting!

By the way, this collaborative post is a bit overdue. Passing the baton back to Syn next... Anyone remember either of us? >_>

--------------------

"How's this look?"

The scammer shifted slightly, his scowl fluctuating. He held the fake ID at arm's length and compared it to Morvas' bizarre outfit. "Like you crawled out of the corpse of a failed toll booth operator. Doesn't matter though; it'll get you in."

Which it did. Morvas noted as he approached the bar that the bouncers were completely dwarfed by the bartender. "Who the hell are you?" the man-mountain snarled, fixing Morvas with glares from both beady eyes and polished scalp.

"The Masked Marauder." His companion said this without irony, but Morvas laughed aloud. Mt. Bartender interrupted him.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"... I dunno," Morvas said, looking suddenly ashamed.

"Well if you're a hero, you can have a hero's drink." He shuffled off to the next customer, leaving Morvas with a small wooden mug of what could only be scumble. Someone nearby hollered: "It's brandy, you ######! A hero drinks brandy!"

The scammer mingled with the crowd, seeking out whatever business he refused to talk about. Morvas stared hesitantly at the bubbling green liquid before sipping it experimentally; it went down with surprising ease. The third sip found the scammer back at his side. "My usual contacts aren't around, so this might not end well. Be prepared to take cover."

"Sounds fun. For a costume party," grinned Morvas.

"Costume--!?" His scowl changed to sheer incredulity. "What, are you dense? Are you retarded or something?"

"... So, this is some kinda supervillains' bar, then."

"Indeed," said his friend. "Heroes, actually. Not that that makes you any safer whatsoever."

"And all of 'em 're superheroes? What about them two normal dudes over there?"

"Even them. The one on the left is actually a time-traveling rabbit, and the other is a giant bat."

"Oh." He paused to let this sink in, but instead it rolled off the alcohol-saturated feathers of his mind and plunked into an endless sea of meaningless noise and natter. "...And her?"

The scammer narrowed his eyes in the direction Morvas indicated, and leaned closer to the bar. "Okay. She's not exactly a superhero. She does have powers and a double identity; I followed her once and found out. But as it turns out, like a lot of the other regulars, she's not so much a superhero as a super alcoholic. During the day she visits normal bars and drinks in plain clothes, and then she changes and comes here and continues drinking."

Morvas was already on his way to talk to her, ignoring his friend's exclamations of Wait, don't! Her dark hair almost shimmered in the light as he approached. "Hey baby," he said, tapping her upper arm. "What's your secret identity?"

--------------------

Morvas Naant woke up, and saw a ceiling.

It spun out of his view, and a bright light forced him to close his eyes. He could feel that his arms and legs were pulled taut in a spreadeagle position, and that he was in motion; probably the gentle stride of a hovercraft. A distant voice requested over the intercom that Dr. Pifkin give up on "shore leave" and just return to the clinic already; an involuntary breath earned Morvas a whiff of sterile air and hints of medicine.

And so it seemed he was back in the hospital, prompting the comment "Oh no, not again." (In his half-conscious state he pronounced this as "aauuaahhrruuunghgn.")

An expertly aimed bedpan immediately bounced off the ceiling and smacked him in the face. "Ow, whadda hell wa' that for?" Morvas managed over his swollen tongue, praying the steel dish had been recently cleaned.

"You sounded like you were having trouble dying," said a dry voice that sounded almost but not quite disturbingly familiar. "Thought I might help."

"Ve vill khaf none of zat, Devushka," scolded a nurse as she freed Morvas's face from the iron grip of the bedpan.

"Then move him," his new roommate snapped. "I heal faster when it's silent."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too," Morvas contributed. "How bout you try wearing that bedpan for your own damn hat and see if you still hear me. I'll wait." At this, the nurse removed the hover attachment, and Morvas' bed sank low enough that he could clearly see his new nemesis--a young woman, bruised and bandaged, with dark hair and purple eyes that practically glowed...

"--s###!"

"What?" said Larra, her eyes narrowing.

"...Uh, dunno. It kinda slipped out," Morvas managed. The purple eyes swung downwards. "Does it heal faster if you stare at it?"

Another glare. "You wanna die faster for not shutting up? I need to concentrate."

"They have camps for that."

Larra opened her mouth to retort, failed to think of anything remotely clever, and glowered at him instead. Morvas laughed in his moment of victory, until a pitcher floated off his bedside table and emptied itself in his eye.

The nurse sighed and muttered under her breath in harsh, angry tones as Morvas, hampered by a neck brace, squeezed his eyes shut and sputtered helplessly. Methodically, she began stripping off her gloves. Larra giggled in glee as an ice cube bounced off the pirate's nose.

SMACK!

Thanks to plenty of morphine, Larra didn't actually feel the latex slap across her face, but the sound was hard to miss. Shocked, she froze. The pitcher reuinited with gravity, and subsequently Morvas's forehead.

"PATIENT ABUSE!" The telepath howled, snapping back to reality when Morvas yelped in pain. "PATI-ARGGNBLGGHH!" She added, as the nurse shoved a towel in her open mouth in a self-satisfied manner.

"You see ve are pryesently out off towvels. My apologies." With that, the nurse turned stiffly away and stalked out of the room.

A temporary peace reigned while Morvas blinked back his vision and the Acaran tried to cough out every clingly cotton fuzzball. "Thank god, I thought she'd never leave," Larra rasped, shivering. Tired violet eyes found the thermostat on the wall, willing the dial up as far as it would go -- and higher.

"Hey what in the nine hells?" Morvas yelped. The heater here worked quickly, and it hadn't exactly been cool in the small room before. "What'd you do?!"

"The heater's not working," Larra informed him. "I just turned it up."

"I know an overtaxed vent heater when I smell it."

The Acaran grinned humorlessly. "What's that you say? 'I don't need my blankets anymore?'" She gave the slightest nod to the marauder's bed, which his blankets abandoned in favor of her own.

"HEY!" He jammed his thumb a few times on the "call nurse" button.

"Much better," Larra muttered, attempting to cocoon herself in synthwool.

"Yeah, or no, not really. This is worse. 'Cause my bed's on fire. It's also, well, it's on fire."

The sprinklers needed no further prompting; the entire room was doused at once. Larra made a sound like she'd swallowed a bee. "You idiot!" she yelped, making an umbrella shaped barrier above her bed even as the chill from the cold water seemed to seep through her skin. On second thought, she added one above Morvas's bed as well. To keep the fire going. "I hope you burn!"

"VE HALF OZZER PATIENCE, YOU KNOW!" The nurse practically broke down the door, with a faceful of strawberry wine for each of them. Instantly, their wounds began to evaporate. "Two off you, gyet out off khere. I nyever vant to see you again, even if I khaf to stay khere ant drink my sorrowce alone. Gootbye!"

Larra wasted no time lingering in bed, and ran out of the room on the nurse's heels. Morvas relaxed now that the fire was going out after all, and tried to ignore the brief sensation of his bones knitting at unreasonable speeds.

Moments later, he remembered he was still stuck in the casts, and sighed.

[Synesthesia]

OOC: What?! Syn is ALIVE?


Even half an hour after ditching the hospital, Larra still felt vaguely irritated. She’d returned home briefly, to the eerie but comforting solace of that silent world. A change of clothing and a shower later, the chill still lingered.

It made sense, the Acaran supposed. Half a bottle of strawberry wine had cured healed her body, but the aftershock of the battle still resonated deep within her soul. Spiritually, Larra remained completely drained.

Relin’s bond had been fully extinguished along with his life, but it’s sudden destruction had left behind a bizarre hollow sensation lingering in her chest, right behind that scar she knew would never heal. With the cacophony of voices always sounding in her head, Larra hadn’t believed it could be possible for her to feel such a thing. The barrier telepath wondered, distantly, if Relin had suffered in the same manner every time he killed.

And that damn Morvas guy just pissed her off for some reason.

Shivering a little, the dark haired woman wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck. Other people shot her odd looks as they passed, sleeveless and still too warm. Larra paid them no heed; she was cold. Time for a drink, she decided. To warm her up.

Pausing before the bar doors, the Acaran inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. How silly of her, to be moping over this battle. She would not face her friends without that fire in her eyes. Plastering a smirk on her lips and burning it into her gaze, Larra felt the chill ease off a little as she strode into the bar.

Only a few paces away, a black cat blocked her path. Larra waited, watching Demon with a steady expression even as a torrent of confused emotion from the shapeshifter nearly bowled her over.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asked softly.

“I...”

“You could’ve done it, anytime, easily!” The cat yelled suddenly. Demon had never been the type to suppress real anger. “I was fooling around here, having a good time, and you were out there, almost DYING! And I DIDN’T KNOW.”

Larra suppressed a sigh. She’d never seen such fury from him, but dealing with it suddenly seemed like such a burden. Still, when she spoke, it was with rare honesty. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Rage lifted the cat’s fur until it all stood on end, against her. “So what?!” he roared; such a booming sound coming from such a small body. Nearby voices slowly faded out. “I could’ve made a difference, even a small one!

Demon was pacing now. People who’d turned to watch recognized the pair and immediately turned away, but tension kept them from rekindling their conversations. “What if you died, and I didn’t even know...” the cat’s voice shrunk suddenly, only hurt in his eyes now. “Couldn’t even try to save you.”

“I’m...sorry,” Larra said softly, looking away. Past events hung between them now, so heavily they were almost tangible. The last time Lance had sent people after Larra, Demon’s near-death had allowed the fanatic’s plan to succeed. The Acaran didn’t want to put him through that pain again. The shapeshifter still felt unredeemed for his own powerlessness.

And so they stared at each other, wordlessly. Both fully aware of how the other felt, both at a loss of what to say. People would’ve evacuated nearby tables, had they not been afraid to move.

Demon broke the tension first, sparks flying from his claws as he raced out of the bar. Larra sighed, and left him to his space. Absently wrapping her hands in her scarf, the Acaran shot hideous violet glares and anyone who dared allow their curious gaze to linger upon her face.

A large mug of scumble already awaited her at the bar. The reaper knew his business. The telepath toasted no one, and down half.


----------

At first, Kel’arik didn’t pay much heed to the fact that his attractive young secretary was not at her post when he returned from lunch. He hoped she’d return soon, though. The day was shaping up to be a busy one: Ver’ash to meet with over the last weaponry developments. Tomorrow he’d discuss the same with politicians of higher influence. Young, intelligent, and ambitious, Kal’arik expected to be in their places soon.

When he pushed open the door to his private office, however, Kal’arik became slightly more concerned about his secretary. Tre’linda relaxed in his chair, long shapely legs stretched out before her has she rested her bare feet on his desk. His favorite secretary paid him little heed as she absently paged through classified files on his computer.

“I’ve returned,” Kel’arik informed her, uneasy. Did she always do this while he was away?

Delicately, Tre’linda lifted a large piece of pizza from the open box on her lap, losing a gunk of cheese over his keyboard, and took a monstrous bite. She offered him a tomato-sauce rimmed smile. “Of course sir, I noticed.” With that, her pretty eyes flicked back to his computer screen. “Have some pizza if you like, it’s very good. Intriguingly good, even. I wonder how they make the cheese so perfect.”

Maybe this wasn’t happening. The young politician narrows his eyes. Tre’linda had always been the model of a perfect secretary. He decided to allow himself to pretend things would go back to normal for just a little longer. “Has P’ilke stopped in yet?” he questioned. “We had a meeting scheduled for around now.”

“Ahh, yeah,” she gestured sloppily with yet another slice of pizza. Kel’arik’s eyes followed the motion around behind him to his favorite reading chair, cozily positioned in the back corner of the office, and felt something horrible lurch in his stomach. The engineer slouched against the high back, the six-and-a-half-inch heel of a red stiletto buried in his forehead. The pointed toe of the shoe stuck up above his head like a little horn.

Briefly, Kel’arik remembered the blaster in his desk, but it was too close to her. This could not be his sweet Tre’linda. Terror gave his feet wings and he bolted for the door, but suddenly it felt as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. Staggering, he glanced down. Oh, that was it. He had no lungs.

“Interesting...” Tre’linda blinked mascara-enhanced lashes as she watched the jerky way her boss’s body folded to the ground. “They usually don’t twitch like that.” Picking up yet another piece of pizza, she closed the last of the files. There was nothing more for her to learn.

Feeling rather self-satisfied, the slim young secretary took another man-sized bite of her gooey treat. Eager to finish off the extra large box, she swallowed quickly.

Suddenly her throat felt oddly tight, chest convulsing with the instinctive reaction to eject the olive lodged in her esophagus.

Interesting... Tre’linda’s mouth hung open, soundless, as her body struggled to breathe. I suppose I should find someone who can perform the Heimlich Maneuver...

The sharp lines of the office began to blur, fading to nothing around the edges of her vision. Or I could just do it myself. Any hard surface would do, even this desk. Or any chair... Skin growing ashen, the secretary tumbled out of her seat. Too bad: it occurred to her that it seemed she wouldn’t get to finish her pizza after all.


OOC: The above example of creating and killing characters in a single post is NTiOzymandias Approved.

[fishloaf]

"Did we lose 'em?" Evergreen asked from under a park bench as Kingfisher bolted behind a tree with a whirling, dirt-flinging baseball slide.

"Huff-huff...wheeze, huff--except for one, yeah." Kingfisher managed to choke, piling himself against the trunk and resting the surviving Bud Light at his side. "Oh, you mean the cops?"

They had been five steps away from a clean getaway when Kingfisher chose that moment to pursue his career as Don Juan and stop to shake down some poor woman for her phone number. Evergreen, not one to abandon his brother, spent the next five minutes trying to camoflage himself in the crowd like a pathetically maladapted, neon chameleon and futiley urging Kingfisher to his senses, who brayed at the nearest moving object, swiped drinks and otherwise made a royal ballsack out of himself. Animal, mineral, vegetable, nothing was safe; more than one chair was brazenly violated when Kingfisher demonstrated how cool it would be to have a mechanical bull in this establishment.

The alco-bot took notice.

The bouncers took notice.

The people in the adjacent chairs took notice.

What saved the two was when Kingfisher's growing throng of enemies crowded out the bar staff like a human wall and sort of osmosed the two out into the street, allowing them the head start they needed to elude the thugs that passed for law enforcement around here.

Now here they were. Other than the port district where they'd stashed the captured ship for the next time they wanted to spend their day off fixing it up (ie, never), the brothers hadn't had much reason to explore much of the city last time they visited--they were lucky that the big urban unknown featured a glorified jungle whose groundskeeping staff must have been the victims of a budget cut.

"Hlooooorff-pkph" Kingfisher retched. "Ugh. Good times."

"Good. Times." Evergreen echoed darkly from behind his bench, watching for the slightest movement. It was like a living cathedral, dry, fermented leaves carpeting the ground and perfuming the shiftless air, held in by the smothering canopy overhead. The barest sliver of moonlight slipped through the waving branches here and there, pinpoints of dust lighting up as they swirled through the beam. Otherwise? Utter stillness.

Evergreen sniffed, climbing to his feet. The surreal look was like one of those cheesy, go-in-and-you-never-come-out forests you read about in pulp fantasy, and he glanced over to make sure his brother wasn't getting seduced by nymphs or something. If he was, Evergreen hoped that they asked for his phone number so that Kingfisher could savor the irony of trying to backpedal out of explaining why he had none to offer them.

"Man, forget this place. Is it clear, can we go?" Kingfisher slurred, breaking Evergreen's pet daydream. They stood up and laboriously stretched aching muscles from the earlier marathon, shuffling through the leaves. They forged ahead in what they thought was the direction they came, but the thicket and relentless dark drained their confidence with every step.

They each began to fight back the creeping, instinctual dread inherited from times bygone, when man was the interloper in nature and was subject to its law of survival on pain of violent, carnal death. Helpless in the all-consuming darkness, it was a law that must have prevailed here, and their every footfall called out to summon whatever predators lived in this forgotten forest. Hair stood on end; This was what it meant to be vulnerable, utterly at the mercy of nature.

"Bwaaaaaaaaa-nuhnuhnuh-Bwaaaaaaa--!" roared a chainsaw in the distance, followed by a woody crash.

Ignoring the obvious question of who was logging at quarter til midnight, they slogged through the underbrush toward the gas powered, two-stroke call of freedom. Floodlights poured through the leaves, a diesel engine rumbled nearby, and rude metal blared through a boombox--it was like salvation itself!

Evergreen had just reached for the final branch separating him and his kindred spirits when he suddenly felt the ground collide with his cheek and the rest of his senses caught up with him--the flat side of something very sharp began shuffling his adam's apple around like a deck of cards, and a bare foot heel pressed into the side of his ribcage in a way that made his insides squirm.

"If you don't do exactly as I say, I'll cut you in two." A cold, nasty voice ordered.

"Its all you." Evergreen croaked past the spearhead. In the branches above, he could see Kingfisher hanging in a tangled ball of net, alternating between harsh language and gurgling retches.

"Good. Now stand up, and remain exactly two paces ahead of me. You will walk out of the bushes, call to your friends out there, and repeat this..."

***

The loggers were obviously doing something illegal; they bristled defensively when Evergreen was herded through the brush at spearpoint, all big and badass in his festive Goodwill clothing of no-choice. They dropped their work marshalled in front of a blinding spotlight, several of the aura'ed figures reaching into their flannel shirts and probably grabbing more than a pinch of chew.

"--_{telling you, this is all a huge misunderstand}--ow! _{Okay, okay.}" Facing their crooked sneers with an apologetic look, Evergreen licked his lips and began, robotically and on cue.

"Attention, my fellow tree p-poachers! I have been told in, uh, no uncertain terms by the ever-vigilant, uh, Iadeen Van Green, that her patience has worn thin with your brazen attacks on her home and loved ones, and, uh--_{what was the next part?}"

"Ugh, move."

Evergreen was shoved aside and his captor stepped into view for the first time. What he thought was an alien head turned out to be an exceptionally weird cabbie hat with goggles and tentacle-things hanging down the back.

The wearer's green lips curled with scorn. "You're last warning was yesterday, and I'm through with words! Run now or get ran-through!"

Several pistols began popping, empty cartidges glinting in the harsh light. Evergreen scrambled free of the line of fire as plants thrashed all around from the hail of bullets. He stumbled for the nearest cover, and crashed into the environmentalist's lap.

"Hey! Go find your own stump!"

Evergreen was kicked out into the open, scrambled back and wrestled the behatted woman by her spear. She fumbled for a whistle and blew an earsplitting note.

Evergreen rolled his eyes when (what else?) the ground rumbled ominously at her summons, but despite the cliche, no one could have expected what came crashing out of the brush: Crunching through the shreds of green wood, what can only be described as a giant armoir on moving, clockwork legs trumpeted mightily through its twin-doors. In a cabinet arm, it brandished an oar.

Guns popped futiley, interrupted by every so often by a heavy, unceremonious THUD or the crashing of glass and vehicle frames. Evergreen forced his mouth shut and remembered the environmentalist that had once been pinned under him--she now had one leg snaked around his neck and was strangling him with the confluence of human anatomy.

"You could've just coexisted with the land, but you had to make that extra buck, huh? Well now you blah blah blah" She ranted, a monologue that grew faint as Evergreen's head began to get extremely heavy.

A metallic ping rang out as something flew out of nowhere to violently pelt the back of the environmentalist's head; the weight immediately lifted from Evergreen and his vision cleared. Sitting innocently beside the unconscious woman was a ruptureed, fizzing can of Bud Light.

"Goooooooooooooal!" Kingfisher crowed from his swinging perch, the pumping his famed throwing-arm in victory.

As if a switch had flipped, the wooden monster went rigid and then collapsed with a thud. The dust settled. Bruised loggers composed themselves enough to toe the inert thing before leaving the thing with a disdainful spit. They turned on Evergreen.

"Man...just wow, your guys' job should be on the Discovery channel." Evergreen gushed entreatingly. "Don't shoot."



This post has been edited by fishloaf: Jun 26 2009, 07:44 PM

[just smile and n...]

OOC: Welp, with Syn and Ozy finally getting their rears in gear, I must follow suit.


Page neared the deserted hulk. The once pristine white ship had collected a great deal of space dust with no power flowing to its upkeep functions. A dark mind echoed from within the ship. It was undeniably May, but the darkness was uncharacteristic, it was stifling.
The tiny dart weaved through the rings of the Spirit Lance before finally coming to a gentle touchdown in the ship's hanger bay. Not seconds after the weave shell dissipated from around him, bizarre visions, memories, began to flood into Page's mind. The final battle with Atrius, Kergoth's destruction, those sacrificed...

Zaiden, Ozymandias, Jasan.

When Jasan had sent the others away, teleported to their respective ships, May had been the only one sent to the Spirit Lance, as far as Page knew. The idea was sound; May had a connection with the Lance, it would protect her. Page wagered that what happened after that was not part of Jasan's plan. The Spirit Lance jumped to hyper space as soon as they had been sent to their ships. When the planet was destroyed, taking Jasan, Atrius and Kergoth with it, the fleet had jumped to the rendezvous point and waited for the Lance for 7 days, with no luck.

The ship seemed to have disappeared off of the galactic map. The Spirit Lance was a distinctive ship, and Page had asked at every spaceport and bar he came across in his travels, yet no one had seemed to know anything. As months past, he had slowly lost hope that he would ever find her. The relief of seeing the shocking white ship floating in the system when he arrived was tinged with a slight sense of guilt for abandoning hope. He shoved it to the back of his mind now. There were more important things to be focused on, namely finding May and figuring out what was going on.

As he wove his way through the once familiar corridors he found himself lost and forced to retrace his steps numerous times. The ship was nothing like he remembered it. He realized now how much of his familiarity with its layout had been based on its active functioning, blinking lights glowing walls, everything looked much different now, nor did it help that his mind was awash with these bizarre visions, more intense than memories. Finally he was forced to resign himself to the fact that he was lost. Dropping to the ground he folded his legs and took a moment to collect himself. As he sat on the floor a weave entirely foreign to him creeped into the periphery of his senses. it took him almost a minute to confirm that he wasn't just imagining it. No, it was faint, but it was definitely there.

Page sprung to his feet, and burst into a sprint, heading towards the unknown presence. As he got closer, the weaves became more powerful. They ripped around his body, vibrating angrily. There was no elegance in them, their raw and primal nature was disturbing even to Page, who was not known for his elegant nature. As they continued to build, Page found himself struggling to make any headway down the final corridor, at the end of which was the furious source of this energy. He struggled and pushed against the near impenetrable wall of weaves. Then, without warning, the weaves vanished, leaving Page stumbling forward. Confused, and slightly annoyed, Page walked to the end of the corridor, drawing his sword. Peaking into the room, he was met with near pitch blackness. A small blinking control panel, the only source of light, gave off just enough luminance to spare Page from bumping into control equipment and other bridge paraphernalia as he wandered into the control room.

Scanning the room, sword at the ready, Page attempted to make out each ominous black shape, confirming that it was indeed a piece of equipment and not a living being before moving onto the next. The pulsing of the light made it a time consuming process. His eyes shifted to a small lump on the floor 20 feet from where he stood. It was motionless, but irregularly shaped, not the smooth contours and elegant curves common to the Spirit Lance. he stared at it for several seconds searching for any signs of life. As his eyes began to shift to the next object the lump sprang up and ran full tilt at him. "YOU!" the lump screamed. His sword in striking range, he just barely managed to stop his swing as he caught a flash of May's face. She looked wild, she was wrapped in a blanket, and even in the dim light Page could tell she had not been sleeping. She crashed into him as he let go of his sword, it crashed to the ground as he wrapped his arms around her slender frame. She was skinnier than he remembered, how long had she been laying here in the dark?

May slammed her fists onto Pages chest, her face awash in a mix of rage, sadness and relief. Tears ran down her cheeks as she screamed, "You, where were you. He needed you."
"May..." It was hard to look at her like this, or did he feel guilt? either way he looked away as she stared at him from red rimmed eyes.
Her rage was momentary. Her body too weak to maintain it, she wilted in his arms "They all left me, Page. I'm alone." She whimpered.
"They?" Page thought, but had good sense enough not to persue the subject.
"Page... where do I go now?" May had stopped struggling, her head now rest on his chest.
"You come with me." Page said in as comforting a voice as he could manage, he squeezed her a little tighter "I couldn't protect Jasan, but I will protect you, I owe it to him."

"You couldn't protect her," Page thought to himself as he held the crying girl. "Wherever you are now, I hope you can see this. She deserves better than you, better than what you did to her."

On Colosseum Station:

Dreams were a new phenomenon for Raj. Existing first in the subconscious of Jasan, and then as energy in his own personal universe, he had always existed as the dream and not the dreamer. This new body however, now that it had walked out of the universe that swirled in the depths of the paladin's basement, was subject to the rules of this universe. Its brain, having been modeled after a human brain, was subject to the involuntary neural signals that accompanied sleep.

This was the first dream that Raj would remember.

Raj stood In the halls of what appeared to be a space station, naked. It was not any particular station, nor was there any reason to assume it was a station other than a feeling Raj had that it was so. When he tried to focus on his surroundings, they seemed to slip away from him, it puzzled him for a moment, but his attention was quickly drawn to the other end of the corridor, where, silhouetted against a blinding light, was a figure. Raj took a step forward, and as he did, the figure mimicked him. He continued down the hall, and the figure walked towards him. He felt nervous, maybe even fearful, but also compelled to move forward, to reach that figure. As he walked, the corridor began to unfold, layers striped away until Raj and the figure stood on a vast open plane, three moons floated in the sky above, blue red and violet.

Finally he reached the figure. Reaching out to it, his fingered brushed glass. Staring at the figure, he saw his own purple eyes staring back at him.

A mirror, vast, stretching in all directions.

Looking up at he moons, Raj noted they existed on both sides of the mirror, and yet were not reflected. As he stared up at them, fascinated, a blow struck him in the neck, pressure pushed in from all sides. Looking down, his reflection had reached out from the mirror, and wrapped its fingers around his neck. Trying to fight back, Raj's arms felt weak. It took all his effort to drag them from his sides up to his captors arm. Prying the fingers from his neck was impossible.

Looking again, Raj realized it hadn't been a mirror, and the figure wasn't him, the face looked similar, but the skin was much lighter, and the eyes, they weren't his, these eyes were a piercing green, green eyes he had peered out of, but had never been his.

Jasan stood before him, his pale white form glowing in the moonlight, but with a look on his face Raj had never seen Jasan make. A twisted wicked grin wrapped around his face, his presence was overwhelming. When he spoke its was tender, loving, sensual, but it was laced with an undeniable malevolence, a darkness that crept into Raj, stifling his breath.

"You knew this was coming didn't you?"
"Erkh..." Raj couldn't speak, the grip around his neck was too tight.
"I'm sorry, I'll be more gentle with you." The pressure slipped away, replaced by a warmth on his back and around his chest, Jasan held him now.
"Tell me." Jasan said, resting his head on Raj's shoulder. "Do you miss me?"
"No. Glad to be rid of you" Raj mumbled, looking down at the arms wrapped around him, the feeling of Jasan's skin on his was impossibly vivid for a dream. "You're dead, this isn't real." The lack of conviction in Raj's voice evident.
"Isn't it?" Jasan whispered, biting Raj's ear while his hands slid down Raj's stomach.
"What the hell are you doing, get off me!" Forcing his way out of Jasan's embrace, he turns around, fists clenched. "I don't know what the hell you are, but you aren't Jasan. Get out of my head."
"fine." all the feigned sweetness melting from Jasan's words "I tried to be nice." Jasan now stood in full armor with Kergoth in his hand, blood poured from the joints of the suit. Again grabbing Raj by the throat, Jasan shoved him up against the mirror, and with one final motion drove Kergoth into his stomach. Deep red blood pumped from the wound, winding its way down the blade.
"Now tell me" The thing that took the form of Jasan hissed, its face contorted beyond recognition. "which moon are you?"

Raj looked to the sky, the three moons floating above, Deep gashes cut into the blue and red moons, Cracks arced their way across the surface, and the moons collapsed, enormous chunks or rock raining down through the atmosphere, crashing to earth. The violet moon floated calmly, observing from heaven as its brothers were torn to shreds.

As a massive chunk of moon hurtled towards the pinned Raj, he awoke with a start.

"Are.. you all right?" Leo, the bookish paladin Raj had inadvertently taken hostage was leaning over him. Raj was laying in a bed, in one of the rooms on Colosseum Station. "Ah! you're bleeding!" Raj glanced down at his stomach. A gaping wound, matching that he had received in the dream.
"how the hell? I... I'll get a doctor!" Leo Jumped up.
"No, forget it." Raj concentrated and sealed the wound. Apparently having one's body made of mental energies had its drawbacks.
"So... what happened to you?" Leo's concern giving way to curiosity.
"I had a dream. A dream that was disturbing... on a number of levels." Raj sighed. "I need a drink. Im going to the bar."

Raj found himself seated at the bar, looking intently at pretty women, perhaps more-so than he would normally, when he noticed the familiar face of Larra. He was about to say something before he reminded himself that while he knew her well, she had never really met him, and the little she had seen of him hadn't exactly left a good impression. He would tell her who he was, but he would be damned if he was going to make the first move. Now he was content to stare at her, appreciating from afar. If she noticed the similarity in their eyes, and was inspired to investigate, so be it.

This post has been edited by just smile and nod: Jun 29 2009, 12:50 AM

[NTiOzymandias]

On Wednesday, Richard Glesgorv got up, went to work, stood guard in the north wing of the Federation base until lunchtime, ate instant blintzes, and then stood guard in the south wing until he went home.

On Thursday, Mr. Glesgorv got up, went to work, stood guard in the north wing, ate chicken for lunch, stood guard in the south wing, and went home.

On Friday, Mr. Glesgorv stopped on the way into work to say hi to Yusif Graham at the front gate. They talked about Cunjo hunting for a few minutes. Yusif asked about his grandchildren, who were "fine."

On Saturday, the coffee dispenser was broken. Mr. Glesgorv slept on his feet in the north wing from 9:38 AM to 9:41 AM, and woke up with a start. Nobody noticed.

Sundays are Mr. Glesgorv's days off. On Sunday, he went to the doctor for an arthritic dialysis, and then took a walk in the park.

On Monday, Mr. Glesgorv went back to work. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

On Tuesday, at precisely 10:20 AM, Mr. Glesgorv made a sound like a strangled jackrabbit and began bleeding profusely from his nose. This, like his impromptu nap several days previously, went entirely unnoticed by the two people who bothered to even walk down that corridor, not that it would have helped much anyway. Mr. Glesgorv's eyes refocused at 10:21, and he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off his face.

Mr. Glesgorv checked his sidearm: A Yinsen-K stungun, fully loaded, with enough charge to take out thirteen or fourteen people. Probably plenty. He turned off his radio in case someone did notice his absence, and distracted him with such questions as "Hey Glesgorv, you need me to cover your post while you take a s###?"

Lab 8 was located two corridors over. Turner was in there; he pressed the stungun to Turner's bewildered eyeball so that the shock of firing it would be fatal. It would take too long to break the codes on the culture cabinets for the procedure to escape his notice.

At 11:15, with multiple canisters of plausus lithorum 4 stashed inconspicuously in the ventilation system, Mr. Glesgorv proceeded to the south wing's clearance B terminal. Having incapacitated another eight guards (including Gary Marko) he eventually exchanged his stungun for a plasma rifle and vaporized the archive supervisor.

He sealed the entrances along the way, and for two and a half hours, memorized the contents of all the critical files he could download to that particular terminal. Despite his efforts at securing the area, Federation forces eventually broke into the room. He greeted them by activating the plausus canisters with the flip of a switch.

On Friday, Mr. Glesgorv and his coworkers, as well as four thousand other people in the vicinity of an unimportant base on Codehaven, were crawling with maggots.

[fishloaf]

"Man...just wow, your guys' job should be on the Discovery channel." Evergreen gushed entreatingly. "Don't shoot."

“Nah, never.” Replied a logger with a chainsaw, stepping forward. “That would just be plain wrong.”

“Hah! A-ha ha.” Evergreen forced a laugh as he shrank back. “So w-what exactly does lumberjack etiquette call for at a time like this?

The barrel chested man lurched to a halt, eyes aflame and visibly straining to choke back a fury. “I think you got it crabwise, mister.” He deadpanned ominously. “Cause there ain’t no sorry-ass, e-literate, pea-pickin’ lumberjack in these woods. Us, we’re loggers and this is our turf.”

A brotherly cheer rang out through the flannelled ranks. Evergreen stared blankly. “That doesn’t really answer my que--”

“What this situation calls for,” The logger grunted, grabbing Evergreen’s collar before he could crawl away. “…is some good old fashioned due process in a court of law.”

Great. Evergreen sighed, dangling from the burly man’s grip like a marionette. “Hey, we couldn’t just work something out, could we? Do you really need to turn--”

“We could settle this over some IHOP.” Kingfisher suggested loudly.

“I told you, s###bag, we ain’t lumberjacks!”

“Fine, but do you really want to go through the whole rigmarole of making a citizen’s arrest? The police are bound to wonder what you were doing out here, and ‘harvesting the city park’ is not an answer they’ll appreciate.”

The logger looked confused, and a ceremonial-sounding drum began thumping “Who’s going to the police, now?”

“You gotta be kidding me; ‘The Law of the Wood’. Seriously, who came up with that?” Kingfisher slurred from his stake, straining against the ropes. Evergreen and the groggy Iandeen flanked him, tied to neighboring stakes but quietly watching as the loggers morosely formed a jury. It took a lot of debate; jury duty must have been short on incentives, under the Law of the Wood.

“Someone get my fly, I’ll show you guys King Wood!” Kingfisher tried to shout over the noise. “…maybe just Prime Minister Wood, don’t wanna say too much, but that’s like, he’s above your law! Veto! Unh-Unh, yeah take that veto! Ska-doosh!”

“Hey. Sorry I got you into this.” Iandeen surprised Evergreen with her genial tone. “I thought you were with these guys.”

“Yeah, I thought the Mickey Mouse shirt and my not carrying an axe would have clued you in, too.”

"Axes?" Iandeen wrinkled a pale nose. “Why would any of them have axes? They’re not lumberja-”

“Yes, I’m sure not. I believe it.” Evergreen was getting tired of hearing about that rivalry. All they needed now was for a pretty young lumberjack and a handsome logger to fall in love and be tragically separated, and Evergreen’s night would be completely shot.

“Anyway, you all look alike to me, so I figured ‘hey: got some bait’. You get the idea.”

“Yup.” Evergreen smirked. “Every stranger is just a hostage you haven’t taken yet. Words to live by.”

“Look on the bright side; these guys respect the Law of the Wood, didn't know that.” Iandeen said with a hint of respect. “I think you might come out okay.”

“Why, are you bar-certified legal counsel around here?”

“No--”

“Do they have really flimsy penalties that you can plea bargain away?”

(Behind them stood a wood chipper, at the ready.)

“Ehhhh...The point is, its me they’re after, and you guys are pretty much innocent.” Iandeen said. If she knew about Kingfisher's stunt with the beer can, she didn't let on. “People who follow the Law of the Wood don’t like to complicate things very much. If nothing else, I'll just make sure you guys get an appeal hearing.”

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Brawny.” announced a hastily recruited bailiff while Kingfisher continued ranting like a runaway train. Evergreen resolved to never take him to that bar again, lest he turn into Robin Williams.

“I’ll maintain my election all night looOOoong.” Kingfisher concluded with a blissful nod at his ironclad reasoning.

A square jawed judge took the stand, stern with annoyance. A prosecutor and defense both sat primly at a desk, the overturned armoir that had once rampaged around. The jury watched solemnly as the judge paused, clearing his throat with a rumble. With great care, he leaned forward and began…


“Guilty.” He then rapped his gavel against the podium, and the crowd began packing.

“What?!” Evergreen thundered.

“Weaaaaaaaak!” Kingfisher crowed.

“Dang, they went with the summary verdict again; Judges really like that one.” Iandeen observed.

“What the hell kind of law is this?” Evergreen demanded as the wood chipper motor puttered to life. Kingfisher began biting into his ropes with a determined snarl.

“A simple one.”

"I don't believe this." Evergreen hung his head.

"Ooh, look who's all Mister Despair all of a sudden." Kingfisher interrupted his gnawing to snot. "Hey, if this is role-reversal, I'm gonna be you now; 'Ooh, I'm Evergreen and I know everything because I read the fire-from-Olympus that is my Terry Prachett novels."

"Shut up! Shut up! We'd still be on the Unrelenting making embarassing piles of cash if you hadn't let a hitchhiker onto the bridge! We'd still be out there if you hadn't--bwah!"

Evergreen's stake was pulled out of the ground and was placed on a conveyer belt. Iandeen and then Kingfisher followed soon behind him. Ever genre savvy, the loggers knew better than to let them inch toward death at a leisurely rate and cranked its speed up to full. Within seconds, they were racing toward the whirring maw.

"The thing'll probably jam once it get past your knees, you know!" Kingfisher shouted encouragingly between mouthfuls of rope. That didn't help:

"Rrr! Kingfisher you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I wish Mom hadn't adopted either of--!"

"Hey!" Iandeen interjected. "Let's try to be a little more constructive here. *Fweeeeeeeeeeeee-eet!*"

Out of the night came panicked shouts as the furniture monster rose from its crumpled heap, assuming its full, oaken majesty, a timeless name carved into its big front doors: Bora Babaganoush. Bruised and swollen loggers groaned in dismay, hiding behind their guns as the wooden juggernaut advanced. Slowly, with menacing drama, Bora loomed over the wood chipper, raising a fist...

*Click*

...and pushing the reverse button on the conveyer belt. The parade of bound prisoners went racing back from the wood chipper with lurch. With a creaky bellow of laughter, the furniture monster dove into the assembled loggers and going to town with its oar.

The occasional sneaky logger would sneak onto the controls and re-reverse the conveyer belt, only to be batted away with a heavy clunk and his sacrifice made meaningless when Bora hit the button again. Kingfisher and Evergreen shuttled back and forth on the conveyer belt, which did Kingfisher's stomach no favors.

"Enough!" The Honorable Judge Brawny thundered, poised like a boulder amid the flood of retreating loggers. "Prepare the Leveler!"

"...no." Iandeen gasped, meek with terror. Kingfisher and Evergreen just stared, each dropping off the safe end of the conveyer belt in a heap. Bora readied its oar.

Over in an improvised parking lot, two backhoes, a logging truck, and a bulldozer rumbled to life and began clamping together, Voltron-like, into a mechanical chimera. Accompanying the horrible transformation was a sound and fury of revving diesel engines and the sallow reek of exhaust. And, of course, a Gregorian choral backup.

The smoke cleared, and there stood the machine that had once demolished Fern Gully. Floodlights zeroed in on Bora, who took a fearful step backwards before steeling itself. No, surrender was not an option; there was nothing for it but to stand and fight like a pile of furniture.

"So uh, can we get that appeal hearing yet?" Evergreen asked, glancing up to Iandeen. "Because--" he stopped. Kingfisher, shreds of chewed rope piled at his feet and more than a few strands sticking out of his teeth, was busily tugging at the knots holding Iandeen, who frantically urged him on.

There was a battlecry from Bora, followed by a woody crunch and then a cheer from the loggers. A half untied Iandeen gnawed on her fist in anguish, and then composed herself; she looped the whistled off of her neck.

"Listen. Guys." she began, pressing the whistle into Kingfisher's hand. Evergreen groaned, knowing a MacGuffin when he saw one and also because Kingfisher was not the kind of guy you wanted to provide with a noisemaking device.

"If there's one thing I've learned, its that you can't plan for everything. I don't know what you guys thought today was going to bring you, but I bet it wasn't this."

"To say the least." Evergreen glanced back; the furniture monster, half of its armoir body caved in and missing an arm, desperately levered open the jaws of the machine with both legs while splintering its trusty oar against everything in sight.

"And I didn't expect or hope to face the Leveler today." she said solemnly. "But if I don't stop it now, everything I care about will be gone."

"Darn." Evergreen said plainly.

"Listen to me! Even if you don't share my interests, my point is that all you can do is the right thing. Whatever agenda it was that had you shuffling through my woods, don't hide behind it. Don't let it stop you from doing what's sp desperately needed."

There was a pale streak on the horizon, a clear sign that dawn was on its way. Uncle Olaf would have heard about the Unrelenting by now, and the two of them needed to put in an appearance immediately and explain themselves before the Association started phoning in with concerns about this new direction their flagship had chosen. More importantly, before cousin Eiric got back from vacation and discovered what had happened to his ship he had reluctantly lent to the two of them. And who knew what that maniac Carmen Sandiego was going to steal with it next? That was a billion tons of trouble, all ready to crash down on them.

Then again...the two stared down at the little whistle, its immediacy overrulling their petty, selfish concerns.

"Fine. Whaddya need done?" Kingfisher came out with it first.

"This whistle awakens the Tree of Life, which you'll find in the ancient Mayan temple of the underworld down on the southern continent. On the seventh full moon of this year, it will sprout seven seeds, each of which must be planted on the seven nearest inhabited planets." she recited gravely to two blank stares. "If you do not, it will become the Shrub of Death."

"Uh..."

"Yyyeah..."

"I'm just messing with you." she laughed. "Seriously though: whatever happens, take these f###ing loggers to a real court, will you? Maybe innoculate some trees while you're at it."

"Why do we need the whistle?"

"I dunno, to get the police?" Iandeen shrugged "You could call too, that's fine. Later."

She charged off, scooping up a length of chain on her way. By this time, Bora had lost its battle with the levler's jaws and was slowly being ground to sawdust, thrashing wildly and trumpeting in agony while a crowd of loggers whooped. Iandeen burst through the onlookers, punting one to the ground, swatting another's face with the chain, and then "scoring a soccer goal" on Brawny himself. As a final flourish, Iandeen used Brawny's back as a springboard as he doubled over.

Chains and all, she landed with a plop inside Bora's open doors just as the armoir disappeared inside the leveler's munching teeth.

"Holy--!" Kingfisher and Evergreen paused from their daring escape to stare dumbly. That was her big gambit?

A clattering BOOM sound followed, resounding from somewhere inside the leveler. The machine immediately went dark and began hemmhoragging smoke, its jaws limp. Stray parts rained down while others were buried in tree tunks, or unlucky loggers; Evergreen couldn't help but notice the occasional piece of chain among the shrapnel.

Today's post brought to you in part by generous support from The Weyerhaeuser Company. Weyerhaeuser: The Future Is Growing™

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Jul 21 2009, 09:59 PM

[Synesthesia]

Larra had never been much of a scumble drinker. There existed a select few who’d spent so much time in various universe bars over the years that they actually began to enjoy the taste of scumble, or at least as much as anyone can enjoy consuming something that threatens to corrode its way out of their body before even reaching the stomach. The Acaran figured she could find much more amusing ways to destroy her body, if it really had to be done.

Tonight, Larra drank scumble, purely because she found its existence ridiculous. Irritably drumming her fingers on the bar, she had nursed the same mug of the abominable liquid for the better part of an hour. Her anger from before held no strength, and had abandoned her shortly after Demon had left. A bizarre mix of afterthoughts remained, half formed and weak, scattered about by some cerebral storm. Most involved annoyance of some form or another(at Demon, Relin, Morvas, herself), hence the scumble. The beverage annoyed her, giving her a far more solid reason to actually be annoyed than the mess in her head.

Blinking back reflexive tears (her throat must’ve been attempting to cry), the Acaran finally finished her drink. Staring at the bottom the empty mug, an odd feeling of contentment settled over her restless mind. Larra hadn’t actually finished a mug of scumble in years. It was an odd and redundant achievement; funny how it made her feel better anyway.

She smiled at the frowning man beside her. He’d spent the last half hour glaring in her direction, hoping she’d get the hint and stop incessantly tapping her fingers on the bar. The telepath paid for his drink and swiveled on her stool to lean back against the counter. Out of habit, violet eyes cast around the bar.

Unsurprisingly, as this was a bar after all, she caught the gaze of a young man seated a few tables away. Also unsurprisingly, he swiftly looked away and feigned nonchalance. Larra shocked herself by doing the same, heart pounding and spine crawling.

It had only been an instant, but there could be no doubt about it. He had her eyes. The Acaran almost found her own sharp violet stare a little unsettling in the mirror in the morning, but seeing it in someone else’s face held a whole new level of disturbing.

Larra shook her head. Impossible. Only the other Acaran telepaths shared her features to that degree, and they were all locked within her mind. Even so, they didn’t have her exact shade of vivid purple, and the man she’d seen was clearly not Acaran.

Flipping a bit of hair over her shoulder, Larra turned her head back to study the man further, even stretching her mind out to enhance her senses. He continued to stare into his drink, perhaps sensing her intense gaze meticulously scrutinizing his features.

The strange man was definitely not void of weaves like an Acaran, and for some reason Larra was incredibly relieved to confirm this. However, even she could tell something was not quite right. His weaves seemed even more foreign to her than the weaves of a normal person or the others she’d met in the bars: unstable and out of focus. Larra frowned, unable to read any further without interacting with his mind, a method she considered a rather rude way to meet someone.

How...interesting. Disturbing as well, but beyond that, his unnervingly familiar eyes presented an intriguing new mystery for a mind searching for distraction. Larra reached across the counter behind her for a couple glasses and, with telepathic help, a bottle of expensive rum.

Minutes later, Raj glanced up in surprise when she set the half empty bottle on his table and and a full glass before him, inviting herself to sit opposite. Larra took a sip of rum and smiled, eyes flashing over the rim of her glass as she studied his face. “You have pretty eyes.”

“Why thank you.” Raj flashed her a charming smile. “I could say the same about you.”

Amused, Larra didn’t reply immediately; instead she settled back in her chair and allowed the silence to stretch just to the point of awkwardness, eyes never leaving Raj’s. There was something familiar about him, eyes aside, that she couldn’t quite place. On the other hand, the barrier telepath was sure she’d never seem him before: her telepathic senses picked up nothing familiar.

“Is this your first time at the bar?” the Acaran probed, tone conversational. "I’ve never seen you around."

“Ahh...yes it is,” Raj told her with confidence, deciding it really was his first time as himself alone. “My name is Rajanikant, but you can call me Raj.” He winked at her and sipped his rum.

“Rajanikant,” Larra repeated, letting each syllable slide off her tongue. An interesting name for a mysterious man, and he seemed rather proud of it. “I’m Larra. Where are you from, Raj?”

It wasn’t a question often asked at this type of place, and definitely not one she would’ve answered directly herself, but the Acaran felt compelled to ask anyway. A hard edge had crept into her easy, smiling manner; she wanted an explanation.

“Uhhh...” Raj hesitated, slightly taken aback and not entirely sure how to respond.

Larra’s eyes narrowed. Something about this man bothered her, and the sudden urge to simply invade his mind and learn his secrets welled up within her. The Acaran squashed it, slightly surprised at her own lack of patience.

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to,” she told him, tone of voice betraying the sweetness in her words, “but I’ve traveled to a lot of places and seen a lot of people, and no one has eyes like yours. Or, rather, mine.” She smiled, quite disconcertingly. “Care to explain?”

Raj sighed, tossed back the rest of his rum, and poured himself another. Then, taking a deep breath, he dropped a bomb. “You know me as Dark Jasan."

The Acaran stared at him, part of her recoiling in shock. Even hearing Jasan's name came as a bit of a blow, but a driving curiosity about his eyes suppressed it for the moment. "That's nice," she pressed. "But it doesn't explain your eyes."

Raj glared at her, but figuring she'd be relentless, continued. "My consciousness was sealed in a pocket dimension by the Paladins until a few hours ago. I escaped, materialized a body for myself, and came here.” His lips formed into an odd half smile. Larra, shocked by his words, couldn’t read the expression. “I guess I just liked your eyes.”

For a moment she just sat there, letting it all sink in, and followed suit in draining her glass. Raj let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding; she seemed to have taken it all right. Then chairs went flying and her fingers wrapped around his neck with lightning speed, twisting his body up and slamming him face-up onto the table, shoulder blades protesting against the unforgiving surface. Bar tables had long ago become near-indestructable. An afterthought caught the bottle of rum before it smashed on the floor and deposited it safely on another table, but Larra barely paid it any attention.

“So you spend all those years tormenting Jasan, and then you just walk in here and try to start over?” the Acaran asked coldly, power flowing through her body and enhancing her strength enough to restrain Raj. She knew all to well what it was like to be stuck with a less-than-cooperative mental roommate. “What did you expect?”

Whatever Raj had to say for himself came out as a choked gurgle, and Larra was struck by the impression that it was not directed at her. She wasn’t even squeezing the man’s neck hard enough to completely cut off his airway. Still, Dark Jasan’s eyes had widened, jerking dilated pupils frantically back and forth. Hands clawed frantically, almost comically, at her arm. They missed sometimes, because it was Jasan’s larger arm that Raj was seeing. Memories of his dream rushed back, the heavy gauntlet slowly crushing his throat, Kergoth's gleaming blade drawing back...

“Hey! Raj!” Larra snapped, suddenly a little freaked out and considering slapping him to see if he’d snap out of it. Suddenly her hand dropped right through his neck, palm flat on the table even though she could clearly see his form. The bizarre weaves that she’d felt before swirled around her wrist. The telepath jerked her hand out of the former Dark Jasan’s incorporeal body with a surprised hiss and staggered a few steps back. Creepy.

Raj seemed to return to reality once he’d been released, breathing heavily as he slowly sat up on the table. They stared at each other with wide, identical violet eyes.

Seeing his fear, Larra suddenly found the situation slightly ridiculous. The man had demons of his own, even though she wasn’t ready to forgive him. (Just what had he seen - and done - through Jasan’s eyes?) Still, the Acaran forced her expression to soften. “You like my eyes, huh? I guess that’s kind of...flattering.”

Raj watched her gaze suddenly leave his, flicking downward for an instant before quickly returning. Larra inwardly flinched as a voice in her head chipped in with a mental 'Oh yeah!' that reverberated around her skull. Obediently, the bottle of rum came sailing to her hand.

“Raj,” she began as kindly as possible, “if we’re going to...tolerate....each other, you’re going to have to put your clothes back on.”

This post has been edited by Synesthesia: Jul 14 2009, 11:18 PM

[NTiOzymandias]

Morvas chewed on his frown and stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. A fly buzzed past him into the bar, and he meandered after it with a deliberate swagger, his gaze eventually drifting to the patrons as he guessed at what kind of scum they might be. Grifter, pirate, dealer, dealer, grifter, lawyer, insurance salesman. Um, streaker. He stopped next to a man who was, for whatever reason, completely naked. “Some party I missed here,” he began nonchalantly. A swordpoint appeared from over his shoulder, also nonchalantly. “Whoa wait, hold up. I like my head, now, I keep my brain there.”

"And I'm sure you'd miss that terribly, considering you use it so much."

"Oh, it's you." He carefully turned to see his fellow hospital patient at the other end of the weapon. "Small world, this bar, huh?"

The telepath’s violet eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t mind if it got bigger... Raj, wipe off that smirk.”

“D’you two--”

“--know each other?” Raj shrugged. “We’ve only just met.”

“Huh, well. I’m Morvas Naant, since you just met me too. And weren’t you naked about ten seconds ago?”

“Do you prefer it that way?”

“You’ll encourage him,” said the Acaran, stowing her sword. “By the way, you might as well know that I’m Larra.”

I already... would have guessed exactly that, thought Morvas. He nodded as if he had even the slightest idea what was going on, then vaulted surreptitiously into an empty seat. "Hey, does this smell like real wood?"

"It smells like... varnish," offered Raj.

A smirk crossed Larra's face; she suppressed it. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Lookin'... Just lookin'," Morvas said. "I coulda even told you who for, if I was still drunk."

"You forgot what you were doing here?"

"Yup, but I had so much fun doin' the forgetting, I decided I'd stick around and see what kind of trouble I could get myself--"

A piece of chair ricocheted with a loud crack off the head of a nearby brawler. Morvas raised his hand to deflect it, but at the height of its arc, it bloomed into a cloud of smoke and a handful of splinters.

Half the bar bristled in reaction to the gunshot. Morvas almost joked about what kind of person would be stupid enough to open fire in a crowd full of gods -- until he lowered his arm he noticed the weight of a weapon in his hand. He glanced at the other two. "Did I just... I, uh, didn't notice, I mean..." Most of the eyeballs in the room were glued to his increasingly baffled expression. He sheathed the gun and waved to some of them to show them his hands were now empty.

Larra leaned forward, her eyes narrowed subtly in what might have been curiosity or mischief. "Do you have these often?"

"...Only the once. I think. Probably."

"You answered your own question, though. That's exactly the kind of trouble you could get into... So do me a favor and get into it from right in that seat." She relaxed visibly and turned to Raj. "Okay, you were saying?"

--------------------

Demumbreum leaned forward in the darkness, reminding himself to relax, loosening his grip on the rifle to keep his hands from sweating too much. The microphone was still picking up nothing but meaningless chatter, to the point that even the cheesy dance music sounded louder from the actual building than through his echopiece. He checked his watch three times without actually seeing what time it was.

Something bumped Revny's microphone, and the sound made him jump. Good thing my finger wasn't on the trigger. The voices in his echopiece grew more distinct, along with brief scrapes like moving furniture, but he could only make out bits of the actual conversation: "...saw you earlier... laser rapier up your sleeve. Really classy. What else'd you...?"

That was Revny's voice, and he seemed to be talking to the mark. Demumbreum pointed the scope towards the bar window. The mark stood out like a sore thumb, much easier to pick out than Revny, dressed in the classic "mysterious adventurer/prophet" look, the kind of hooded robes popular with burnt-out shaleheads. When's the last time a shalehead beat anyone at poker? I guess some people just get off on the look.

The banter continued. He could hear the mark speaking, he thought, and the voice was surprisingly clear and smooth, but somehow not clear enough for Demumbreum to understand a single goddamn word. There were more sounds of movement, and Revny stepped into his view to take a seat. "Oh I get it. You've been watching me gamble," he said through the echopiece. Demumbreum could see him wink.

"Of course not. We only just met, after all." This was the mark now, loud and clear. "Yet it hardly matters. To deny Fortune's hand in your success is to refuse to admit that your blessings have... run out. This is not your last opportunity to walk away, but when your last chance comes, you will not see it because you have willingly blinded yourself. That is all."

"Okay. Don't go easy on me then. I know how to play my cards either way."

Demumbreum thought he saw the mark smile.

There was relative quiet for a few minutes as the game unfolded. After a few turns, the mark put his chin to his shoulder so that Demumbreum could see most of his face. "Fortune smiles on you yet. That fate which befalls you is precious... Cherish it."

"Yeah, I'm good at this, huh? Look at me when you're talking..." Revny leaned back in his chair, which must have jostled the microphone, because the signal became indistinct once again, and Revny's movements did nothing to improve it.

It didn't matter much, because a short while later there was a flash of light, and the crowd inside the bar was disrupted. All of the players stood, agitated. Revny was making the back-patting "let's take this outside" gesture used all over Syracuse, and leading the mark out through the back door, as usual.

But the mark was going out the front door instead, and Revny was following him. Demumbreum scowled impotently across the empty lot, wishing Revny carried his own echopiece. He lifted his rifle slowly, turned as carefully as possible towards the opposite lot... and stopped. The damn carrying strap had gotten stuck somehow to a reinforced piece of wall, and he didn't have enough leverage to pry it loose without standing up and probably falling off the building. Either way, that would give away his position.

He was looking at ME, he thought suddenly. The mark knows I'm here already and he was looking out the window at me and he was talking to me with all of that fortune stuff.

The mark came into view again, and Demumbreum turned his head to watch Revny taunt him and make a few rude gestures. He stopped on the far side of a light, so that it cast a shadow about eight meters long.

And then something stood up out of that shadow, a dark silhouette of a snouted, winged creature on two feet, and it crossed the lot to Revny in two strides, and plucked his heart out of his chest. Revny made a sickening gurgle sound for a few seconds before his entire body burst like a balloon. Blood and entrails decorated both lots. Demumbreum felt the mist settle on his face and hands.

A shadow fell over him from behind, from the direction he'd climbed up from. The mark was standing right there next to him, holding Revny's heart. Demumbreum dropped the rifle and knelt at his feet, not knowing what he could say, barely daring to look up into that terrible, fanged smile and the burning eyes. The mark gave him the heart, and he took it without a thought.

"Cherish it," he said.

[JoshTigerheart]

The Citadel of Darkness
New Alcatraz
Pariah
Imperial Universe

One moment Admiral Samir Stukov was simply taking care of his typical business. The next moment his special communicator began beeping for attention. This was strange, as the device was designed to only send messages, not receive them. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the device, and glared at is suspiciously. Why was it demanding his attention? Curious but wary, he pressed the button on the top to activate it.

"This is Admiral Stukov," he said to the thing, "Who are you and how did you contact me?"

"Stefan Richter," a female voice answered, "you have been activated."

"Who? Activated? What is the mea..." Samir started incredulously, but stopped when his body seized up and refused to do what his mind said.

"No questions," the voice interrupted, "You have two tasks. First, place this device on the floor, in thirty seconds it will self-destruct to prevent capture by the enemy."

Samir's body responded without question, despite his internal protests.

"Now, go to Akasi, you will be able to get in without difficulty. Once you are there, you will recite a message for him that has been pre-programmed into your head since you were created. After that, you will be free. You have five minutes, failure is not option."

As if controlled by a remote, Samir turned and started out of his office. He walked smoothly like any normal human being, failing to betray any sign of the mind control at work. As he passed others he automatically responded to their salutes as he normally would, though in his thoughts he screamed at them for help. Within in a few minutes, he arrived at the door to Akasi's office.

"Admiral Stukov," one of the guards barked, "What business do you have with Lord Nar Akasi?"

"I have a scheduled meeting with Akasi right now. Check your records if you must."

One of the guards glanced at a datapad and found, to his surprise, that indeed there was a meeting scheduled. Without comment, the two stepped aside and admitted the Director of the Office of Interdimensional Beings and Technology into Akasi's lair. Samir stepped through the doors into the darkly lit room, the gateway being closed behind him with what seemed like a thud of finality. Akasi looked up from his work and regarded the human with a bit of surprise.

"Admiral Stukov?" he asked, "I don't believe I was expecting you."

Samir's body approached the desk and continued to betray him by speaking, "Lord Akasi, I have an urgent message from the Federation of utmost importance."

"Well, what is it then?"

As if on command, a hole bursted from Samir's forehead, spraying a small amount of blood a short distance and onto the floor. His head screamed in sudden pain, but his body refused to move. He could feel something small and metallic pushing it's way through the hole and could watch Akasi stare, stunned with surprise. He felt the object get warmer as the tip began to glow. A moment later, it projected a holographic image of... himself?

"Greetings Nar Akasi," the image began, "As one of my doubles who has been so faithfully serving and deceiving you has just told you, I have an important message for you."

Akasi started to shout something, but then stopped as he realized the message was a recording, as it completely ignored his words and continued.

"First of all, I must thank you for the help you have given in the advancement of Federation technology. Thanks to you, we are now in prime position to claim our galaxy entirely for ourselves with little difficulty. Oh I would love to give you all the details of my plans, but I'm afraid at the recording of this message some months, maybe years, ago it was difficult to predict exactly what would make us unstoppable and what would not. However, whatever those tools are, you have helped us reach my goals for Bureau conquest.

"Therefore, I would like to give you a gift. A gift fitting for the amount of help you have given us. This gift that will teach you a lesson in how a ruthless ruler should command, one that you will quickly learn for how little time you have left. You see, my dear Akasi, prior to signing up this double for your service, I had been monitoring you and saw how... incompetently you commanded. I will teach you how to rid yourself of allies who serve you no purpose anymore and could become a threat if kept around. You see, at the start of this message, a bomb in the double's head with a 30 second timer was started. At this moment, you only have a few left. Use them to learn well."

The message stopped and Samir, no, Stefan, and Akasi stared at each other for a brief moment. Finally, Stefan acted, all but his legs coming back under his own control.

"I don't know what this is, but Akasi, run!"

At that moment, an explosion rocked Akasi's citadel.

[just smile and n...]

Morvas, Raj and Larra sat across from each other, wooden splinters from the chair Morvas had blasted were scattered across the table and floor. An awkward silence of the most deep and disturbing nature had settled over the three patrons. All of whom were keenly aware of something decidedly 'off' about their companions. Raj, assuming he was probably the most odd of the group, folded and spoke first.

"So. Drinks?" He offered.
"God yes." Larra sighed, brushing some of the errant wood splinters from her hair.
"Hmm, well. I wouldn't mind." Morvas still seemed somewhat preoccupied with the table.
"Great!" Raj turned to face the bar "Bargirl hey Bargirl!" he shouted.
A mildly attractive young brunette trudged over to the table reluctantly. "Listen I dunno where you get off with this 'bargirl' crap I--"
"Yeah, its clearly more of a pub than a bar." Morvas interjected, looking around the room.
"No.. that's not really what I..." The waitress gave a small sigh. "forget it, what'll it be?"
"We'll have 6 of whatever will get us drunk the fastest." Raj gave her a disarming smile.
"Yeah... okay." She gave him a little smile back, despite herself.
"Watch it Raj, I've decided to let you live for the moment, don't make me reconsider." Larra threatened.
"I know when to back down, he was right, I would call it a pub." Raj shrugged.
"Decent of you to admit, might just have to revise my first impression of you."
"Oh yeah?" Raj smirked.
"Well, maybe not the first impression, I think my first impression of you was that you were a man that enjoyed exposing himself to attractive young ladies." Morvas gave a nod towards Larra.
"Yeah, seems pretty accurate to me." Larra conceded, allowing herself to smile.

The waitress arrived with the drinks and set them down on the table. As she turned away Raj made a move to slap her behind, Larra shot him a look across the table that could have killed a full grown Cunjo. He thought better of it and instead slipped a tip into her back pocket.
"There, happy?" He grumbled.
"No. Watch it, I don't want to have to beat you up again." Larra stared him down.
Morvas had already taken one of the beverages and was sipping it contentedly "What's happening now?" he asked, oblivious.
"Larra thought the tip I was going to give the pubgirl was innapropriate." Raj grabbed his drink and threw back a large portion of it in one gulp.
"ten percent?" Morvas asked.
Larra looked Raj up and down. "More like five."
"Hey!"
The three quasi strangers drank contentedly, conversing more jovially as they emptied their drinks. Raj ocassionally noticed Morvas staring at him strangely, as if he were a scientist looking at an experiment that was yeilding unexpected results. It was unnerving, but as soon as Raj glanced back, the expression was gone, and Morvas was back to his jovial, slightly oblivious, self. Raj convinced himself it was his imagination.
"Ya'know" Morvas slurred, his pointing finger swinging back and fourth between Larra and Raj "You have his eyes. Are you sure you aren't related."
"Ugh, definitely not. First of all he has my eyes, not the other way around. Thats because..." Larra trailed off as she saw two familiar faces enter the bar. Page and May walked into the bustling bar, Page quickly noticed Larra, and dragged May over to the table.
"Page!" Larra greeted him giddily.
"I see you started the party without me." He grinned, looking at the empty drinks scattered about the table.
"Just a little." Larra swayed in her chair slightly.
"Well, room for two more?" Page asked, gesturing towards May and himself
"Um... Hi" May smiled timidly, "Larra right?"
"That's right" Larra smiled back encouragingly, "well let me introduce everyone. Page and May, this is Morvas..."

"Hey."
"Hi."
"good to meet you."

"...and this is Raj." Raj had, up until this point, deliberately faced himself away from the two newcomers. He turned around reluctantly and forced a smile, "Hi! My name is Rajanikant I'm new here, its good to meet--" Before he could finish his sentence Page had him by the collar and was dragging him out of his seat. The sudden attack, combined with the cruel look on Page's face, managed to startle everyone but Raj, who was now dangling in the air at the end of someone's arms for the third time today.
"Page! what are you--" May stammered, shocked with her companion's behavior.
"Woah woah, is this some custom I don't know about?" Morvas' eyes darted back between Raj and Page.
"This man and I need to have a talk." Page's eyes narrowed, locked with Raj's as he spoke "Larra, will you look after May for a while?"
"Um, yeah sure." She looked over to May. "here, you can sit next to me right here."
May scurried over and sat down next to Larra. Page loosened his grip on Raj and his feet managed to find ground.
"Follow me." Page ordered, Raj looked back at May and complied, reluctantly. They both made their way to the bar's exit.

"Well you certainly keep interesting company." Morvas mused.
"I acted much the same way when I met Raj, he... has that effect on people." Larra chose her words carefully, glancing at May.
"He seemed nice to me." May offered.
"He's a bad tipper." Morvas informed her matter-of-factly.
"Oh?"May shrugged slightly confused.
"Anyway." Larra interjected, steering the conversation in a different direction "Can I get you a drink May?"
"Yes, please."

-----------Outside The Bar-----------

"I don't know who you think I am..." Raj started.
"Don't feed me this bullcrap. Jasan and I shared the same mind when we became Harmony, there's no way I would forget your weaves, Dark."
"That's not my name anymore, Page." Abandoning the innocent facade, Raj clenched his fists, readying his weaves for an assault.
"Don't try it." Page warned "I don't know how you're alive, and I don't much care, but whatever borrowed power you're limping along on isn't enough for you to be a match for me"
"You son of a..." Raj Willed as many of his weaves to the surface as he could.
"You know its true, just leave." Page spat, drawing Antares.
"Die!" Raj wrapped the weaves he had been amassing around his hand, and in an explosive burst of power sent the ball of energy hurtling down the hallway towards Page.
Leaping forward, Page struck the mass of weaves with Antares. The ball was more powerful than Page had expected. The weaves that comprised it were deceptively tightly packed. His sword arm began to shake under the pressure of the attack.
"s###" Reluctantly He grabbed the hilt of his sword with the other hand. Drawing his own weaves to the surface, he sent them arcing down Antares' blade. The conflicting weaves sliced at each other violently. Finally Pages' weaves managed to cut a path through, cleaving the ball of energy in two. The two pieces shot by either side of him, and exploded against the walls, shaking the ceiling to pieces. Seizing the opportunity Page rocketed forward, delivering a powerful kick to Raj's Stomach, sending him flying down the corridor.
As Raj struggled to get to his feet, Antares was already at his throat, Page kneeling over him. "It's over, there's no way you can win this, so listen to what I have to say or get your throat slit, its up to you."
Raj growled "Fine".
"Im going to let you live, Dark, as far as I'm concerned you were the most tolerable of Jasan's alter egos. But you will stay away from Larra, and you will stay far away from May." Page could see the attack Raj had used had taken its toll on him, Raj could barely lift his arms. Page pulled Raj's head back, drawing the blade closer to his neck "Got it?"
"Yes." Raj spoke quickly, he could heal his body, but he wasn't sure what the weaves of Antares would do to him if he were cut by it.
"Good." Page threw Raj's head to the ground, and got to his feet. "see you around." He added as he walked back towards the bar, leaving Raj to pass out in the hallway.

-----------Uncharted World in the Rochak Dust Field-----------

Unbeknownst to the rest of the Galaxy, a humanoid species had evolved on an isolated planet in the Rochak Dust Field. The species had inteligence comperable to humanity and had just recently launched their first unmanned probes into space. They were a largely peaceful society, minor territory conflicts were the worst the inhabitants saw.
Due to living in the Dust field, meteorite strikes were a common occurence. Harvesting these meteorites for the precious metals they contained was one of the most profitable trades on this planet.

A lone truck barreled down a dirt road, several dozen miles from a small settlement on the planet.
"So" The teen girl in the back of the truck shouted over the din of the truck's engine. "You think this will be our big break?"
"What?" The young man driving the truck shouted back.
"I said you think this will be our big break, I mean this is the first time we've had a meteor shower this close." She shouted back, brushing her red hair from her face.
"Totally" He shouted back "We're gonna get to it before the city big wigs for once."
"And then its easy living for the rest of our days, right Van?" She asked, climbing up to the roof of the truck.
"Thats right Sammy... it will be fine wine and finer women."
Sam leaned over the roof and stuck her tongue out at Van, "Don't go wasting your money on floozies just 'caus you cant find a nice girl like me who will date ya."
"Ugh, If the only girls I could find were like you I think I'd just kill myself" Van chuckled, steering the truck around a sharp turn.
"Hey!" Sam yelped as she clung to the hood of the truck. "Are you trying to kill me up here??"
"Yeah" Van made several unnecessary swerves. "If I off you I don't have to split the profits."
"Haha, very funny... wait" Sam pressed a pair of binoculars to her face " It's right up ahead, i see the smoke."
"get ready to live like a queen Sam."

The Truck pulled up to a deserted field. Dozens of boulders several times larger than the truck littered the area, smoke rising from the craters they had caused on impact.
"Here it is" Van smiled stepping out of the truck. Sam leapt from the roof, landing gracefully next to him
"ready to start?" She grinned, grabbing the pickaxes from the back of the truck
"The sooner the better."
"Great, I'll go scout the area, take these" Sam threw the pickaxes into Van's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, before careening off into the field, and disappearing behind a meteor.
"That girl..." Van sighed to himself.

"Van..." Sam's voice came from behind one of the larger boulders.
"I'm busy surveying this one, you've done this a thousand times, you don't need me to hold your hand anymore" Van barked back irritably.
"I know... but... you should see this."
"I can see it in this one, these are metals I've never seen before, forget royalty, we are going to live like gods."
"Van, this isn't a meteor, this is something else."
Van sighed before grudgingly getting to his feet "I'm coming, this better be good."
Rounding the corner Van was met with a strange sight. Sam was sitting google eyed, staring at a rusted old sword that was planted firmly in the ground. Two halves of an enormous meteor lay on either side of the blade.
"What... the... hell?" Van stammered. It took the beeping of his surveying tool to jolt him out of his stupor. "Woah woah woah! What is this thing made of?!" He stumbled as he rushed over to the sword. "The E.S.D can even figure out its molecular structure!" Van stared at the sword with greedy eyes "This thing will be worth a fortune!"
"But..." Sam hesitated "where did it come from?"
"Who cares?"
"Isn't this like... evidence of alien life?"
"Even better! Think what the nut jobs will pay for it!" Van was jumping up and down "Hold on stay right here, Ill get the tools!" Dashing to the truck, Van could hardly contain his glee.

Van rummaged through the excavation equipment. Grabbing up as much as he could carry. As he waddled back towards the sword, equipment in tow, a blood curdling scream pierced the relative silence of the field. It was Sam.

Van dropped his gear and sprinted toward the sound. When he rounded the final boulder he found Sam cradling her arm, whimpering.
"Samantha what happened!? are you okay?"
"I... I only touched it for a second." She lifted up her hand to show him, it took all his will not to recoil at the sight. The flesh was blackened, and the veins burned white. It seemed to have a life of its own, twitching and pulsating sickeningly. The white veins were steadily traveling up her arm at an alarming pace.
"Van... what do I do?" She looked at him desperately tears in her eyes.
"s### s### s###, you just touched it?" Van ran through all the possibilities in his head, there was no way they would be able to get to a hospital with the rate it was spreading. Maybe it wasn't deadly. He spared another glance at her blackened hand, there was no way she would be okay if he did nothing. he could always...

"Van, what. What are you thinking?" Sam was becoming increasingly panicked, Van could see the white veins under her face now. He picked up one of the pickaxes.
"Sam There's no way we can get you to a doctor out here, not with whatever that is spreading so fast. Put your arm on that rock" Van grimaced, pointing to a small meteorite chunk.
"What why?" Sam's eyes widened as realization of what van was suggesting struck her "Van no, no."
"We don't have time for this!" Van grabbed her wrist and forced her arm down onto the rock and raised the pickaxe into the air.
"Van stop, stop please." Sam begged, he hadn't seen her cry since she was a little girl.
"I'm sorry Sammy, there's no other way, please forgive me." He closed his eyes and swung the pickaxe down with all his power.

The pick seized in mid swing, his eyes flew open revealing Sam's other arm grabbing the shaft of the axe. She was strong.
"Sam you have to let me do this! I don't want you to die!" Van pleaded
"I... I didn't do that." her fear had been momentarily replaced by absolute astonishment.
"What do you..." Van was cut off as Sam's arm squeezed the wooden shaft of the pick, causing it to splinter, throwing shards of wood into his face. "Arghh."

The arm that initially touched the sword flew up to Van's neck and wrapped its fingers around his throat.
"Sam... Whhat are you... P..please I chhant breathe." Van was staring back at eyes just as confused and terrified as his own.
"Stop stop stop. Please stop!" Sam screamed.
Van was turning blue now "Van." Sam blubbered through tears "I love you, don't leave me!" He stared at her but could no longer speak, a moment later there was a sickening crack and the arm released him, his lifeless body fell to the ground.
"oh god." Sam stood staring at the boy's body. "no, Van. I..."

Sam was allowed seconds to greave, and come to grips with what her body had done, before her body began to move again, her feet began to turn her towards the sword.
"Stop--" is the last word she was able to get out before she lost control of her mouth and tongue. She watched helplessly as she walked up to the rusted blade and grabbed the hilt with both hands. Her conscious mind was instantly annihilated, replaced with a being of infinitely greater power.

Sam looked down at herself, the black flesh now coated her entire delicate frame. "This is not my body." Sam dislodged the sword from the earth, and with it in hand took two practice swings, the third and final swing tore through the planet's crust, a wave of force extending from the tip of the sword sliced deep into the planet, it cleaved through thousands of miles of rock and molten earth in seconds, finally reaching the center of the planet. A massive chain reaction ensued, incinerating the planet.

Sam floated calmly in space amidst the debris of the planet.
"I need my body, this one is... it's too weak. let us find it."
She took one last look at the debris, before passing into hyperspace.

2 weeks later a lost starbridge would warp into the system. After performing a quick scan, they would discover the navigational error and find their way back to Tekel. They would be asked what they found in unexplored space, to which the captain would reply, "Nothing but space dust, they call it a dust cloud for a reason fellas."

This post has been edited by just smile and nod: Aug 26 2009, 02:38 AM

[Shlimazel]

Delphis made his way down the corridor. The package seemed heavier than it should. It was probably due to the extensive injuries he had received; they were beginning to take their tole.

Delphis stopped at the door leading into the tertiary engineering deck. This had been identified as the focal point of the phenomenon, and in all likelyhood this was where the Facilitator had taken up residence. There was no hint of activity; all was quiet.

Delphis didn't like it.

He reached over to the door and pulled it open. He couldn't see inside the room, which was impossible; he viewed the world in infrared, xray, ultraviolet and more all at once. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

He reached inside the room and felt around. He could feel the inside of the room, but he couldn't see it. He looked down the corridor; he could still see the bulkheads of the corridor, so he wasn't blind. Therefore, something was concealing the room from him.

He walked in. Wisps of shadowy un-webs floated before his eyes. He scanned the room, but he was still unable to see. He focused on his senses of hearing and smell, trying to detect anything inside of the room. The room smelled like dried blood, and new death.

He shifted his grip on the package.

A white blur emerged from the darkness. He focused on it. The bur resolved into an albino human in all white-the Facilitator.

"A visitor, I see? Too bad I haven't time to entertain you," it said. "I'm a touch busy with these other fools. Your fellow worms in the Navy."

"I'm not here for fun," Delphis said. He sat down the package. The Facilitator looked at it, and a smirk spread across its face. "A plasma charge?" he said disbelievingly. "You think you can kill me with a plasma charge?"

The Facilitator gestured, and the charge went off. Delphis grunted as he was flung back, holes torn in his exoskeleton. He felt the most mild twinge of pain. For an Ubercept, that's a very, very bad sign.

He heard footsteps as the Facilitator walked over to where Delphis lay. Delphis hauled himself upright. There were gaping wounds scarred into the Facilitator's flesh; as Delphis watched they sealed themselves and the cloth of his white suit mended itself. "You haven't a smidgen of my power, infidel," the Facilitator said. "And even less that of hope."

"I don't even need a smidgeon of power," Delphis said as he pulled out the real package, the carefully stealthed and concealed package, out from his belt pack. "Just this."

"What?" the Facilitator demanded. "Some archaic piece of... of.." It stopped, staring at the handheld antimatter charge Delphis held in his hand.

"No!" the Facilitator said, but it was too late, Delphis had already depressed the charge's deadman switch.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Delphis let go of the switch, and the world turned white.

***

The antimatter blast expanded until it hit the reverb generators that Kallatos and his team had set up. These channeled the blast out away from the station and into empty space, rather than obliterating the entire rest of the station.

The end result was a gaping hole in the station exterior. Nothing could have survived it.

***

Sergeant Kallatos was at the brink of death. Overwhelmed by unmentionable creatures with indistinct features and flashing claws and tides of brainwashed humans, he was prepared to die gloriously. Then the fight stopped.

The humans stumbled back, their wave of attack compromised. The creatures simply disappeared. The Ubercept reformed, thankful for the respite, however brief. The nearest human security trooper pulled off its helmet and looked around, bewildered. "Stan? Jaeger? Where'd you go? Where am I?" it asked, dazed.

"Well, Delphis," Kallatos said to no one in particular. "I see you were a warrior after all."

There was a sudden beeping at the nearby airlock. Kallatos turned to it. There was something in the interior chamber, about to enter the room...

"Guns up!" Kallatos ordered, leveling his weapon at the door. Who knew what could be lurking out there?

The door cycled open. Something staggered out...

A damaged, carved up Delphis collapsed at Kallatos's feet.