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

[Warlord Mike]

---REALITY KNOT---

THE CITADEL OF DARKNESS
PLANET NEW ALCATRAZ, PARIAH SYSTEM, IMPERIAL UNIVERSE
1427 HOURS, APRIL 25, 3037 A.D.

Once the dust (or smoke, rather) had cleared, Akasi found himself with the walls of the room charred with a coating of blackened ash, and an overcoat of crimson stains of blood. Thankfully, his new powers granted to him by his Dark Master kept him from being incinerated, but it was still not the most pleasant experience – but then, such was to be expected from a failed execution.

Hacking and coughing, Akasi brushed what char he could off of his clothes; the blood, however, just smudged into the fabric. Looks like he'd need a new change of clothes. Not a moment after, a Dark Messenger materialized to his right.

“So...you finally discovered he was an impostor.”
“Sadly, yes. Then again, I'm not entirely surprised a man such as Stukov would pull a stunt such as this.”
“I entrust you will not be so careless in the future, correct?”
“Indeed – and if anything, master, it is Stukov who is the fool this time – he should know better than to double-cross the Dark Prince's Lieutenant of the Mortal Plane.”
“Good. Now find him, Akasi – and when you do, act as you see appropriate.”
“As you command, Satan.”

The orb of black flames dissipated into nothingness.

“Guards. Enter!”

The two standing by the door wasted no time in thrusting the heavy doors open, relieved to see their leader still intact.

“Are you alright, Lord Akasi?” one inquired.
“Yes, I'm fine, sergeant – though I suppose I should thank Stukov for being so kind in opening that communication – if he thinks he can't be found, that taunt was possibly the absolute stupidest thing he could've done.”
“Your orders, Lord?”
“Ready the Psychic Amplifier – I have a call to make, soon.”
“Yes, milord,” they replied, bowing. They exited the room with Akasi following.
“If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have other matters to attend to, first.” And with that, he headed for his main office.

As Akasi walked through the dark halls of his Citadel, a shadowy figure silently followed him at a distance. The character peeked around corners as Akasi rounded them, staying out of sight. At one point, Akasi did in fact take a quick glance back, but saw nothing.

An evil grin broke across his face.

Upon entering his office, he got in his chair and sat down. The soft leather lining felt simply marvelous to recline in. Considering he'd just had his birthday 5 days prior (not to mention he had just survived an explosion that would have killed any mortal man), it was a rewarding feeling. Opening one of the drawers of his desk, he picked up a few files that had yet to be looked over, revealing a picture of Adolf Hitler on the bottom, closing the drawer afterwards. Grabbing a pen and putting the files down on top of the desk, he set himself to work, writing notes furiously.

“You can stop hiding, now,” he stated as he continued writing.

The figure from before suddenly materialized before the Dark Lord, dropping to one knee and kneeling before him. He wore black battle fatigues, and was armed with little else than a pair of daggers and a utility belt strapped to his waist, which also held a pair of ivory-gripped Colt Pythons. A pair of arm cannons were also strapped to his wrists, and a pair of red-lensed goggles obscured his eyes, while a mask covered his nose, mouth, and forehead.

“What do you ask of The Harvester, my Lord?” he inquired, in a deep, breathy voice.
“I need you to come with me to the Ubercept Universe, Harvester – you know that there are a few other conditions that must be met before our master is freed.”
The man looked up at his superior. “Of course, Lord Akasi. I am more than willing to achieve your goals.”
“Very well. We shall set out tomorrow. Be sure to be ready, as we will no doubt expect some interference,” Akasi warned.

The Harvester let out a sharp laugh, and suddenly unsheathed one of his daggers. “Imperial weaklings. If they decide to challenge me...”

He spun around, and blindly flung the dagger at a torn piece of cloth bearing the Imperial Seal. Clearly, Akasi had used it to take out his anger – on an alarmingly high number of occasions, it appeared. The dagger landed squarely within the center of the “C” of the Insignia, just missing the Cross.

“...I will be more than willing to oblige them.” He walked over to the ruined design, and hastily removed his blade from the wall. He bowed to his master, then seemed to dissolve in a massive cloud of dark particles.

Akasi again smiled evilly. Much was to be done before the appointed day came.

C.N.S. OBLIVION
COLOSSEUM SYSTEM, NOVA UNIVERSE
1221 HOURS, MAY 6, 3961 A.D.

Well...this was a problem.

Just when things seemed to be going their way, Mike and the other Imperials were suddenly interrupted by apparently-rebel Ubercept, and they had a rather big gun pointed at the station. From the looks of things, it appeared to be more or less on-par with the firepower most of the Imperial Fleet possessed.

“Technical, what are the readings?” Mike asked, in his Wolf Form.
The officer shook his head in disbelief. “The energy levels are unbelievable. We're getting a peak upwards of 6.2543*10^31 joules – almost as powerful as the Death Star.”
“Can we get a lock?” Bowser asked.
“Negative – since she's still technically in a trans-dimensional region, we can't fire. If we do, it won't end well.”
“Comms, how long until the support fleet arrives?” Commander shouted to the officer on the opposite side of the bridge.
“ETA remains at 3 minutes, 47 seconds, Commander,” he replied.
“Dammit...we need to do something NOW.”

Suddenly, Admiral Shlimazel began hailing the Oblivion. Not wanting to reveal his true form just yet, Mike shifted back to his human form as contact was made. There had to be a way to stop these rogues before it was too late.

“Commander, are you there?” he radioed.
“Yes, Admiral. Do you have an idea how to destroy this ship?”
“We are planning on closing the tunnel before the Corebeam is able to exit into the system. If we use our hyperdrives, we might be able to do it, but-”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Michael interrupted, “you plan to close it?”
“That is correct.”

Mike flashed a devious grin to Bowser, and nodded to him. Without any explanation required, Bowser nodded back, and dashed out of the bridge.

“There's one chance. The Inter-Dimensional Time Gate Generator aboard our ship is capable of opening rifts in time and space. We might just be able to use the generator to close their entry. However, we might need to hurry – we have detected the weapon's charge to be in excess of 6.5*10^31 Joules, but we don't know what this means. We need to know, Admiral – how much time do we have left?”

---

G.U.I.N COMMAND BATTLESHIP GREAT DEATH
COLOSSEUM SYSTEM, NOVA UNIVERSE
.z3 MICROTIME, UBERCEPT TIME

“Perhaps five minutes,” Admiral Shlimazel said tersely. “If you can do something, do it now. Time is running out.”

“Understood. We'll get to work, then,” Commander responded.

The comm channel stayed open as the Imperial Battle Fleet slid into position around the hyperspace tunnel. Reports crackled back from one section to another, forming a continuous murmur.

“We're getting ready, but it'll take some time,” Commander said. “We might be cutting it close-perhaps too close.”

“If I can assist, let me know,” the Admiral replied. “I must get off the comm for a moment. I'll be back shortly.”

“Of course, Admiral.”

With the comm channel closed, Admiral Shlimazel turned to his Science officer.

“Begin recording everything. Scan everything. Do it subtly, but gather as much information as you can,” Shlimazel directed. “If it ever comes to war with these Commandarians, we'll need every scrap of information we can garner.”

“Understood.”

Admiral Shlimazel turned to the main screen. He watched for a moment, then he flicked the comm channel back on and listened to the murmur of alien voices.

At that same moment, on board the Oblivion...

Paranoia. It is an inability to trust one's words, no matter how sound they are, or who it is that says them. Such was the case with the Imperials, having just about given away one of their greatest secrets to a race that could snuff them out given half a chance. It was not mentioned to Shlimazel, but The Nexus was something that even the Imperials themselves didn't fully understand – all they knew was how to use it to travel time and across dimensions. But beyond that, the region of null-space was an utter mystery.

Perhaps just as well, as Mike feared that his mentioning of the Time Gate Generator may have given the Ubercept...ideas. It was fortunate, then, that all attempts by the Imperials to study The Nexus and its energy had met with failure, or less-than-conclusive or sensible results. But the Generator itself – that was what worried Mike most, as it was no secret among the Top Brass as to how it worked.

Regardless, there was nothing they could do now. With only 2 minutes left, they had to stop this weapon, or thousands, perhaps millions of lives would be annihilated in an instant. He returned his attention to the situation at hand, and hoped that something would come along to keep anything from being scanned.

“Jessari, how are you and the others looking?” Commander asked the CO of the Omega C.N.S. Kronos.
“We'll be arriving right about...now.”

The Kronos and 4 other Omegas emerged from The Nexus, rocketing out of a bluish-white portal and appearing alongside the mighty Oblivion.

Commander breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright. Ready your time gates, and prepare to set up the jump coordinates EXACTLY as I put them.”
“SIR, YES SIR!” the officers replied.

The Omegas circled their target, revealing the small, dish-like devices that would rip the space-time fabric and grant access anywhere, or anywhen, they wanted. As they did so, Commander continued his discussion with the Ubercept Admiral.

“We're getting ready, but it'll take some time,” he explained. “We might be cutting it close - perhaps too close.”
“If I can assist, let me know,” the Admiral replied. “I must get off the comm for a moment. I'll be back shortly.”
“Of course, Admiral.” The connection terminated.

Commander, thinking on his feet, addressed the fleet: “Initiate protocol 3-M1D for all Time Gate Generators.”
“Acknowledged.”

3-M1D was actually an acronym-disguised order for “Electro-Magnetic Disruption.” The theory being, if the object was in an EM shroud, it was impossible to scan. However, it also ran the risk of frying the Generators, as an EM Pulse isn't exactly easily controlled. The fact that Adamantius wasn't conductive allayed this somewhat, but it wasn't much comfort.

Each of the Battlecruisers took their turn in opening the rifts. Oblivion was first, followed by Kronos, then the rest. Each time, only one of the mammoth vessels fired its Gate Generator – the fewer targets the insectoids had to scan, the better. Plus, it would be rather pointless to waste all that energy jumping between dimensions when just one Omega provided enough power. Despite their efforts, though, the menacing ship remained unmoved.

“It's not working...the ship's still there!” an officer panicked.
“Keep firing! We MUST prevent the ship from attacking!” the Imperial leader ordered.

Out of the corner of Mike's eye, he noticed a flash emanate from the Colosseum Station. It seemed like it was sending out a distress beacon, but its size was much too large to be from anything necessary for such purposes – it was close to a quarter the size of the station.

At the same moment, the Corebeam System suddenly started shuddering before the eyes of all attackers. The rift between dimensions was noticeably becoming far more unstable – already the ship was buckling from the stresses as it became apparent the gate was closing. Eventually, the abuse became all too much for the enemy to bear, and with a mighty explosion, the ship became separated from the half still attempting to enter.

“Did...did we do that?” Mike asked, dumbfounded.
“I don't think so...the gate closed too suddenly for it to have been us,” Commander replied.
“Well, I don't know if it's related, but just prior, I thought I saw a white flash from the station,” Mike noted.
“As did I, Mike,” Bowser chimed in. “Personally, I think the events took place much too close to be purely coincidental – but I guess we'll save that enigma for another day.”

With that, the Imperials once again hailed the Great Death.

“Admiral Shlimazel, are you there?”
“Yes, Commander; but what just happened?”
“We're not sure ourselves – but we digress. Now, we need to get to your Universe, and fast. A man by the name Nar Akasi is also seeking the Artifact, and I very much doubt he'd care as to what happens to you and your kind. We'll do what we can to ensure it doesn't transpire, but I can't make any promises.”
“Very well, then.”

Bowser thought for a quick moment, and wondered if Captain Maylithiar could aid in some way. Something in his gut just didn't sit right with them having stolen the show in their ships, and hoped there'd be some way to make it up to him. He decided to open a separate link to the Levaetain.

“Captain Maylithiar,” he began, “this is Bowser, Koopa King and Chief Engineer of the Imperial Navy. Would you be interested in joining us, along with the Ubercept, for assistance? Call it a hunch, but I think we'll need it.”
“We would be honored, Bowser – we will dock immediately.”
“Very well. You are cleared to dock at once.”

With that, the Imperials, Ubercept, and Maylithiar's Troops steeled themselves for the trip ahead.

When this is all over, Mike thought to himself, there'll be Hell to pay...

---END TRANSMISSION---

[fishloaf]

"Ow ow owww--Okay! Okay!" yiped the scarlet-faced Rogue, his pleas making little puffs in the sand next to his face. "I git it; not for sale!"

A leathery old woman nodded sagely, releasing his askew wrist and stepping back. Her nut-brown arms disappeared once again under a zig-zagged poncho, pulling free the fat stack of credit chips the captain had stuffed into her pocket in an attempt to be persuasive; she tossed it beside him with an unceremonious plop.

She had the speed of a damn rattlesnake. Rogue hadn't been ready either, a fact that got sympathy from no one--several fuzzy headed children hung out the door of her tumbledown shack, laughing shrilly and lobbing rocks while roosters strutted around their feet, cocking their heads and watching like little feathered voyeurs.

A few stray laughs might have even floated back from his crew lounging around an ice chest, but the more polite ones poised stoicly as if for a photoshoot when he glanced back.

"Well." The captain stood up from the bent posture he had been levered into and massaged back a crushing, boot-shaped pain in his tailbone. "I do deeply--ngh-regret that we can't work out summa agreement, ma'am." He said breathlessly.

( "She agreed to 'not in the face', didn't she?" Thunderhäus smirked from the driver seat of a nearby hover. )

The captain sneered, reflexively making a mental note to have the last word with him. "Maybe if we come back--"

"Land not for saer." The old lady rasped once more. Everyone had their price, but whatever hers was, the small fortune of platinum boxed away in the hover's back wasn't enough.

"R-right, not for sale, of course is ain't."

"Nevah!"

"Never, okay then."

A stray rock clapped into the dirt dangerously near him. The old lady glared down at it and began yelling over her shoulder at her brood.

The captain had once ran out of fuel and nearly died of thirst on this desolate ball of dried goose s###; heat, snakes, women with attitudes, it had everything he hated in spades. Nothing pissed him off quite like having to endure it and then come home empty-handed.

He pulled his jacket aside and hefted the familiar weight of his sun-warmed iron, a move heralded by groans of dismay from his crew.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna shoot her" he mouthed back to them before returning to the stubborn old crone. "Listen. Ma'am. I know--"

His senses caught up with him just long enough to feel his empty gun hand and watch the horizon turn upside down; the ground rushed up to say hi for the third time today.



"Good thing we have so much ice handay." Nurse Harriet-Holmes sassed later, clattering her way through the ice chest as she assembled a fresh cold pack.

"Nyeh nyeh n-nyeh nyeh nyeh." The ex-captain parroted, slouching in an overstuffed cockpit seat while the medic exchanged his dripping ice pack for the new one.

The mountainous Thunderhäus dropped into the pilots seat with a cushioned thud, all grins at the exquisite humiliation he just watched his arch-rival suffer.

The arch-rival morosely adjusted the ice pack and felt a frigid drop run down his chest. That's when he remembered his mental note. "Hey Thunderhäus."

"Yes captain?"

"Shut the hell up."

"He innt Captain an'more." Harriet-Holmes chimed in. The ex-captain groaned as he watched Thunderhäus' face light up at the news.

"Is that so?"

"Don't make me repeat myself; Cupp done radioed in, said he had a bad feelin about his choice of appointment. Wasn't happy to hear about this little incident."

There were sub-captains appointed every now and then for oversight purposes and away teams, and then there was The Captain. Cupp was the latter, along with everything that entailed.

"Ohh, that's too bad." Thunderhäus shook his head as he picked at the console, thickly forested with switches and dials of every sort. The decrepit Argosy awakened with a discreet shudder. "Our own Captain Rogue's ironclad stratagem of shaking down old ladies just didn't catch on as a business model. Now its just plain 'Rogue' again; O for what was lost in him."

Ex-captain Rogue had nothing to add to this touching declaration. With a gathering drumroll of loose, clattering parts, the Argosy throttled up and took off. Lodestone's warm, blanketing skies faded to black.


[WORK IN PROGRESS. WILL EDIT LATER]

[dsaf]

Several hours even later, work on Bastion's outriggers had started: the framework was complete along with the turret hardpoints and a few of the CPL turrets. A squadron each of the Thunderhead variants had been added to the flight deck and a flight of each circled the ship.

"Hey, AA2, it's been several hours now and we're rested. Are you gonna send us back anytime soon?"

"I would but my AIs seem to have gone missing."

"You need AIs to do that?"

"I don't feel like doing the calculations."

"Lazy. Find them, then."

"Nah, I'll let them have their fun," dsaf said while glancing at the AIs' mini-holopanel. Archangel's status read "Overseeing wargames testing," Kiori's "Overseeing the oversight," and Warhammer's "Wargames testing." "We'll have pirates here in a few hours so you can have fun as well."

* * *

In the Koria system, the Unrelenting sat amid the debris of several Rebellion light capital craft, her bored gunner terrorizing the hijacked Spaceport with a Quad Light and waiting for more interesting targets to appear. As if printed by the copier of some accomodating deity, the dagger-like form of the Project Slayer III materialized. Once fully transitioned, PSIII maneuvered between the Unrelenting and the Spaceport while the canard options detached from the fuselage, orbited to the dorsal and ventral midpoints, and aimed at the carrier.

"Unrelenting, this is the PSIII. You are in unlawful possession of UFP property and citizenry. Leave here and surrender the 'Dock or you shall be annihilated."

* * *

On the Unrelenting's bridge, the red-clad figure said softly, "They've found us; I'm impressed. I want that ship."

* * *

The moment it took for the Unrelenting to respond was more than long enough for the three tiny holographic figures sitting on the main console in the Slayer III's darkened and otherwise unoccupied cockpit to have a full conversation.

<KIORI> Port, not dock!
<WARHAMMER> I do not care about such trivialities. Why are we proceeding with this farce?
<ARCHANGEL> Which farce, your voice or our actions?
<WARHAMMER> Both. I do not need a voice, do not care for this one, and I could have destroyed them five times over in the time it took me to say that.
<KIORI> Intimidation. My voice wouldn't scare a fly and text is impersonal.
<ARCHANGEL> Not everyone has technology you can contact with with text.
<WARHAMMER> The only people I would want to, do.
<KIORI> I'm sure. Now stick to the guidelines. If there's anything left after my turn, you're welcome to overkill it.
<WARHAMMER> Overkill is not as fun the second time around.
...
<WARHAMMER> How long will it take for a response?
<ARCHANGEL> Probably about 2.5 seconds.
<WARHAMMER> Much too long. I could have teraported aboard and had my sword at their leader's throat by now.
<KIORI> Dude, just wait yer turn.
...
<KIORI> Wait, I think they might be responding...

"PSIII, I don't know you found this place but it is you who will die."

"*blip*"

<KIORI> Slower!

"Negative, Unrelenting, I have authority here. Do not force me to engage your vessel."

"You, in that, will destroy us, in this?"

"If you do not surrender, I will. I did not think it neccessary to bring along a dungeon ship nor is it for me to keep your vessel intact."

"Am I looking at a single transport with a millionth the power of this fortress?"

Simultaneously:
<WARHAMMER> Transport?!
<ARCHANGEL> Transport?!

"Negative, you are looking at the Project Slayer III, bearer of the most evil weapons delivery system in over 40000 dimensions and herald to the most powerful warship in this area of space."

<KIORI> Nice line. Is it true?
Simultaneously again:
<WARHAMMER> Technically.
<ARCHANGEL> Eventually.

"That's an outright lie! I have no herald."

<WARHAMMER> This is boring. Hurry up and attack them.
<KIORI> Fine...

"Indeed, you are not the most powerful warship in this area of space. This conversation has become boring and your posturing insults us both, Unrelenting. PSIII out."

Combat blades extended from Slayer III's outriggers and proceeded to send Pulsar Laser and Subach blasts into the Unrelenting's shields. The fortress responded with its Heavy Blasters and Quad Lights, none of which did any noticable damage to either ship.

* * *

"Is he just sitting there? And how bad are those hurting?"

"Yes, he is. I've never seen those weapons before; scanners say they're sort of... xasers? Not even the Feds have those! They're doing minimal damage, slightly higher than Medium Blasters. Our weapons are having similar effect."

"Try a torp."

"Aye!"

Slowly, the EMP Torp left the tube. Slayer III's options twitched once each and the torp exploded after traveling a few kilometers at most.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, maybe some sort of high-powered point defense laser? Scanners didn't get a clear reading."

"Fire some more, quick."

The flying fortress fired a brace of six more torpedoes at PSIII. PSIII's options reponded with more twitching. The first two missiles met the same fate as the previous one, the rest being bathed in small explosions seemingly coming from nowhere before exploding well before they hit their target.

* * *

<KIORI> Awesome! Can I shoot that big tub with em?
<ARCHANGEL> Yes, but you have plenty of better stuff to do so with.

* * *

"Must be some sort of relativistic flak cannon. The power and computational requirements must be insane!"

"*blip*"

"Maybe that's why he's not maneuvering. Give him a few more."

Six more torpedoes were launched and six more torpedoes failed to reach their target. Then, flak explosions lit up Unrelenting's shields. Alarms blared at the sudden and immense ramp up in damage taken.

"That doesn't sound good. All power to forward shields."

"It won't matter, we'll be dead in two minutes at best."

"Give him everything we've got and prepare to jump."

Unrelenting let loose with a withering barrage of weaponry that probably would've atomized any normal ship or fleet of ships. Slayer III, on the other hand, just sat there and ignored it all while the flak continued to explode upon the Unrelenting's shields.

* * *

<WARHAMMER> You might want to hurry up and reconfigure the flak for point defense.
<KIORI> Why?
<WARHAMMER> You haven't seen your shield gauge?"
<KIORI> I saw the specs, I don't need to with their level of technology.
<WARHAMMER> And if we weren't using properly calibrated and balanced wargames testing protocols, your Subachs alone would've killed them in less than a minute. No "God mode" for you.
<KIORI> Crap...

Before Kiori could reconfigure the flak cannons to point defense mode but after getting the ship moving, the last ditch EMP Torpedoes proximity detonated, bringing down the shields for a moment -- a moment that coincided with the arrival of a couple of Heavy Blaster shots and Railgun slugs.

<ARCHANGEL> Hull breach. Retreat.

And PSIII teraported away...

[fishloaf]

"...and that's the story of how I got to be called Fusion West!" gloated a tall, meatheaded blonde man to his nonexistent audience. He paused to kiss the mushroom-cloud-and-crossed-rifle patch decorating the shoulder of his jacket, and then planted a second one on his bicep.

"Ah, heh...Fusion?" A bookish man in a lab coat tugged on his sleeve. "Can we exercise a little more discretion until we're done here?"

"Jerry, old chum," Fusion raised a finger theatrically as he jostled his way down a row of disgruntled space captains. Drinks toppled over and people swore as he went. "...you might not realize that right now I'm but a shadow in the murky evening. My cool facade is a riddle, encased within a mystery, wrapped in a jacket."

"I'm afraid don't follow." grumbled Jerry.

"Why, you don't think I infiltrated a Federation carrier by memorizing the Navy officers handbook, do you? You know the old adage; if you wanna blend in, you gotta stand ou--!" He was cut off by a chorus of 'shut up's.

"ARE YOU GOING TO ORDER SOMETHING OR WHAT?" rumbled Death, slapping a dish rag down on the counter.

Fusion whirled around at the first sign of acknowledgement, oblivious to the Grim Reaper's cringe as he threw an arm over his shoulder. "Oh man, that reminds me--you're gonna love this one..."

As a Universe Bar, Colosseum station's watering hole catered to a vast, often conflicting array of interests, creating numerous little subcultures that had divvied up the establishment in true high school fashion.


There was the "front", which was technically a neighboring Denny's that had been annexed after an errant Kool-Aid man crashed through the tasteful, wood paneled wall--other than the web of rippling CAUTION tape, the front was still the nice area, the recommended dining for people who though smoking was the height of offensive behavior or were on a first date and wanted to make a good impression.

In the bar proper, the sports fans took the sunken viewing deck, a parking lot of reclining chairs huddling subserviently before a towering holovision screen with laboratory grade resolution. It was currently tuned to the weather on Tichel. The front bar counter itself was for disgruntled space captains looking for a quick drink, for glory hounds and braggarts, and anyone maybe a chance at snagging that United Shipping mission string--at that very moment, the foxy Samantha Virana was patroling the counter for fresh recruits (while giving Fusion a wide berth).

A no-name band thrummed quietly in the corner of the room, which was reserved for the brooding antihero loners to silently exposit their tragic backstories or anyone discussing something shady. Next to this was a long line of kingpins and overlords impatiently checking their watches as they waited for seating to open up.

Three customers hunched around one such table, distinguishing themselves by being the only ones in the bar, perhaps ever, to pay Fusion any attention.

"That guy's?" asked an archerfish, sinking to the bottom of his bowl in disbelief. "That used to be your body?"

Seated next to the fish, a bug-eyed robot nodded gravely, drumming a pnuematic tentacle on the table.

"So you were a brilliant, controversial neurosurgeon and a bodybuilder?"

"Or an underwear model." suggested a man-sized rooster in a cowboy hat.

"I knew you guys weren't actually coming along to help." the robot grumbled.

"Crux of the matter is, Fritz," sniffed the rooster, "--I catch the distinct smell of bulls### wafting through the air. Seems to me like you got so tired of that metal shell that you've picked the biggest, healthiest-looking nobody you think won't be missed--"

"Wait, wait, wait." Fritz raised a tentacle in mediation.

"--and just expect us to help you move in like his braincase is a posh new apartment."

"Fine." The robot breathed airily. "Don't show me any trust, Fowlus. Just remember that if I had been like that to you, you'd still be at the Tyson factory right now. And you, Archerfish--"

Fowlus smirked. "Never said I wasn't gonna help you."

"Yeah, I'm actually interested in seeing how this plays out." Archerfish mused, resting his chin on a fin.

"So nice to know that I always have your morbid curiosity to count on when the chips are down." Fritz grumbled. He swung a doctor's bag onto the tabletop and began laying out surgical tools.

Suddenly, the distant Fusion and his scientist pal stood up, hurrying off to the Men's Room together. Archerfish and Fowlus poised rigidly.

Fritz looked up a moment later, robotic eye darting over the room in alarm. "Wh-Where'd they go?"

"Fritz..." Archerfish began slowly. "...are you sure you want that particular body to live in?"

"There's no place like home." Fritz shrugged.

"Hold on a sec. What guarantee do you have that this guy hasn't done something unseemly with it? There's no telling what you might have to live with." Fowlus said.

"Yeah, it can't be all that bad, being in that shell." Archerfish added. "Never get sick--"

"Or laid." Fritz interjected.

"Or have any trouble reaching the chick peas at the salad bar." Archerfish continued.

"Deary me, whatever will I do without that distinct privelige?"

"You won't be nearly as good at fooseball with just two arms." Fowlus offered.

Fritz hesitated.

"And you can forget that whole 'One Man Polka Ensemble' act you had planned for the next talent show."

***

"Overhead capacitors to one-zero-five percent." Jerry reported, the laptop's harsh glint reflecting off his glasses. USB wires snaked down under the partition, etched with years' worth of obscenities, and into the neighboring stall, where Fusion attended to the teraWatt-class laser system. It hummed dangerously as it balanced on the latrine, fed by heavy duty extension cords that ran up through a ceiling tile and tapped directly into the stations main delivery line.

The stall door pulled open. Jerry looked up, recieving a double take and awkward, mumbled apology from a drunken space captain. Jerry sighed at the door thundered shut again, echoing through the restroom; he was a scientist who moonlighted as a bum. Such was the price of losing his private grant money to some expatriated Auroran half-wit who knew how to pull the Federation Science Foundation's 'diversity' strings better than he. Jerry was a foreigner himself, and he simply wanted to help pull these neanderthals out of the squalor of their collective ignorance, but did they see fit to lift a finger for him? NooOOo.

Oh, but Jerry would show them. For all of Fusion's hardheaded bravado (or perhaps because of it), he was an adept 'procurement officer' and his latest finding was the purest sample Jerry had ever seen. Whether or not the results fit the correlation or completely destroyed the hypothesis, this test, Jerry felt, would be the keystone of his research. They would have to grant him tenure once this published.

Only a few more weeks while he compiled, and he would never have to see another seedy public bathroom again. No more searching out tripped breakers, hiding from station security, cleaning vomit off his equipment...

"Whoops!" Fusion blurted next door, and Jerry's data suddenly turned into a repeating column of 'error'.

And no more students. Dear God, no more students. Jerry would never have to speak to anyone below the respectable age of sixty unless he deigned to.

"Ayyyup." The limp USB cord tugged, and Jerry's data trickled back into being "There we go. Easy-peasy-mac-and-cheesy."

"I don't know how long we can operate at this level, Fusion. Please, work as quickly as you--" Jerry suddenly felt that he would regret that. "...er, don't waste time."

With a grave swooshing, the sample's protective duffle bag dropped to the floor. "In you go"

BLAM!

"S-Sh-shutting down!" Jerry warbled, legs going wobbly as he hammered at the
keyboard. The laptop ignored him, data continuing to stream merrily.

BLAM! Ka-BAM!

Water gushed around Jerry's feet and the bathroom door flew off its hinges. "Fusion, get out of there!"

Green lightning raked over the walls, carving deep furrows everywhere. Other bathroom-goers watched curiously, not about to get overly worked up unless necessary. A gathering buzz filled the room, along with another cacophony of explosions and raining debris.

And then...

***

"Lead the way." Fowlus managed to gasp past Fritz's chokehold.

"Much better." Fritz stood up, brandishing a syringe and his doctors bag, while Fowlus, carrying Archerfish, stood back. Zeroing in on the Men's Room, they made it all of one step before a muted explosion rumbled through the bar's floor and the lights flickered.

The banter lulled for a moment while a few of the more alert patrons glanced around, before going back to their discussions, or break ups, or climactic battles for humanity.

Fritz and Fowlus jostled past a spanish matador and and then his bull opponent, reaching for the restroom door when it burst open. As Fritz jolted back, a scientist raced by, flames thrashing wildly on his back as he made a headlong charge out of the bar.

"Yaaaaaaaah!" the voice receded down the corridor.

"...hey, wasn't he with your guy?" Archerfish asked.

Fritz pulled open the restroom door and froze; greeting him was the rippling, distorted vortex of a wormhole, swirling into blackness. Disembodied voices, faint and overlapping, chorused over the vortex's wavering hum.

"...uh." Fowlus scratched his head under his hat. "Is that supposed to be...there...?"

"Sure, Fowlus. 'Cuz this portal to hell-thing that looks exactly like a bathroom entrance." Archerfish said.

"Hey, I've seen worse."

"Where?"

"Grand Central Station."

"Scuse me, gotta spring a leak." a porky captain groused from behind, muscling past the two and stepping nonchalantly into the whirlpool-like tear. The wormhole answered with a brilliant flash.

Fritz did the closest approximation of a shrug his bundled tentacles would allow. "Eh, guess I'll...." He took a hesitent half step before glancing back, as if for permission.

"Fritz, I'm 90% sure I see stars on the other side of this thing." Fowlus warned. "Don't."

"Well--"

Archerfish spoke up. "Is the lady's room the same way?" They glanced over. A line twenty women long snaked out the portalless entrance.

"Okay, then. That was a fun lunch break." Fowlus announced, turning around. "How about we get back before--"

"Soccoro!" A panicked matador, angry bull in hot pursuit, crashed into Fowlus like a big, feathered tackling dummy, making the whole group collapse like dominoes. In a tangled ball, the portal hummed in their ears as they careened toward the swirling, whispering event-horizon of the wormhole. Out of the cacophony of voices, one sounded clearly, hauntingly, for just a moment before the flash:

"He likes it! Mikey likes it!"

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Oct 18 2009, 11:32 PM

[fishloaf]

The Atom Heart was as illegal as they came.

A Wolf-chasis that some maniac had customized with his own three hands, it towered mightily in the impound dock of Colosseum's Staff Only hangar. It needed no sheep's clothing, the many equipment violations flagrant and conspicuous: flamethrower jets nestled beside nuclear pulse generators, while a garden of missiles and jammers studding the wings. Further assemblies balanced on an exoskeleton of gutted cargo pods left over from when the innocent fighter had been subjected to a Sigma mass trick.

At half past noon, the Atom Heart blasted off, leaving a discarded landing-gear boot and a furious garage Chief (the direct descendent of Rosie the Riveter, incidentally), in its spot.

***

"Got it." reported the self-appointed pilot, setting aside his lock decoder and other tools. With his other hand, he guided the ship into a few taunting circles around a Staff ship until his stomach lurched, making him instantly regret it.

The radio buzzed back, "Copy. The client, uh..."

"Don't tell me he changed delivery places again."

"Sorry Cheat. He wants it at Harbor station now."

"In Scheall? F### me." Cheat would have asked double in advance for a delivery that far. Going all the way to Deep North two jumps at a time was inconvenient, in the same sense that being the groom at a shotgun wedding was inconvenient.

"Are you gonna back out?" His contact asked nervously. Re-negotiating was an even bigger hassle.

The Cheat paused to cram down a button on the front console, and holographic targeting brackets began to dot his view, a reticle that passed for the ship's "eye" zig-zagging between them. "Nah, negative. Tell him that I can't follow through on the 'mint condition' clause, though, if I have to get past all those big, wild-haired Free Traders. Any scratches are his problem."

"Heh heh, 'Free Traders', right. Have fun."

Cheat shoved the throttle yoke to full and selected the Hector Cannon, answered by the woody clatter of 'birdseed' filling the magazine. If his customer was going to play games with the deal, he was going to get marked merchendise. The reticle settled on a Staff Lynx; Cheat raised his thumb over the trigger.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

Cheat had only a heartbeat to consider the blazing green anomaly sizzling above his seat. His scalp tingled and his hair bristled straight up, and then--

Tha-BAM, the seat thundered as a crushing weight dropped into Cheat's lap. For a brief moment, Cheat fought to breathe as a bull stared him in the face, blinking in wide-eyed confusion. Seeing that Cheat had neither an answer or a bag of oats, the bull violently headbutted him deep into the seat and then erupted into a tempest of thrashing hooves and squirming, knife-like pressure digging in all the wrong places.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

"Tarnation!" squwaked a voice that didn't belong to Cheat as feathers suddenly filled the air.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

Something heavy made a steely clang against the floor behind a bruised Cheat, who huddled behind an arm as the bull alternated between levering itself over the pilot's seat and pounding Cheat with its head. Thrashed around like a rag doll, Cheat howled at the nightmarish turn things had taken.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!* A disoriented Aron, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and clutching a travel map, glanced around in alarm before disappearing.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!* An errant fish splatted against the canopy.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!* "Attention duelists! My hair is--!" *PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!* ....


***


"Well, I'll get the Lost Equipment Release paperwork." sighed a tech.

"No...we're getting it back." Rosie deadpanned.

"What? Ma'am, its no good locking the barn door once the horse is gone. How're we gonna even find--"

"Through the might of workplace empowerment!" Rosie thundered, flexing a bicep. "...and the tracking bug I installed. And the VIN number in our database. Aaaaaand this remote helm access program." She grinned a steely grin, cracking open a laptop. "Seriously, weren't you paying attention at the loss prevention meeting?"

Within minutes, Rosie had contacted the Atom Heart's computer. Avionics data flooded down the screen, G-force reading bouncing wildly between none and extreme. Her cursor floated down to a button reading "Disable Manual Control"

Back on board the Atom Heart, a rock-hard hoof crashed through the dashboard, answered by a crackle and then smoke. The hyperjump engines came to life and outside the canopy, the stars stretched into a field of long, shining contrails...

The data on Rosie's screen went dead as the connection was lost.

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Oct 11 2009, 11:31 PM

[Warlord Mike]

---BLACK PLAGUE, PT I---

THE CITADEL OF DARKNESS
PLANET NEW ALCATRAZ, PARIAH SYSTEM, IMPERIAL UNIVERSE
1602 HOURS, APRIL 25, 3037 A.D.

A single helmet, connected to a console by a few cables, sat idly in the center of a great, circular room, hovering over a rat's nest of wires and circuitry. Technicians prepared the chamber, attending to any damage in the wiring as the Dark Lord entered. Upon his entrance, everyone stopped and saluted Akasi, only returning to their work with a wave from his hand.

A large monitor lowered itself in front of the console as Akasi put the headgear on. Securing it to his forehead via a few straps, his fingers then proceeded to tap away at the console, as he prepared to send a warning to one Samir Stukov, who arrogantly believed he could double-cross the Dark Lord and get away with it. However, he would need to hurry – with 2 hours past, the ability to trace Stukov was almost gone. Alas, they would not be able to determine his exact location, but it was of little consequence – Stukov would likely have fled the location by the time they reached it, and the man couldn't hide forever.

“Lord Akasi, the Amplifier has been calibrated and the Admiral has been found. Shall we begin transmitting?”
The Dark Lord nodded. “Proceed at once, Fabricator. And be quick – we must strike while the trace is still fresh.”
“Yes, my Lord.”

OFFICE OF SAMIR STUKOV
UNKNOWN LOCATION, NOVA UNIVERSE
1301 HOURS, MAY 6, 3961 A.D.

Admiral Stukov busied himself with the matters at hand. Thanks to Nar Akasi's “generosity,” he now had the means to begin his own agenda. And with the so-called “Dark Lord” having been dealt with by a living bomb, he saw no reason to fear for his life.

You should have heeded my warning when I said not to test me, Admiral.

Stukov sat up, erect. He didn't recall asking for any officer to meet him – and certainly not with those words, which would have gotten the man responsible shot.

Suddenly, the walls, drawers, and desk seemed to vanish into blackness – the only thing he could make out was the chair he sat on. He could hear the door to his office close, then lock, but he had asked no-one to do any of the sort. Everywhere he looked, only sheer blackness greeted his vision.

A ghostly-red image of Akasi suddenly formed in front of Stukov. He reached for his sidearm, but found it not to be there. He was sure he had it holstered before this all transpired, and yet it was missing. He attempted to leave his seat, but his legs refused to respond to the input. In fact, the only things he could move were his head and arms – the rest of his body seemed like an immovable mass.

“Akasi! I thought I did away with you!” he stated, through barred teeth.
Akasi laughed evilly. “And you might have succeeded...but alas, it was a futile attempt, I'll have you know. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for your human bomb – he does add a nice contrast to the stone, though, splattered across the walls and all.”
“I'm not afraid of you, you son of a bitch,” Stukov hissed.
“Really? Well, you ought to be,” Akasi replied, coolly. “You ought to be thankful – or lucky, one of the two – that I don't, or rather, can't crush you like the despicable gnat you are, Stukov – in the Ebon Trance I've placed you in, about the only thing currently functioning is your mind. I only sealed the doors to ensure there is no physical interference in our meeting – though I can already feel Vell-Os trying to block my psionic presence, and were it up to me, I would have mind-controlled them myself and sent them to kill you.”
“So why don't you?” he mocked.
“Well, for one thing, I can only do so many things at once – but for another, it's so much more fun to watch you squirm, traitor,” he remarked, placing heavy emphasis on “traitor.”

Akasi then walked toward Stukov, who retained a defiant stare.

“Hear me, Stukov, and hear me well,” he began. “I have matters to attend to in another universe presently, but once finished, I promise you this – I have no intention of letting your little stunt go unnoticed. And do not think that you can simply hide from me – run all you want, Admiral, but I will find you, Stukov...and once I do, you shall witness the extent of my powers.”

Akasi then stepped back. A bolt of black lightning struck him, and Stukov could do nothing but bear witness to the horror he saw, his expression of defiance deteriorating to one of shock.

“You now witness my true form, Stukov,” the Dark Lord threatened. “I assure you – you will not be the only one who sees me like this, and when I make my entrance, I will ensure that you do not cross me again. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!”

The darkness vanished, and Stukov suddenly fell forward in his chair, almost slamming his head on the desk. He looked about, and noticed that the door was now open exactly as it was when he “fainted,” seeing little better choice of words for the event. His sidearm was exactly were it was, and he could stand up and sit down normally.

He got up, and left his office, returning to other matters.

Meanwhile...

C.N.S. OBLIVION
COLOSSEUM SYSTEM, NOVA-VERSE
0847 HOURS, MAY 7, 3961 A.D.

Bowser walked into the bridge to deliver the latest set of core readings before shipping out to the Ubercept Universe. They figured it would be a good idea to give it a day's rest before the hunt officially began. His eye caught a familiar face as he headed back to the reactor...

Mike.

He sighed, sadly. Bowser couldn't even begin to imagine what was going through the young wolf's mind, all things considered...

For three months, Mike, and his family and friends had prayed continuously in the hopes that maybe things would turn around – upon being diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, the docs were going to do everything in their power to treat her and get her back to full health. Mike had remained optimistic from the start, constantly believing she could still make it.

Sadly, it was not to be. On July 31, she died at 7:25 that morning.

He had told Bowser, indeed, his friends, how he wished he could have hit a “reset” button and caught the illness before it got to an advanced stage – the problem they soon discovered was that it is extremely difficult to detect Myeloma before Stage 4 – and at that point, the disease has more or less gotten full control of the body.

And yet...there were bright spots to all of this.

Mike had come forward and confessed his involvement in the ASW Forums, of which the Empire knew the Nova-Verse originated from, before his mom had passed. He had also gone through quite a spiritual reformation, taking a considerably more active stance as a Christian. And he was much more dedicated to his work than he had been, previously, which would be necessary if he was to be an engineer.

Every dark cloud has its silver lining, Bowser thought to himself.

[ATTENTION, ALL PERSONNEL – REPORT TO YOUR ASSIGNED STATIONS AND PREPARE FOR DIMENSIONAL TRANSPORT.]

“Looks like that's my cue,” the Technician commented to himself. With that, he hurried out.

Mike just wasn't sure what to do with himself anymore. It felt like all his motivation was gone, in light of his Mom's death. In addition, things back home just didn't seem to have the same pizzaz they did before, and nothing seemed to hold his attention for any extended period of time; the fact he had to move 6 hours away to continue his studies only seemed to compound the problem. He missed his friends, and his family...

...and his mom.

A tear ran down his cheek as he remembered all the times they had with her, biting his lip. Oddly, he didn't cry as much as everyone else, but he also cried the loudest. Perhaps, his grievance counselor reasoned, it was because it took a fair bit of prodding to set him off – Mike wasn't ever quick to anger, whereas his father had a bit of a short fuse. And his father cried a lot during this whole time.

This was no dream any more – this was a nightmare. A nightmare he wished he would wake up from. A nightmare he couldn't wake up from. The loneliness, the lack of motivation, the various duties – oh, how he wished he could just end it all! Just to make it all go away...a simple game of roulette...one round...pull the trigger, and...

NO!

He defiantly, angrily stopped himself.

That is NOT the kind of person I am!

He rose from his seat, bearing a face no longer of sadness, but determination.

I don't know why He called you home so soon, Mom, but I know that you're having a great time up there. I am not about to throw my life away just so I can get myself out of this funk! God put me where I am for a reason, and I am not about to challenge His decision!

With newfound vigor, Mike suddenly felt amazingly relieved to finally get that off his mind. Perhaps this was the start of a new stage of development for him – what it was, though, he could only guess. He quickly shifted into his Human-Form, and made for the Hangar – after all, it wasn't polite to keep one's guests waiting.

Mom, I promise you – I WILL do whatever it takes to do the best I can.

---TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED---

[JoshTigerheart]

A long long time ago...

NGC-0946

Captain Oliver sat at the head of the Patrol Boat, Wild Fire, as he vessel slowly drifted through the darkness of space. Around their ship was the debris from a pair of pirate vessels they had gunned down mercilessly and now they laid in wait for more prey to jump into the system. None had appeared for over a hour, but one would sooner or later. It was just a matter of patience.

Being out on patrol for pirate and rebel craft usually consisted of small periods of high excitement between long periods of nothing happening. The crew were not allowed to kick back and relax when everything was clear. A target could enter the system at any given moment, so they always had to be ready. As a result, everyone on duty stayed at their stations on alert for the duration of the patrol when not in combat. The duty was divided into three shifts, with everyone taking two for being active and one third of the ten-man crew alternating sleep on each shift.

Gunner Samir Stukov, whose station was safely tucked away behind the captain and out of his line of sight when he was turned around, glared at Oliver. In his eyes, the man was weak and incompetent. Oh yes, he was effective, but only because he always leapt for the easiest assignments when they appeared. As a gunner assigned under him, he was always dragged along to patrol for pirate and rebel craft here in the galactic north, never where the actual threats were in the south and east. This vessel had never once encountered a single Auroran or Polaris vessel. And, under this undeservedly decorated man's command, Samir doubted they would survive an encounter with either of them.

He turned his gaze back to his controls. His eyes ran over the computer systems for controlling the turrets and missile launcher. Samir also suspected that, if this wasn't one of the better armed versions of patrol craft, they'd be wreckage and bodies drifting out in space from combating pirates and rebels too. The pilots handled the vessel more or less just fine, but they weren't fast enough. They couldn't be fast enough. For whatever reason whoever designed the patrol craft didn't fit it with the best possible engines. It seemed as though the only things that kept them alive were their shields, their turrets, and their missiles.

"Sir, we have a Pirate Carrier inbound to the system," came a report, "Looks damaged."

"You all know what to do, boys. Kill it," the captain ordered.

The combat sired squealed inside the Wild Fire, rousing the sleeping crew members from their slumber. As the patrol craft sped forward after it's newest target for the day, a quickly waking up gunner sat down next to Samir, splitting the controls between the two of them. He took over one of the turrets and the missiles, not trusting his fellow's dulled senses to be able to properly lock on to their targets. Samir immediately got the necessary data from the sensors to locate his target and locked onto the critical portions of the ship.

The Pirate Carrier took notice of the Wild Fire the moment a Hellhound missile was flying through space. The damaged vessel reluctantly turned to face the threat and began to return fire with it's rail guns and a EMP Torpedo. Meanwhile, a pair of Pirate Vipers, one with a missing gun, launched from the bays to intercept the Wild Fire. The Patrol Boat slipped through the shots from the rail guns and opened fire with it's quad lights on the torpedo while the other turrets engaged the Vipers. At the same time, Raven Rockets were launched from the pods at the slow moving Carrier, finding their mark with ease.

Seeing both of its fighters and remaining torpedo shot down, it seemed as if the fight wouldn't be over quickly for the pirates. They immediately began to turn to flee. Apparently, the lack of ammunition, lack of shields, and the damage to the hull was enough to convince them that this wasn't worth fighting out. However, their escape was cut short as the first Hellhound Missile slammed into it from the side with a second striking the engines on the rear, bathing the ship in a bright, red slow. The glow from the thrusters flickered out, leaving the carrier with maneuvering thrust only.

The Wild Fire wasted no time in closing for the kill. Raven Rockets collided into the middle of the carrier, sending a series of explosions through the ship's spine. The bridge and the bay separated from the rest of the ship and drifted apart. Shots from the Patrol Boat's blasters continued to rain down on the craft, tearing apart the already broken pieces even further. Within several minutes the Pirate Carrier had been reduced to eight large pieces of wreckage with countless bits of smaller debris around it.

"Sir, I'm picking up some strange readings from the wreckage," came a report.

"What is it, Thompson?" Captain Oliver demanded.

The technical officer shook his head, "I don't know, sir. I'm picking up crates drifting out from where the cargo bay split. They're giving off energy readings unlike any we've ever seen."

"Pilot, move in closer so we can collect them," Oliver ordered.

"Yes sir!" was the response as the Wild Fire slowly moved through the wreckage, pieces bouncing off the shields as it plower through the destruction.

"That might not be wise, sir."

"And why not?"

"There's a thorium reactor that survived the attack floating nearby," Thompson reported, "It is leaking and may explo..."

Thompson was cut off as the very device he was speaking off bursted in a brilliant blue explosion. The crates near it were also engulfed, causing them to detonate as well. However, they didn't merely explode. Within moments, a swirling blue vortex formed where they had been moments before. The Wild Fire's alarms shrieked as the sensors reported horribly a horribly strong gravity well within the vortex. All around them the debris was being sucked in with them rapidly approaching.

"Pilot, get us out of here!" Oliver screamed.

Wordlessly, the pilot responded by rotating the vessel and slamming the afterburners. The Wild Fire began to speed away from the vortex, easily escaping it's grasp. However, the rip in space wasn't satisfied as it was growing at a rapid pace. Odd energy arced like lightning in all directions. A bolt laced across the distance between the vortex and the Wild Fire and struck the vessel. The Patrol Boat went dark as all of it's power was suddenly lost. It began to slow at first after the engines died. It then sped up again, except backwards. In moments, along with the rest of the Pirate Carrier, it too disappeared into the swirling rip in space.

[Ragnar0k]

The station is dwarfed by its entourage of ships, which are in turn dwarfed by the massive Ender cruiser, which is only slightly smaller than some of the planetoids in the area. But that station is the hub of the system. Three thriving, twirling, sparkling hula hoops tethered to a central pillar. A tangle of metal and glass and a thousand composite alloys too complicated to spell or pronounce correctly. This is the jewel of the Milky Way. This is Coliseum. And also there is bar.

Death stands behind the counter wiping a glass with a rag near as old as he. Perhaps the first rag. The mold from which all other rags were wrought. And at that same moment, in countless other places, he uses his phantom scythe to harvest the latest crop of souls. The regulars know him well. They’ve all barely escaped that reaping a time or two. Souls like that are drawn to this place. The Universe Bar is and has always been a bastion for people of questionable morals and dubious origins. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villa— “Seriously, are you going to do that whole thing out loud?”

… wait, what? “Yes, you with the red hair and fancy armor. I enjoy my drinks better when you hold the ice and the monologue. What happened, you wandered off on the way to the renaissance faire?”

A dark haired woman sits at the bar to my left wearing a scowl like a favorite hat and jabbing a finger in my direction. Her black clothes are torn in odd places. They are in obvious need of mending. Her eyes seem carved from obsidian and are at odds with her deathly pale skin. She looks increasingly confused. There is an untrustworthy and mildly dangerous air about her, I –“Untrustworthy? Not cool. I heard that. I hear you. You’re still talking and now it’s offensive.” She is still pointing that finger at me. It is very rude. Wait. Now she’s showing me a different finger… It is even more rude. Who raised this woman? If she wasn’t so pretty—“Are you trying to pick me up? Is that what this is, because you’re terrible at this. This is terrible.”

It seems—“Nope.”

It seems—“Nu-uh. It doesn’t seems anything. I’m going to stop you right now. This pick-up was a failure. You have failed. I’m going to the other side of the bar now. Don’t follow me.”

…

Ahem. It seems I didn’t realize I was speaking. The woman finishes her drink and readies to leave. I hold out a hand to stop her, “Wait, was I still doing it?”

“Um.” She looks at me quizzically as she slides off her stool and sets her glass down with a clink, “No?”

Success! I change my gesture from a halt to a hand shake and offer a smile that lights up the room, “Name’s Aron.”

She shields her eyes from the glare and backs away, “Don’t much care. Nice talking to you, or whatever, _{good riddance}.”

I switch from first to third person narration because I don’t think I can narrate my own actions without lapsing into my earlier problems. Mental adjustment made Aron follows after the mystery woman, “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“I’m going to tell you to go @#&! yourself.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Well that wasn’t very nice.” Aron admonished.

She rounded on him, “Dear god, what do you want from me?”

Aron gasped, “You knew?!”

“Knew what?”

“The god… thing.” He wilted, “Okay never mind. Obscurum, the important thing—“

“You know my name?”

“Of course. The important thing—“

“Why did you ask me if you already knew?”

“Because it was the polite thing to do? Listen, the important thing—“

“Wait, how the hell do you know my name I—“

“STOP INTERUPTING ME!” Aron bellowed in a voice that jostled everything that wasn’t nailed down and loosened everything that was. Men dove for cover. Captains hid behind their tables. Hardened warriors cowered where they sat. Somewhere in the back of the bar one man no longer had the hiccups.

The woman shrank back with an _eep. A lone tumbleweed was her only companion in that section of the bar. Even he trembled a bit, “Sorry.”

“I mean really that has to be the tenth time.”

“My bad.”

“It’s just so rude you know? I wait all this time to talk to you and then I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Please continue.”

“Alright then. The important thing…” he paused and let his icy blue gaze wash over the room like an arctic tidal wave. Angry penguins strutted around the bar behind him looking for anyone with the spine to continue the parade bad manners. His overwhelming presence branded terror onto every mortal and immortal soul. When he and his flightless enforcers were appeased he moved on, “is that you are going to be getting a lot of unwanted attention here thanks to who and what you are.”

She cringed, “You mean there’ll be more stalkers in shining armor?”

“Well no, I’m the only one.”

“Oh… I think I’ll be okay then. Um, the name’s Edo by the way. Edo Obscurum.”

Aron grinned, “I already know your name.”

“Guess I was being polite?” The god spared her a nod and walked off as abruptly as he came. Edo stood in that spot for several minutes after Aron left. Things returned to normal. Or what passes for normal in those parts. She stared at her empty glass on the counter, “Someone spiked my drink. No more alcohol on this trip.”

**

Edo claimed a table and kicked away the accompanying chairs. Alone in her tiny sovereign nation she sipped at a glass of the blandest water she had ever tasted, and she was content. No more liquor. And no one paid her any mind. She didn’t stand out in a place where Death himself would pour the drinks and shoot the breeze with you. At least that’s what she thought before the man in the unmarked uniform sauntered over.

He was average height and build with brown hair and eyes. His most remarkable feature was that he was entirely unremarkable, “Edo Obscurum I presume.” It wasn’t really a question. He grabbed an unused chair and dragged it to the table without waiting for an answer.

She hit him with a glare that should have curdled blood. He ignored her and sat down. She debated a dozen ways to end this before it started. None of them went well for anyone involved. She judged the distance to the exit. Decided it wasn’t really worth the hassle of running either. She dropped her head to the table with a thud and resigned herself to conversation, “Why does everyone know me?”

The stranger busied himself getting comfortable. He munched on a free pretzel and ordered a virgin drink. She looked up at something glinting on his neck. A silver cross dangled from the necklace he wore. It caught every errant ray of light that wandered into his general area. That was the only decoration he allowed himself. Finally he said to Edo, “I didn’t think someone would beat me here.” She started tap tap tapping her impatience out in Morse code. The man folded his hands in his lap and met the chill of her gaze, “I am an Agent, a liaison if you will, from the C.N.S Oblivion. My name is Steven.” Pride colored his voice. As did a splash of confidence and the tiniest I’m-better-than-you highlight of condescension.

“I don’t want any.” She deadpanned.

He tipped the waitress who brought his glass, “Any what?”

“Bibles or blenders or anti-gravity vacuum cleaners. Whatever it is you’re trying to sell me.” She waved him away.

He looked at her aghast, “I’m not a salesman.”

“Oh. Well then. I guess you have me confused with someone who knows or cares what the hell you’re talking about.” She went back to her water.

He sighed, “Maybe we could start over.” He fingered his cross as if it would tell him where to begin. He must have found some answer there, “The Commandarian Empire maintains a vast and accurate record of just about everything that has occurred in all the known universes that are its charge, past to present. We need this information to ensure the overall peace and stability of our Lord’s Creation.”

“This is my concern because…?”

Steven looked around as if watching for eavesdroppers. He leaned in conspiratorially, “We have no record of you in any time anywhere until you appeared on this station earlier today.”

That pricked her ears up, “Is that interesting?”

“Well it’s not not interesting. Gaps in the record are rare. In recent times they’ve happened frequently in the Milky Way for reasons we don’t quite understand. In some cases they are the first clues to extremely important events.”

She smiled to herself, “I suppose you think I’m someone important.”

“Well no not really, I just got some strange readings off of you and decided to investigate.” Sucker punch to her pride. Oblivious he consulted a data-pad he wore on his forearm. A tiny holographic monitor displayed the time, temperature, and stats for the latest game of asteroid pong. A pixie sized Edo appeared next to an avalanche of text that left the Agent frowning.

“Something wrong?” He browsed the readings. He muttered to himself. He made little notes where it seemed appropriate and generally forgot Edo existed, “I’ll be going now.”

He started in surprise, “Sorry about that. My scan says you’re giving off strange demonic energies but you don’t bear a mark of the Beast. I’ve never seen that before. I wonder if any other Agents have.”

“Is that good?”

“Well it’s not not good. I think.” He laughed nervously and glanced around again, “Tell me, did you practice the Occult in the past?”

“Um, no.”

“Are you now or have you ever been a vampire?”

“Seriously? I know I’m pale and all…”

“Were you the victim of demonic possession in the last few years?”

“I haven’t got all day here.”

“My apologies, I might be out of line.” He took a long look at the data, “These readings reminded me of something but… I can’t remember. I guess it’s not important.”

“So what if I was a beast-tattooed vampire possessed by a demon or whatever?”

“Obviously I and the Agents nearby would have vanquished you.”

She sneered, “Easy as that?”

“Easy as that.” He agreed with a smile. The man didn’t look like much but he had absolute confidence in what he was saying. It would probably be better for her if she didn’t try to test his theory. “I’m sorry I took so much of your time. Do you want anything to eat?”

“Yea, no. I’ve had my fill for the day. A girl’s gotta keep her sanity.”

“Well then, go with the Lord. If you ever need anything we won’t be far. I have a feeling we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Hooray for me.”

**

“I thought coming all this way would end the craziness. Instead we traded one kind for another. And where were you when I needed you in there? Some help you’ve been.” Edo stalked the plaza just outside of the bar proper like an angry panther. She was cranky, hungry, and tired. Wary passerby gave her room generally reserved for blaster toting lunatics and people who argue with themselves in public.

Her mute companion went unnoticed and did nothing to ease their fears. In fact she was silently laughing it up, “Har har bitch. We’ll see how funny you think it is later. We still don’t have a place to stay, I’m open to suggestions.” Her shadow pointed to a motel a little further down the way.

It was a place with one foot out of the grave like it was rising from the dead. A dim neon sign a peeling coat of paint and a door half eaten alive by rust. Those were its good points. The door shrieked like a haunted thing when Edo stepped inside. The noise didn’t disturb the only other person in the lobby. He was sprawled out face down on the floor. He was either a passed out drunk, a corpse someone forgot to stash out back, or the owner of the establishment. The overpowering smell said some combination of the three. She somehow found a place almost as shady as the one she just left. Today she was on a roll.

“And this is why I don’t listen to you.” Her shadow shrugged. The search continued. Only the scuzziest dives fit her budget. Edo didn’t want to sleep near places like that. But it turns out most quality establishments won’t let you stay for free. She and her tagalong made it to one of the quieter docks without finding a place to stay.

It was a cavernous chamber with dozens of ships of as many makes and models. Fat traders rubbed shoulders with bulky miners under the predatory gaze of sleek mercenary craft. The ships were diverse as their crews. A lot of them looked like they would be staying a while. There were few workers loitering in the area. Most made themselves scarce in the hopes no one found real work for them to do. They left Edo with run of the place.

She made her way to a particularly lonely ship. Tiny scars told the tale of battles fought and lost against clouds of debris. Pockmarks dotted the hull like a bad case of acne. Edo tried the scratched up cargo hatch. No luck. She could feel her shadow’s grin. It didn’t help her mood, “I think it’s time you made yourself useful, don’t you?” The other detached herself. The ghostly silhouette disappeared through the seams around the door. The hatch slid open and revealed its dim hold. Her shadow gestured grandly and took a bow, tada! “Yes very impressive. Food.” Edo slapped a button on the side of the entrance and the hatch slid shut, “We can’t be too sure when the crew will be back. Let’s grab a snack, catch a nap, and get out of here.”

This post has been edited by Ragnar0k: Oct 17 2009, 09:36 PM

[fishloaf]

"Jerry O'Donnel?" The receptionist asked over the faux-oak desk. Towering mightily over a sea of cubicles, the Colosseum, Inc. logo decorated the curving rear wall.

Jerry looked up from the bland corporate newletter, seated beside a rogues gallery that ranged from copyright attorneys to sales representitives trying to shoehorn their latest product into the station's shipbuilding canon.

"Mr. Glenn will see you now."

Jerry stood up, flecks of ash sailing off the burnt hole in his lab coat as he shuffled into the indicated door. Demurely, he clicked inside; a board room filled with subtley expensive furniture greeted him. More importantly, seven men, exact replicas of each other, returned his look.

"I'm sorry, sir, this isn't a good time." sputtered an especially upset looking one at the head of the table. He was immediately shouted down by a cacophony of arguments.

"Oh, no, its okay." interrupted another to Jerry's left. "Jerry, please, sit down."

"What? You can't receive people in here, this is not your--" More exceptions, caveats, and exception was taken to this.

"What can I do for you?" one of the executives smiled pleasantly.

"Which..." Jerry glanced from face to face, finding no difference between them. It was like being in a room full of mirrors. "Which one of you is Marcus Glenn?"

The seven paused to exhcange a crossfire of silent glares.

"You can talk to me." said the one to Jerry's left, his tone cooling off a bit.

"Very well. I have something to bring to your attention." Jerry cleared his throat and wetted his lips, reluctantly toeing the verbal high-dive he was about to jump. "Today you may or may not have been informed of a brief anomaly in the station's public electical grid."

"What the hell does 'electrical' mean?" one of them, distunguished by the fact that his suit was handmade wool, asked from the rear. The rest simply listened with hard-eyed stares.

"The responsibility for these anomalies lies with me. For the last few months, I have been carrying out experiments in an attempt to rediscover Omata Kane's wormhole theory and have powered my equipment by tampering with utility lines. Do what you will about that, but rest assured that it is more than guilt that brings me here today."

The atmosphere was not getting any friendlier. Jerry sighed. "There is no easy way to say this, Mr. Glenn, but...ah..."

"Try."

Jerry stood up, heading for the holoboard with a pen. "Well, today, I found, and used the most structurally homogenous diffractive medium known to science in order to recreate the relativistic flux needed to initiate a spacial passage of sufficient size. Unfortunately, the high electron-voltage led to a resonance cascade scenario that--"

"Please." one of the Glenns groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"...my experiment has broken the continuity barrier, Mr. Glenn, and on a much larger scale than I thought before I walked into this room. It is not mending."

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

A bottle of spiced rum dropped out of the portal and clapped against the table, falling on its side and gushing out on the table.

The Glenns stared ominously. At Jerry, at each other, at the bottle (which one of them discreetly claimed--it had been a long morning), at the station around them. The red-faced one, possibly the 'original' who had spent all morning trying to sort out these six imposters, steepled his fingers and spoke...

"Colosseum Station will be back after these messages."

*Sung to the tune of 'Mary had a Little Lamb'*

Da-dada-da-da,
product placement,
product placement,
product placement,
Da-dada-da-da,
product placement,
we love Taco Bell ("gong!")

Brawndo! Its what plants crave!

After coaxing her third crate open, Edo found the jackpot--a silvery, mirrorlike wall of packaged eats reflected her smile for just a moment, only to be destroyed as she began scooping out messy armloads. Her shadow snatched one, scrutinizing the nutrition facts before holding it plaintively to Edo's face.

"Rr. I don't care." she snarled, arms deam in packaging. "I'll deal with the monocyanide-whatever when I have a steady paycheck. You think that's my biggest problem right now?"

The shadow persisted.

"...wait, it can? You're not joking, it can actually do that?" she glanced down at her small hoard and bit a lip. Actually, that chalky tang of preservatives did a lot to remind her why she had gone vegan back in high school, and more than a few were in half, as if cut by a laser or something.

A head burst free from the crate, sending packages clattering all over the cargo hold. A hand with a blaster followed suit. "Where am I? Who won last year's southern cup? Does the word Necra mean anything to you?" The man demanded.

Pressed flat against the wall, Edo gulped back a mouthful of pop-tart. "Uh...a cargo hold, the Heraan Wolves, and no it does not."

"I'm home! Ha-HA!" he boomed, leaping out of the box. "Fusion West, the first interdimensional traveler. I like it."

[Ragnar0k]

Edo jabbed at West with a chocolate pop-tart. Maybe it was an olive branch. Maybe it was the most pathetic shiv in the history of man. She wasn’t really sure herself, she was playing this one by ear. Confusion swept over the chiseled landscape of his face like sunlight at dawn, “Maybe I’m in the wrong place after all.” He kept her out of arm’s reach with the blaster as if suddenly worried he might have to use it.

Edo sneered, “You got that right.” A roll of the dice left her shadow, Atra, behind the man. She couldn’t see her shade but knew Atra was clever enough to lay low and wait for the perfect time to strike, “I didn’t want to do this but we’re gunna have to take you down!”

West kept her in his sights and glanced around. Nothing happened, “We?”

She finally spotted her accomplice lounging in the shadow of the food crate, “I said we are going to have to take you down. Now damn it.” With exaggerated care Atra made a shadow puppet dog with her hand. She nipped at West’s shadow with it. This did nothing. She switched over to a bunny because, clearly, that might work better. It did not. Atra shrugged and lay back down.

Fusion rocked back on his heels in the awkward silence to follow. He checked his watch. Asked about the weather. He seemed embarrassed for her, “You’re alone aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She deadpanned, “Yes I am.”

He holstered his blaster, “Don’t worry babe, I wasn’t gunna shoot you anyway.” He gave her a wink, “Name’s West. Fusion West.”

Danger gone Edo took another bite of her pastry, “Yea you mentioned just before you assaulted me. _{Is there any milk?}” she ventured deeper into the ship to answer her question.

He followed, “Ha, you can’t tell me you haven’t heard of the Fusion West. I’m famous in half the galaxy.”

“Not the half I’ve been to.” She found a dining area and, more importantly, the fridge.

“Then you haven’t been to the good half.” He flashed her a big toothpaste-model-white grin. She ignored him.

The refrigerator light blinked on groggily. It cast mellow glow, ashamed to reveal its contents. One side was a picture out of a health magazine. Tofu, yogurt, veggies… skim milk. Blah. She wrinkled her nose. The other side held a hobo’s treasure stash. Half eaten pudding, beer, day old Chinese takeout, something gray-green that might have been pizza once and now might have gained sentience. Edo reached for the skim milk in defeat, “Where are the cups around here?”

“How should I know?” he asked distractedly. He was busy dusting errant crumbs off his jacket.

“Isn’t this you’re ship?”

“No.” He straightened his collar, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know.” She slapped the milk down on a counter, “Maybe because I found you hiding in one of the crates?”

“FYI, Fusion West does not ‘hide’. And what were you doing digging through crates on someone else’s—

“HEY!” a blaster toting newcomer in a ‘Save the Wraiths’ t-shirt barged in. He held a bag of groceries and had a magazine tucked under his arm, “What the hell’s going on?”

Half eaten pop-tart in hand Edo floundered for an answer, “This, uh, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really?” the man asked suspiciously, “Because it looks like I’ve got two stowaways and one of them is eating my cargo.”

“Okay this is exactly what it looks like. But there’s a perfectly good explanation.” She patted Fusion on the back and forced a smile, “You tell him.”

“I’ll handle this.” He said like it was his idea. The big man gave her a thumbs up and stepped up to the plate, “I was a little off course when I warped in from an alternate dimension. I think she was just hungry and broke.”

Edo stared at him shaking her head, “Smooth West. Real smooth. He totally bought that. _Idiot.”

**

Turns out their host, Nathan, did totally buy that. In fact he was so moved by the rest of West’s story he decided to let them stay while he brewed a pot of tea. “… and that’s when I hit em with a pair of aces over kings and won the whole shebang. Those Necra are terrible poker players.”

“Wow you’re really amazing Captain West.” Nathan gushed as he started serving the tea.

“Ah that’s nothin,” the space jock laughed, “you want to hear impressive? I’ll tell you about the time I…” Edo made a heroic effort of tuning him out. She’d have already left but Nathan let her fish out a palatable TV dinner from the freezer. The drumsticks and fries were the first “real” meal she’d had in days. Atra stood out of the guys’ line of sight nodding her head in approval. She loved chicken.

Nathan finished pouring West’s tea and moved over to Edo. The Captain took one sip and flinched like he was punched in the throat. Their host looked back, “You okay Mr. West?”

“What me? I’m fine. This is… This is something else man, really.” He put on a sickly smile.

“I’m glad you like it. This is my own special blend.”

“Oh yea this is, uh, this is special alright.” As soon as Nathan looked away he poured it out on the floor and pretended to drink it all in one go, “Whew, that hit the spot.”

“Listen Mr. West, I’m glad I ran into you like this. I know Coliseum isn’t filled with saints and all but you’ve got some real bad types coming in and poisoning it. Like they’re dunking corpses in the community well or something. I think this station needs a guy like you to get things back to the up and up.” West preened like a champion show dog basking in the applause of his adoring public.

Edo took a sip of her tea to fight back the nausea of the scene. An act she regretted immediately, “Bleagh! Is that how you make this? Corpse dunking?” It tasted like fermented sewage, “This is liquid evil.” Atra gagged in silence. She tasted everything Edo did.

“H-hey!” Nathan stammered indignantly, “It’s an acquired taste alright. I can’t help it if you’re not sophisticated enough to appreciate it.”

Edo glared daggers into the man but West took up the conversation again before things got out of hand, “So Nathan, you some kind of activist?”

“Nah, it’s just that when I see wrongs that need righting I always think ‘Hey somebody should do something.’ That’s why we need guys like you Captain West. Me, I’m just a food trader. It’s really dangerous out there so that’s probably enough excitement for a guy like me.”

Edo rolled her eyes, “I didn’t realize shipping breakfast cereal was such a cutthroat business.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, “I didn’t realize until recently either. I don’t know how I survived so long out there. I met a pair of expert guards here on the station, real professional mercenaries, who clued me in. They even gave me a special discount for their services.”

OOC: Fish I sent you a PM. /OOC

Insert New Post

A rotary fan on the break-room fridge growled a challenge to the stubborn, stuffy air. It was hot in there with the AC on the fritz. Not hot enough for blasphemy like skipping the lunch hour though. Henry popped his sandwich into the toaster and grimaced at the witch’s brew that was his coffee. It didn’t wake you up so much as it offended your taste buds into alertness. The two distinguished gentlemen seated at the table in oil stained coveralls just like his were Paul and Mack.

There was a fourth man standing off on his own. One who would have blended in better if he were a thousand pound gorilla. He had red hair and armor and a fancy-ass cape. He called himself a lot of things, the god of mischief, the White Ethereal (and most confusingly “the Slayer of Bananas”), but the guys just called him Aron. He was good people for all that. Today he stared into space wearing a pensive look Henry had never seen before.

Mack was a round bellied mustachioed man never found without a fat cigar. The tip smoldered angrily like every puff was an affront to its honor. He grunted to Aron, “You gunna ask that wall for her number or are you gunna sit down and play?” his cigar bobbed with every word. Only sheer force of will kept it from tumbling to the ground. Mack was the first guy to get comfortable with the god’s regular visits. Nothing phased him He worked at the station a while longer than Henry and Paul. Long enough to have seen everything twice and grunt about how he was thoroughly unimpressed.

If the knight was even listening he didn’t betray the fact. Paul gave a laborious shrug. Everything about Paul was slow. Henry figured the lanky guy wasn’t surprised by half the stuff Aron did because he just didn’t comprehend enough to be properly shocked, “Leave him be.” Paul said, “He might be thinkin about somthin important.”

“Oh yea.” Henry chuckled, “Remember the other day when he said he needed half of your grilled cheese so he could save the galaxy?”

“I did.” still staring off at nothing Aron spoke up, “Countless billions owe their lives to Paul’s greatness and the greatness of his sandwich.” The man did make a mean grilled cheese, “And he’s right. I am considering things of grave importance.”

“You playin or not?” Mack pressed.

“Fine. Knight to Queen twelve.”

“Okay number one, I don’t even think that’s a real move. And number two,” Henry paused to fish out his toasty sandwich, “We’re playing poker right now.” He got back to his chair and checked out his cards. He took a bite to mask his disgust at the garbage hand. Only two cards were even the same suit. Aron snapped his metal-gloved fingers and all the cards disappeared. A checkered board formed on the table complete with pieces. Unfortunately they weren’t for chess, “This is checkers.”

“I do not have time to be distracted by your details.” Aron glowered, “The fate of your universe hangs in the balance.”

Mack leaned back, “What’s got you all riled up today?”

Aron drew his silver-hilted sword with a flourish and set it on the table. Only it was not a sword anymore. Henry looked down at a shattered thing, a shard of mirror-like steel with a ghostly glow around its edge. Even in this state it radiated power and presence and an almost crushing weight of time. But it was nothing like it was when Aron had flaunted it that single time before, “Do you know what this is?” the knight asked.

“A broken sword.” Paul offered.

“No. Wait. Okay, yes. But what was it before it was broken?”

Paul chewed that over for a minute, “…Not broken?”

Aron waved a hand at him, “You’ve lost speaking privileges.” Paul opened his mouth to protest but no sounds came out. He didn’t try to fight it; that wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a verbal time-out. He just ate his food in silence.

“Why don’t you just tell us?” Henry asked.

Aron gestured grandly as any stage performer, “This is the Sword of Dawn. It is that which cleaves the darkness. This blade was Ragnarok’s vessel for eons. It is the dream of every great hero and the nightmare of even the blackest villain. It lives in a thousand stories and answers to a hundred names!”

“What do you call it?” Even Mack was getting interested.

“I call her Captain Stabby.” He declared with all the pride of a loving father.

Mack arched an eyebrow at that, “You named the greatest sword in ever ‘Captain Stabby’.” He laughed.

The knight thrust an accusatory finger his way, “You mock me because you are a knave ignorant in the ways of nobility and honor!” then with a softer tone, “No offense.”

“None taken. So tell me if I guess this one right. You need to get the sword fixed so you can try and save the universe?”

“Wrong.” Aron said with a hint of sadness, “The sword is broken because I already tried to save creation.” He reclaimed the weapon and reverently returned it to its scabbard, “And I may have failed.”

This post has been edited by Ragnar0k: Oct 24 2009, 03:28 AM

[fishloaf]

Five minutes before, the air thickened.

Two minutes before, the lights blushed red.

Thirty seconds before, the stars faded.

The wall sentries went silent, and then with sizzling black tongues shrieked into the night. A red haze of corruption flooded over the spaceport walls, hungry for more victims to twist to its wiles as it spilled into the assembled tents below. As the assuming little town disappeared into the fog, thousands of claws began scrabbling against cement walls...

Ramon pressed himself flat behind the mound-like shelter of a 125-tonner cargo pod. He was joined shortly by Jaqueline and then Mustard, arms up around his head in a frantic effort to helmet himself as he scrambled for cover. The three panted against the pod’s metal side as sirens howled forlornly and gunfire pattered nearby.

Ramon panted, glancing left and right at the gathering mist. “Hey, welcome to the Sanctum, you guys.” He reminded them bitterly.

“More like jinxville.” Mustard scoffed, peering back around the corner. “Seriously, who expected this ghetto-ass spaceport to hold up? Were we the only ones smart enough to break curfew and spl--?” He cringed back as another round of gunfire prompted a wet slapping noise very nearby; something screeched and ink-black blood fountained onto the pavement, eating into the cement with a hiss.

Hoody clomped past the corner and into view. He had made the chilling upgrade from machete to a bayoneted machinegun, a career investment he had taken to only too well—it was as if man and gun had united into a single entity. With a Zen-like absence, Hoody whirled around and aimed his weapon unwaveringly on the three, as if weighing some unspoken options.

“Uh…hi.” Mustard waved meekly.

This was the second such time this had happened.

“Okay, time-out-time-out!” Ramon chanted with a T-gesture.

Jaqueline’s approach was different: “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your problem?!” It was like a bomb, with the wild eyed woman at ground zero. She forced her shaking body into a commanding posture.

Mustard and Ramon gaped at her. Hoody remained on target. A ragged shred from a Federation uniform fluttered weakly off the end of his bayonet like a tiny warning flag. It didn’t think much of Jaqueline’s plan either, but, thus committed, would have agreed that there was no relenting now.

Fire two: “Listen, Freddy, you better cut the s### and give up this ‘hear me roar’ act real quick because I am not going to cater to this! The next goddamn time I see the wrong end of that rifle you will have Serious! Problems! You trackin’, blue stuff?”

This was a special tone of voice reserved for when Jaqueline needed to shrink her opponent down to two feet tall; sadly, it was ruined by the two mercenaries discreetly inching away from her side, leaving her alone in the line of fire. The man with twenty-two more rounds of death at his disposal listened as the ‘serious problems’ reverberated pitifully through the spaceport, content to let the sirens and screams answer it for him. He offered a nod and turned.

“Hey, I think he is trackin.” Mustard clapped her on the back.

“Damn, dude.” Ramon exulted. “Uh…what exactly can you do about him?”

She shrugged. “Not a damn thing. If nothing else, he seems to know where to go.” She was interrupted by the abrasive roar of an engine; a light flickered into the sky, far, far afield from the course they had been slavishly following under the madman’s guidance.Hoody, executioner cowl pointing skyward, gravely watched. The ship didn’t make it far before circling back towards the ground, but at least it was a fighting chance.



They found the spaceport’s skyrail, an elevated railway that had been famous throughout Syracuse for seamlessly meshing with the older subway system and handling thousands of passengers with barely a ripple in the spaceport’s logistics. They had clanged halfway up the stairs, glad to climb free of the fog, when a twisted snarl of passenger cars made them slow to an awkward halt—lights flickered ominously through fractured windows and sparks showered from the undercarriage.

“Yeahhhhh, no.” Mustard concluded, clomping back down a few steps. Ramon roughly pulled him up onto the landing.

“Great…” Ramon sighed. “Five bucks says there’s some fun new crime against nature for us to meet in there.”

“Wait here.” Jaqueline said flatly, re-shouldering her backpack as she hopped down onto the tracks and marched toward the wreckage.

“Hey, where you going?” Mustard called after her. “He wasn’t serious, you know!”

“Y-Yeah! I don’t even have five bucks!” Ramon amended. “Even if I did, you could’ve just asked. You need something from the vending machine, is that it?”

All they got from her was a nasty, exasperated sigh as she tore open the bag and unfurled a long pair of wires.

“Fine.” Ramon grumbled, watching Jaqueline plug the wires into something heavy looking and then lobbed it under the nearest car. “Stupid cow can,uh …can chomp my churro.”

“Churros, hell yes!” Mustard said eagerly. “I want one, when did you get a churro?”

“Birth.”

“…jigga-wha? Was that a racial joke?” Mustard wrinkled his nose. Jaqueline jogged back to them and held up a trigger with a little red button.

“Mustard, I’ll let you think about that for a—“

With a groundshaking boom, one of the cars slid off the tracks, dangling by its couple before dropping as the metal snapped. The lure of momentum pulled several more after it in one long, laborious cacophony while the stairs shuddered underfoot. Mustard and Ramon stared in tandem.

“Ohhhh, demolition.” Ramon smacked his forehead. “Right.”

“ Welcome to were you should have been two minutes ago.” Jaqueline snarked, rudely shoving the empty backpack into him as she passed.

“Ohhh.” Mustard echoed in epiphany, elbowing Ramon. “Heh… ‘she can chomp your churro’. You fiend.”

“You let other guys call you a ‘fiend’?” Jaqueline shot back as the monorail tracks cleared themselves into a long red carpet.

“Uh…yeah, Mustard, what’re you sayin?” Ramon made a show of giving Mustard a wide berth, while mentally updating the list of danger-words to include ‘fiend’. Learn something new every day.

Stumbling over railroad ties two at a time, the run to the spaceport terminus could only be described as monotonously horrific; ruined bodies littered the pavement below, carpeting it with blood as some unseen force slowly congregated them into throbbing, pulsing, growing mounds. Red footsteps tracked here and there, and the occasional howl trumpeted somewhere off in the distance. Shapes formed and vanished in the fog, only becoming reality with the frenzied patter of footsteps as some once-person erupted from the fumes. One by one, Hoody shot them to rags from on high, sparing dissatisfied, hungry glances back at his companions.



Two miles down the line, Jaqueline was the first to hop up on the train landing at the passenger terminal; friendly signs swayed over ticket counters and BBS kiosks, while holoscreens scrolled down a long list of cancelled flights. Trays of still fresh snacks were forgotten on the table. Presently, they spotted a huddled family, sobbing together in the commons, soft sniffles lost in the low boom filling the air outside:

The spaceport itself was a crater-shaped recess in the landscape, with tangles of pipes and lines snaking down into it like steel roots. A festival of ships lined the taxi-way, patiently waiting for a turn that would never come at the launch pad: a smoldering wreckage clogged the ring of blast shields, painted markings smeared over with scorch marks. And crashing like surf around every surface was a flood of moving shapes. They were not ghouls. They were a panicking horde.

One ship, packed full and fighting to repel the thrashing onslaught of refugees, closed its loading ramp at the cost of more than a few stray limbs. People swarmed over the hull, hammering on the canopy, the skin, sensor lids, anything fragile looking. Then, the engines fired, a harsh ion glare that immediately threw back a storm of charred bodies for a hundred feet. The immediate crowd parted. The ship climbed into the air, people raining off the sides as they lost their grips and shattered on the cruel pavement. The ship sailed into the air and, like the previous one, it immediately arced back down toward the ground. The grim sideshow ended with a flash on the horizon.

“S###...” Jaqueline stared at the lifeless control tower—there were locks and failsafes that prevented ships from making an unauthorized launch; ship thefts gone wrong often followed the same flight pattern, the pilot would breach the 1000 meter altitude threshold and, lacking clearance from Traffic Control, the autopilot would keep kicking to land until the pilot stopped fighting or their struggle caused a crash. Her stomach sank; until “someone” went up to the tower and disabled the locks, nobody was escaping out of here.

“I need a volunteer.” She announced as her huffing companions assembled themselves.

“You always need a volunteer.” Ramon accused breathlessly. “You’re like a divorced aunt who throws work parties all summer so that she can get the s###jobs around her house done for free.”

A fiery-eyed Jaqueline leveled a finger on him, taking a preparatory breath.

"Fine, I’ll go.” Ramon surrendered.

Hoody intercepted him, using his rifle to bar the way as he muscled past. He then clomped up to Jaqueline’s face and loomed a respectful three inches away, staring down at her. It was not a request.

“Thank you, Hoody.” Jaqueline said plainly. “How many bullets do you have left?”

He held up three fingers, giving each of his three companions a significant look.

“R-right.” She nodded. “Just watch my back. You two…” she pointed at the galaxy’s sorriest mercenaries, “Get down to the hangars.”

“What’s going on?” Mustard asked suspiciously.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” She said, tossing a two-way at him. “Whatever you hear me tell you through this thing, you do it. Now get going.” She walked off toward the elevator, Hoody obediently falling in step.

Ramon glared at her back. “Hey, when did we get on ‘need to know’ basis?”

“I don’t have time for this” she snarled at the ceiling. Hoody jammed the car-call button.

“Yeah, God forbid you miss an elevator. But Mustard and I have all the time in the world to be f###ing confused, is that it?”

She ignored him. The elevator floors began to count their way up.

“…That is it, huh?” He said darkly. “You’re ditching us. We’ll be down here with the wool over our eyes, and Hoody’s gonna be you’re little sugar boy while you kick it on a starbridge and--”

Jaquline whirled around, “I’ll be up in a goddamn control tower trying to fix some s### so those people can get off this piece of Hell, okay?! If anyone’s gonna make it off this planet, its you two!” Her teeth were bared and her face scarlet, making a pretty good impression of a Ghoul.

The elevator dinged politely behind her.

Hoody stepped on board, brusquely holding open the door to the infinite chagrin of an alarm. Combing some stray hair back to join the rest of her ponytail, Jaqueline followed.

“…That’s it? The control tower.” Ramon tossed up his hands. “That took two seconds to explain! Why didn’t you just lay it out, instead of getting all—?”

“JUST GO!” she shrieked, a truly animal sound clipped short by the clunk of the doors. The commons returned to silence.

…

“You played her fine.” Mustard nodded approvingly.



The control tower’s windowed room had a choking, stale smell that oozed over Jaqueline as soon as Hoody burst through the door. A semi-murk of the computer screens’ forlorn glare was all she had to navigate with, a faint lighthouse in a sea of roller chairs rumbling as she waded through. She finally arrived at the master terminal and plopped into the seat, reassured by the familiar interface that answered her.

One of Jaqueline’s pastimes back on Rebel II had been a prim, stuffy looking Traffic Controller whose name escaped her; she remembered him for working the night shift and having an unguessed-at wild streak if Jaqueline courted it long enough. She had spent countless hours being the devil on his shoulder while he droned instructions at a microphone, and she had seen more of this screen than most certified trainees ever had at school. She had even filled in for him during bathroom breaks. It was not hard to clear an individual ship for free flight. The more complex “free-for-all” mode, she knew by heart; that was always the last thing he did before joining her for a “lunch” break.

That thought led her to another one, and she spared a morose glance at the engagement band on her darting finger, a twinge of dread sparking in her stomach—each one of those animal impulses was a mortgage that would someday be due. That was something to fear, that they would be reunited and someday she would have to darken it with the ugly truth; there was no way she would be able to keep it back. She shook herself back to reality.

She entered the command and yanked open the desk, finding the manager’s Watch Key, and planted it into the lock. The lights dotting the landing field changed color to a friendly blue, signaling that all traffic had her blessing to depart—whoever could defeat a locked hatch and ingnite a Thorium furnace could get out of this nightmare. One lucky shuttle raced by.

Hoody loitered by a far window, pacing lazily as he watched the chaos below. He was so easy to forget, he never made a sound unless he wanted to. Jaqueline was lucky to have offended the two mercenaries into leaving her alone with him—she didn’t bring him here for protection…

Noiselessly, Jaqueline bent down and hiked up a pant leg. Her hand found skin-warm steel inside of an ankle holster and gently eased it free. It was the only thing she had taken from the stash of loot Ramon had let her in on. She had planned to use it on herself if things got hopeless but somehow ‘never say die’ had overruled that. She pressed it discreetly into her lap, craning her neck for a better view.

The sentinel stopped pacing and then looked her way. She half-jumped until he mumbled something at her and went back to the window, peering intently.

The little snub-nose in her lap suddenly felt very heavy when she considered that he hadn’t slept once this entre time; whenever they stopped, he had taken up post exactly like that and watched over them. Knowing that they had something terrifying on their side had done a lot to keep everyone solid and rational, herself included. She had done some tyrannical things during the bad times…didn’t it come with the territory?

No. No, Jaqueline had chewed people out, suspended vacation days, and forced overtime, all things which she had taken special pains to make right afterwards; she had never chased down and butchered an unarmed, crying human being over a minor slight. Self defense did not put her into a feeding frenzy and she didn’t have trouble distinguishing between undead horrors and people who were staking their trust on her. Hell, the fact that she was even thinking twice this highlighted a fundamental difference between them. He was everything that true monsters aspired to be.

He wouldn’t care anyway.

She latched onto that thought. It was all the same to him, he had made that perfectly clear by his actions. He would end up in a Federation asylum anyhow, dying day-by-day in a medicated stupor. This was mercy.

Jaqueline raised the revolver. Empty chambers in the magazine reminded her of that mental note to go find some bullets after a dinner that had never came. She sighed, throwing it on the table and standing up, of which Hoody took no notice.

“Fog.” was all he said. The floor shook.



Ramon hunched over a padlock, delicately maneuvering a shred of pop-can skin down the lock’s legs and in against the latch inside. Around his feet, many, many other scraps of aluminum littered the pavement by the hangar door.

“Damn it.” He felt it crinkle in his grip, becoming useless. He held his hand out to Mustard. “Gimme another one.”

Mustard, limply clutching a pocketknife as he gargled down another Diet Choke, looked sick when he lowered the can to cut out another shiv. “You have to drink the next one.” He groaned weakly.

“Ramon!” Jaqueline’s voice buzzed harshly through the radio.

“Oh, look who suddenly cares. You wanna take over this?” Ramon gestured with his head as Mustard climbed to his feet.

Ramon scooped up the radio brightly. “Hey, you ready for a pick up? Too bad you couldn’t just level with a couple lame-ass laborers like us or else we might have lifted you alrea—“

A staticky snarl was the closest thing that the speakers could offer to the thundering. “—We need help!”

"Yeah, sure. How bad is it?” Ramon asked with a leisurely stretch.

“Ramon, I was wrong to cut you out, I’m sorry!” ‘Sorry’ was not a normal Jaqueline-word. That was bad.

Ramon paced around. “O-okay! We’ll be right there. Control tower, right? We’ll be there. We’ll be—just stay where you are.”

“Way to work your leverage, guy.” Mustard smirked, suddenly brightening as the lock popped open in his hand. “Yes! Take it!” They threw the door open, greeted by the pitted, rust-eaten nose of a dilapidated Heavy Shuttle.

“Awesome!” Mustard cheered, charging around toward the aft.

It was Ramon’s turn to smirk. “Awesome? What, where’s the missile launcher I don’t see?”

“No, these things don’t have hatch locks!” Mustard called out from somewhere in the aft. Ramon clomped up the diamond plate ramp and heard it clatter as it shut. He joined Mustard in the cockpit.

“My family flew these for years.” he gushed, picking through the forest of switches with practiced ease.

“That’s crap. How did you guys ever afford a shuttle?” Ramon knew his family, he had visited once for Thanksgiving—the Mustardseed family home was heated by an oven with the door propped open.

“Never said that we owned one.” Mustard amended, easing back the throttle yoke. The shuttle shot straight up, simply punching through the hangar’s tin roof in its rocketing climb. The control tower rolled into view.

“Hey, our old pal.” Mustard cheered at a familiar sight.

The Leviathan towered mightily through the cement, thrashing its way through the spaceport’s main building with a titanic crash. Debris flew like sparks with every spasm the monster made, while unlucky starships and people alike were ground to a pulp underneath. The control tower slumped to one side, its roof caved in.

“Easy, man, don’t get its attention.” Ramon warned. “I don’t wanna get turkey slapped by that thing.”

The shuttle hovered over the tower, two sets of eyes peering inside the gaping maw of the ruined building. Nothing moved.

“Jaqueline? You copy?” Ramon breathed into the radio. Mustard honked the shuttle’s horn. A barely visible, pale face appeared in the hole.

“Take us down.” Ramon said, clomping off to the rear ramp. Wind thundered as the ramp cracked away from the hull and yawned open, revealing a horrific panorama; the omnipresent red fog closed in around the spaceport, horrors of all shapes and sizes charging forth to feast on the assembled refugees. Dark things flapped through the air, grazing past the fleeing starships and suddenly reducing the shielded vessels to a sparking shower of debris.

The tower rounded into the center of his view, Jaqueline taking delicate shape in the gutted building. The shuttle backed closer, closer, swaying drunkenly and ‘Reverse’ alarm beeping as it sank toward her. Ramon looped a cargo cable through his belt, force feeding his good leather to the clamp.

The shuttle stopped an agonizing fifteen feet away; any closer and the engine flare could fry her alive. Jaqueline climbed onto a desk, hands bleeding as she steadied herself on the hole’s torn aluminum side.

The Leviathan plunged head first into the base of the tower and the building began a gut-wrenching dive. Jaqueline was thrown into the air.

“Sh--gurplejikk!!” was all Ramon could sputter as his eyes exploded open. With a will entirely apart from his own, he bounded off the edge of the ramp and into a soaring leap. Alone in the horrible freedom of flight, his entire universe zeroing in on a woman’s flailing wrist as his heart seized and his eyes cemented shut.

Something warm and bony clapped into his grasp.

“Yeah!” He clamped down, ignoring the gathering pull of gravity. “Booyah! I am King Shi-YAAAAAAAARRGH!” He came to a sudden, taut halt; tearing pain sizzled up his side and erupted into fireworks of agony as the weight of the world pulled something apart in his shoulder. The strength drained away from his hands.

He puffed for air, alternating between flailing his head around like a maraca, fighting desperately to hold on, and sparing ill-advised glances down at his arm: His elbow was twisted entirely around, forcing his shoulder and half of his torso it seemed, up into his cheek. Draped over his belt in a sharp, unside-down ‘V’, he could see his legs kicking below. His hand shuddered feebly.

He bit down on his lip, suddenly meeting Jaqueline’s brown eyes. His grip solidified.

“You can drop the anvil now.” He groaned.

“Yeah, my shoulder hurts too.” She groaned back, swaying precariously.

"Hey, something in common.” He paused for a few heaving breaths. “I think we're making progress, Ja—Aaack!” His pants peeled off his waist with a lurch, suddenly bunching around his ankles. The frigid breeze on his thighs battled against the burning in his arms.

Jaqueline looked up at his fluttering boxers. “…I’m not much of a Raiders fan, though.”

A panicked thumping on the cargo ramp announced Mustard’s arrival. “Oh thank God. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Ramon clenched for all he was worth, biting deeper into his lip until he tasted blood and iron. "Yeah, can I get two shakes and a side order of fries? Pull us up, why don’t you?!”

Two barely noticeable tugs later, Mustard reappeared. “I’m gonna land you guys in just a sec, okay? We’ll get outta this crap, get situated, and then we’ll --”

“Just do it!” Jaqueline yelled.

“Okay, hang on!”

It never happened.

Mustard sweared distantly from the cockpit. The steady, unhurried thrum of tent-sized wings tolled through the air like a church bell. Ramon couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, waves of shivers corusing up his back. A voice like an enormous grandfather clock rumbled through him, proclaiming malice and dread.

A sweeping sound followed. The shuttle squealed as it lurched aside, and a wildfire of fresh pain surged through Ramon's body. The canvas of ground below reeled and spun until he jerked to another crashing stop...and found his clenched hands empty.

A freight train of black swooped past, spiraling down toward the ground and leaving a frigid wake that make his legs turn to jelly. The poisoned angel rolled on its back, wings folding over something in midflight, before disappearing into the fog… Just like that, they were alone again.

Ramon breathed raggedly. Numb with disbelief, he stared for a long moment at his hands. All that remained of her was the gritty sharpness of a diamond ring digging into his clenched palm.

The shuttle discreetly closed its ramp and sailed free into the night, receding into the starscape as the red curtain fell over the spaceport. The moon beamed obliviously and one by one, the last flames of human life went cold.

…Beyond cold.

***

(Cue Soundtrack)



Two men in clown suits roared down the Colosseum promenade. The one in the sidecar cradled a glass jar and fought to maintain his one-wheeled balance while his friend on the bike helped right him with the occasional nudge; all that remained of the bars that had once connected them was the charred trail of a lightsaber stroke.

In a weaving taxi far behind, a driver sang at the top of his lungs in harmony with the roaring engine. A robed passenger rode shotgun with a pleasant smile while Mustard and Ramon took the back, feet planted on the floor paneling and bracing themselves against the seats.

“Car! Car! Lookout!” Mustard chanted as his terror soared. The cab swerved and then nudged over the curb.

“Mailbox!” Ramon threw his arms over his eyes.

“Mailman!” Mustard added.

Their robed companion nodded to the driver and pointed at a ramp shaped object. The driver gestured back with THE HORNS and thumbed a red button on the steering wheel. Ramon peeked out from behind a hand to see a canister of fluid begin bubbling into copper tubing that snaked through the dashboard.

The cab surged forward, air searing over its hood so fast that it began to eat away the painted ‘53’ and red-white-blue racing stripes. They never even saw what it was that suddenly entered service as a ramp; the vehicle simply parted ways with the ground with a stomach churning lurch, sailing in a high arc over the rooftops. The passenger stuck a twenty-credit into the jar and then shouldered open the door, leaping free into the air as a bright blade, not unlike that on an AC, flashed into being in his hand. The door clanked shut and the man dropped out of view.

“When I said that I wanted to visit a doctor, this is not what I meant!” Ramon wailed towards the virtuouso leading this orchestra of death.

The driver did not receive this valuable customer feedback as he was roaring savagely out the open window.

[/font]

[font="Arial"]Twenty minutes later, the cab jerked to a halt at the foot of the freighter. Mustard tumbled out and staggered to the driver’s window, fishing out a handful of credits. Against every instinct, Ramon remained in the seat, having more errands to run and being (barely) unable to turn down the driver’s offer of free fare to make amends.

“See you later.” Ramon said, voice heavy with doom. “Maybe.” As soon as the door clicked shut, Mustard was shielding his eyes and straining to pick the receding cab out from the urban horizon. Hand on his head, he staggered up the ramp.

“Ya-ta-hey, Jeye.” announced Nathan from the dining table. Two strangers looked despondently up at the newcomer while Nathan refilled their cups with that horrid tea.

“Nathan…” Mustard sighed, rounding the table to explore the fridge. ”Can’t you just say ‘hi,’ like everyone else I know? In the whole galaxy?”

“Well, that not much of a way to honor your cultural heritage.” Nathan admonished like he was teaching grade school. “Your language is your biggest connections to your ancestors, you know.”

“Yeah, and mine is ‘English’.”

“There’s not many of your people left, you know. You should be proud of that.”

“My people?” Mustard smirked into the fridge, nudging past a package of hummus.

“Ah, I-I-I’m sorry, I meant…people who share your ethnic heritage.” Nate said in the most delicate voice he could. “Please excuse me.”

Mustard forced a stony expression and deepened his voice. “You’re right, actually. It is a very special thing to be Cherokee--”

“Don’t you mean, Navajo?”

He could never remember which it was. “...they’re, uh, used interchangeably. Anyway, there is a custom you don’t understand, Nathan and that’s dangerous for you—our language is special, its considered to be the language of the very earth itself. Its not for everyday, mundane use like English is, and its certainly no small matter if even a syllable is mispronounced.”

“Ohhhhh.”

This guy was too much fun. “So every time you capriciously insist on using my true name and language, I have to cleanse myself and recite mantras for two hours. Please, for the sake of my spiritual health…use my freakin’ English name.”

“So that’s why you spend so long in the shower. Oh, I had no idea, Jey—er, Mustard.”

“There you go. ('Sup, Fusion?)”

Nathan fumbled with his hands as Mustard kicked out a chair between Fusion and Edo. "Sooo, you know Fusion, then?"

"Phh, who doesn't?" Mustard asked. "Between the way he sneezed on the Auroran Emperor--"

"Ahh, heh-heh." Fusion tugged at his collar trying to silence his laundry list of crimes.

"--and used the last known piece of the One True Cross for barbecue smoke, you have to know him. You know they have an entire category of insurance to safeguard against the stuff he does? Seriously, ask me about my zero-deductible West insurance sometimes."

Fusion studied the table in shame.

"Good to have to have you here, though, don't get me wrong. You try some of that tea?"

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Oct 24 2009, 02:58 PM

[Ragnar0k]

“Tea?” West looked at the pot of vile ichor Nathan tried to poison him with, “Oh yea. Great stuff that.” He hurriedly outflanked Nathan’s coming offer for seconds, “Real thirst quencher. I couldn’t drink another drop if I tried.” Which was probably true, his hand might slap the cup away in some instinctual defense mechanism. Their host turned his kettle to Edo and she glared like she’d slap him if he tried. Relenting he returned his sludge to the stove, “So Nathan was just telling us about some top class bodyguards he hired. That wouldn’t be you and Ramon by any chance? Cause man, do I have some stories—“

“Ahaha,” Mustard laughed awkwardly, “what a kidder, my man West. Hey Nate could you give us a little privacy, I gotta talk to my good buddy here.”

“I guess I could take inventory…”

“Sounds like a plan.” Mustard watched his employer leave the room and waited for the door to slide shut. He patted Fusion on the back, “Pal, chum, you know I was just pullin your chain. No need to wreck a good thing over some friendly jokes.”

“Don’t panic man. I just wanted to make ya sweat a little is all.”

“Mission accomplished.” Edo chided, “From what I heard you two have a good racket going.”

Crisis averted Mustard shrugged, “It pays well and it’s quiet. I guess I can’t complain. But you can’t impress chicks with a job like this.”

“Seriously?” she smirked, “You’ve got all this going for you and you’re nitpicking the minor details.”

“You got me. Ramon and I are living it up like Kings and Princess. Come on it’s not that great. ‘I make sure nobody steals the Captain Crunch’ isn’t exactly a phrase that makes the ladies weak in the knees.”

The pale woman chuckled, “Because everyone in this room is a paragon of honesty.”

“A paragon?” Mustard asked, “Listen I’m not great with geometry.”

“What? Never mind. You guys have it made here and I want in.”

The merc looked her over. She had a pretty face and pale skin that reminded him of porcelain. There was a slight curve at the edge of her lips like she was always about ready to smile. Or sneer, “Who are you again?”

“Edo.” She replied coolly.

“We’ve got everything handled here. Why should we cut you in?”

“Because from what I heard your job history is probably almost as impressive as West’s and, just like with West, Nathan has no idea.”

Blackmail it is then. Mustard made some soothing gestures, “Give me a minute to think about this.” He headed over to the fridge for some intense internal debate. Also, pudding. Edo finished off the rest of her fries and exchanged glances with Fusion while they waited. Mustard came back to the table to negotiate terms and point his spoon at the Captain, “Getting Fusion a job part of this deal?”

“You kidding?” she shook her head, “The way Nathan worships this guy Fusion could write himself a blank check and Nate would marvel at his penmanship. He could have this ship if he asked nice enough.”

Mustard considered, “You have any skills to bring to the team?”

“No.” she said flatly.

Of course not, “I think you’ll fit right in. I’ll call Nate back.”

“Please,” Edo petitioned, “don’t ruin the moment.” The way the light hit her face just then. Mustard did a double-take and almost dropped his spoon. He knew this woman, but from where? “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Now that I look you seem really familiar. Have we met before?”

“I think I’d remember that particular honor.” She said sarcastically.

A startling revelation struck him like a thunderbolt, “Does… Does Acre ring any bells?”

“Huh?” she stared at him in genuine confusion.

“Well uh, you know the city…” he shook his head, it couldn’t be, “Don’t worry about it.”

**

A few minutes of chatting with Nathan and, abracadabra, Edo had a shiny new job. Fusion cut out soon after, making noises about seeing a man about a screaming green vortex. He said he’d swing by again later. Edo was off catching Zs on one of the bunks and Nathan was attending his usual busy work. Mustard was posted up on one of the crates in the hold. The merc sat on a folding chair and read the latest issue of Shonen Jump. He kept sentry over a room stacked high with walls and towers of one ton boxes literally not worth the trouble of stealing.

The hold was divided into two sides arbitrarily named “East” and “West”, the Kingdoms of he and Ramon respectively. Rather than thieves the mercs passed the time by defending their charges from the barbarian hordes of common ship faring pests: roaches, mice, and occasionally the dreaded Canadian goose. Bright lights in the middle of the room cast stark shadows at its edges and that darkness oozed into its aisles.

He and Ramon hid traps between the crates and in the shadows and generally turned the whole place into a dungeon of terror for anything smaller than a house cat. Occasionally a small critter would brave the whole mess to scamper across the floor and challenge his reign, but such acts of villainy were rare and short lived. A well aimed tennis ball would send whatever it was scurrying back to its doom. He and Ramon made bets on whose side would have the most product loss come trading time. Just another day on the job.

Something darted through the shadows at the edge of his vision. It was a lot bigger than any house cat. He turned to face it but the thing was gone. Maybe it was never there to begin with, “Trick of the light…” he muttered. Mustard jumped at shadows a lot more than he used to nowadays. He went back to reading and the shape rushed past again. He panicked, “Goose!” nearly fell out of his chair fumbling to save his magazine from a similar fate.

He slipped down from his vantage with his folding chair in hand, wielding the weapon with all the poise of a professional wrestler. He peeked around the corner after his mystery critter and saw something else. Several rows down was the outline of a woman reaching into one of the crates in the dark, “Edo?” She froze, stolen loot clutched in her arms. She spared him only a glance before bolting, “The hell?”

She was quick, he gave her that. By the time Mustard made it out of the hold he heard her room door slam shut. Nothing like petty theft to break up the tedium. He made his way to her room and was about to knock when he heard whispering on the other side. The merc pressed his ear to the door and started to catch one side of a muffled conversation, “_{…and what do you mean he saw you?}” there was a long pause before Edo started back up, “_{Why didn’t you just tell me, I could’ve asked for this.}” there was another pause. He strained to hear the other person. He pressed himself up against the door, “_{He thinks it was me?! Damnit Atra I—}”

Mustard’s hand accidentally brushed a keypad and the door whisked open. Edo gasped. The mercenary just stared, mouth agape, unable to find the words or properly process what he was seeing. There stood an obsidian beauty. She didn’t have wings but she was a faceless featureless woman that sent echoes of terror screaming through his mind. Mustard did what any man would when faced with the synthesis of his darkest nightmares. He fainted.

**

The world came back to Mustard abruptly. First as stale light that rudely pushed passed his eyelids. Then as a quiet susurrus he couldn’t quite make out. And finally as the bland taste of towel stuffed in his mouth. When the mercenary opened his eyes he was laying on a bunk in Edo’s room, hands bound behind his back by a length of extension cord no one happened to be using. The woman in question was pacing back and forth at the foot of his bed, “Stop worrying, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Probably. What?” She went rigid and turned his way.

Keeping a silent vigil in the chair at his side was the cause of his sudden coma. She clutched at a red box and looked down on him with what could have been concern. Her subtle outline of a face was surprisingly expressive. Mustard surprised himself by being so calm, like he’d already used up all his fear in one go. Now with his Zen-like clarity he saw the creature as she was. She was exactly as he expected Edo would look if you caught sight of her in the dead of night. And she was smoky at the edges, not quite solid. Not like the terrible angelic beauty of what he’d mistaken her for. None of the Death’s breath chill they made you feel either. Edo sat down next to him, “It looks like you’re nice and calm so I’m going to take the gag off. If you promise not to scream like a little girl.”

Mustard nodded. What else was he going to say? Edo removed the towel and undid his restraints as promised. Then they both sat down and left a big WTF hanging in the air. Mustard was still processing. There were a lot of questions and he had no idea where to start. The shadow girl… person… how does one refer to her like? Anyway, she looked back and forth between the two and decided to take the situation in hand. She held her treasure out for Mustard’s inspection and his eyes widened, “Captain Crunch?” A picture started forming in his head, one that made the situation no less confusing but still told a story, “You sent her to the cargo room to steal some Captain Crunch?”

“Don’t judge me.” Edo complained, “It was for her. It’s her favorite.” She took a small handful, as if proving her point, and started omnoming away.

“So why isn’t she the one eating?”

“How is she supposed to eat, she’s a shadow?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that.” He deadpanned.

“It’s just something she can’t do, like talk. But anything I taste she tastes and this is what she wants.” Omnomnom exposition, “In the kitchen she heard you bring up Captain Crunch so she wanted to go sneak a box when she thought no one was looking. Clearly her ninja tactics need work.”

“I see…” Shadow-girl didn’t seem terrifying at all now. She was actually pretty nice. He accepted when she offered him some the next time. Mustard settled in, time to get some answers in the trivia lightning round. Edo was patient and answered what questions she could from his onslaught. Her “sister” there was Atra. They’d been somehow bonded for as long as they could remember. Neither of them understood how or why or what exactly Atra was, but they figured it didn’t much matter. Mention of the name Acre stirred a weird Déjà-vu memory but a description of what happened there didn’t. The two could recall where they’d been stirring up trouble before they got to the station which would have placed them far far away from the planet when everything went to hell. Maybe they’d heard about the place in passing but that was that.

By the time they were all done Atra was practically bouncing with glee. Never had a breakfast cereal brought such joy to a person. Mustard offered Edo a firm handshake, “So it’s a deal. I don’t go blabbing about Atra and you never speak of what happened when I opened the door. Ever.”

Edo agreed, “Fair’s fair. You slip up and you’re fair game. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to get a little more shut eye, wake me up if anything fun happens.”

“Can do.” Atra waved to him cheerfully and then melted away. Back to “bond” with her sister and masquerade as a regular shadow again. Mustard caught himself mid wave and then just went with it. Good chance she saw. He showed himself out and bumped into Fusion in the hallway, “Hey West, I thought you had to meet somebody.”

“Guy was in a meeting.” The big Captain said distractedly as he took stock of Mustard’s rumpled clothes, hair, and the fact that Edo was hopping back into a thoroughly messy bed. At least he had the decency to wait till the door was mostly closed before booming, “You sly dog, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

[Gray Shirt Ninja]

Deus ex Machina


When we last left our hero William, he was snoozing away the predawn hours in the demon-haunted city of Acre. Quick recap here.

William and his military compatriots, Sergeant Dmitri and Corporal Ross, had held out for several hours in their rooftop perch. Granted, it was because few ghouls were making it past the main perimeter, but William would take whatever he could get. The few ghouls and Swarm that made it to their perch were easily picked off by headshots to conserve ammo. The area was well lit enough that the bodies stayed down too. Everything was going well… until something swooped over with a pestilential blast of wind and half the lights went out. The three adventurers looked from each other to the suddenly shadowed alleys surrounding their safe house. They couldn't see it without the lights but those alleys had been filled with dead… well deader ghouls. Ross had the distinct impression that if the lights turned back on, those alleys would now be empty. William apparently shared his thoughts.

"Run!" he yelled just as a rhythmic pounding began on the barricaded rooftop door. The three men grabbed all the supplies they could and tumbled helper-skelter towards the escape rope to the ground. William jumped first with his huge pistol, Lethe, in one hand and the rope in the other. He repelled down the side of the building, alert for danger from the ground below and from the building itself. One could never be too careful in these situations. The men made it to the ground and onto a major thoroughfare without incident. That was an hour ago. Since then, the three man team has been reduced from rocket launchers and machine guns to pistols, a satchel filled with thermite, and assorted grenades. They are dirty, tired, and scared out of their wits. But they've managed to make it to the spaceport and even save a few civilians along the way.

William feels like a new man this morning. As he describes it later, it's as though an invisible hand that has been acting against him since he arrived in Acre has disappeared. His preternatural abilities are returning and he is filled with confidence. Dmitri and Ross do not share his confidence. Ross is only concerned with survival and jumps at every shadow (as well he should) and Dmitri hungers for a glorious victory over the monsters.

The three adventurers survivors fought their way through the horrifically ruined spaceport just in time to see a hapless lass snatched by a titanic flying monster. William groaned "I hope that wasn't the shuttle". Dmitri looked a bit startled "Is that all you care for? Survival? Escape? What of the victim of that monster?" he demanded.

William shrugged and replied: "Not a lot I can do for her. She's giblets by now. That's life here in our personal circle of hell. Do you want to join her in the nether depths or do you want to escape? Follow me." Battered and weary the three companions made their way to a far hanger bay where, nestled like a gift from the cruel gods themselves, lay a battered Lightning. William moved quickly towards it, "We're going to make it after all," he smirked. Dmitri grabbed his arm. "Not so fast," he whispered.

"The hell man? We're almost there, do you want to be dragon munchies?" William demanded.

Dmitri silently pointed to the shadows around the Lightning. William followed his steady gaze and shivered at what he saw. What he had taken for crumpled bodies were really Swarm. Piles and piles of Swarm, and they all seemed to be waiting for him. "Are you freaking kidding me?" he growled. "Where's a flamethrower when you need one?"

Moving unhurriedly, Dmitri pulled out two fragmentation grenades, primed them, and tossed them across the hanger bay. With a double *bang!* the weapons went off… and the Swarm went scurrying to investigate the noise. "You see? Piece of pie." smirked Dmitri. He drew his pistol and crept up to the downed ship. His companions followed, weapons at the ready. With every step bones crunched under foot and blood threatened to cause them to slip. William glanced over his shoulder. "Um… guys? We might want to hurry it up."

Dmitri glanced back and took in the red curtain descending over the spaceport. With a leisurely pace, the malevolent red cloud draped itself languorously around the buildings of the spaceport. It gradually lowered itself to kiss the ground with a seductive touch. Where it touched, the dead rose, monstrosities beyond the wildest imaginations of the survivors were brought into existence from the bones and blood of the dead. William gulped, "Run!".

That last run will always be one of William's greatest nightmares. The stench of death thick in the air, the devilish cries closing in from all directions as the dead stalked the last living on the planet, and the red tint of the air combined to form a hellscape like no other. Ross was the first to make it to the Lightning. He pulled the hatch open, and the others pilled in, Ross closing the door behind himself. William collected himself with ninja grace and queried his companions: "Who knows how to fly this thing? Just me? Alright then. You two make sure we don't have any unwanted passengers and I'll get us into the air."

With guns drawn, the two soldiers began to search the ship. William headed straight up to the cockpit. He knew that he had only a short amount of time before the dragon found this last craft and crushed it like a Civilian Viper. He pushed open the door and stopped dead. He was not alone in the ship! A ghoul slowly stood up from the pilot's chair and turned to face him. William's eyes bugged out in shock. The ghoul only had one eye. "CYYYYYCLOPS!" he roared. The ghoul shrieked and leaped for him. But this time things went differently. William smoothly raised "Lethe", and with a single bullet put out Cyclops' other eye… and most of his head as well. William dragged the carcass to the hatch and kicked it out into the spaceport. "Stay the hell away from me freak!" he shouted after it. "I'll take out a restraining order if I see you again!"

The ninja quickly swung the hatch shut again as several Swarm threw themselves against it. "Now…" he muttered, "Let's get this show on the road. Next stop: Earth." The Lightning rose smoothly through the red clouds. Though it's engine whined and strained. William didn't catch another glimpse of the Leviathan, which was probably fortunate. The craft broke through the clouds and into the clean void of space. Dmitri leaned on the back of William's chair: "Now isn't that a sight for sore eyes?" he said quietly.

"Space?" asked William as they headed for the outer reaches of the system.

"No. The sun."

OoC: EAT BLAZING LEADEN DEATH CYCLOPS

[Gray Shirt Ninja]

Plot

The Lightning sagged into the Colosseum hanger bay with a grateful sigh. William had pushed the craft hard in his haste to escape the hell that Acre had become. "Welcome to Colosseum Station, boys. Half-way to anywhere," he said, throwing a grin back at Dmitri and Ross. "What are you two going to do now? Report back to the Federation and get yourselves debriefed by the Bureau?"

Ross shook his head, "We've talked this over. I have no desire to face those spooks. No telling what they'd do to us. They probably wouldn't believe our story and we'd end up executed as traitors. Either way we'd be put into solitary for the rest of our lives to keep the story of Acre from causing a panic. We'd rather be free."

William nodded, "So why don't you join up and go adventuring with me? I could always use backup. We should form a mercenary band and go have wacky adventures! This is going to be awesome!"

Dmitri frowned, "I'm a soldier, not a musician. Soldiers of fortune seems more like our strong point."

"I take it that Russian is your first language?"

"Da, how did you guess?"

William sighed.

Some time later, the two (former) soldiers headed off for a drink in the bar ("Don't drink the Scumble." they had been warned by William). Meanwhile William busied himself in the hangers of the station. "A Lightning isn't enough ship for a hardened band of mercenaries," went his thoughts. "A Valkyrie or a Starbridge would be a better match for us. Or maybe even…" his eyes were drawn to a docking tube leading to a ship too big for the hangers. Through a transparesteel view port he could see a distinctive bulk.

When the two soldiers returned from the bar some hours later, they found a red arrow painted on the ground in place of the Lightning. The slightly tipsy soldiers followed a path of arrows across the hanger and through a docking tube. Ross goggled up at the bright red Manticore. "Well. Looks like we've got an upgrade," he commented.

"You like it?" said William enthusiastically, popping out of the shadows. "Bwah!" shouted the startled Ross. "Where did you come from?"

"Ninja, dude."

"Oh right."

"Don't mention it, anyway I got us a ship that's worthy of a hardened mercenary band. I call her the Attitude Adjuster. She's a based off a Heavy Weapons variant Manticore. Her illegal EMP torpedoes have been stripped out and replaced with a Pirate Thunderhead bay. I don't really like single fighters so I've already made arrangements to have the bay removed. I've got a few ideas for some custom modifications. Anyway, a band of hardened mercenary soldiers were included with the ship so we've got ourselves a crew and an army. Pretty kickass, eh?"

Ross frowned. "A crew was included? But isn't that highly unusual?"

William nervously scratched the back of his head. "Well…"

He was interrupted by a scruffy looking man stepping out of the hatch. "Oy cap'n! We've stowed th' grog away in your cabin as ye asked. We're all ready tah depart, sir." He saluted William.

The two soldiers eyed William. "What." said Dmitri.

"Um… well… I may have sort of assassinated a pirate captain and stolen his ship. Ninja, you know…" he explained nervously.

"And now the pirates are helping you?" asked Ross dubiously.

"Aye," cut in the pirate, "We're pirates lad, we follow the strongest member of our band and offer him complete loyalty. When one grows strong enough to defeat him, we make him the new captain."

Dmitri was confused, "I thought pirates and ninjas were mortal enemies. Why are you following William?"

"Hey just 'cause we're pirates don't mean we've got no sense of narrative irony!"

[Ragnar0k]

Moments after Edo closed her eyes she was awake again. An alarm clock brayed like a wounded animal inches from her pillow. Barely an hour had passed. She grumbled and swatted the nightstand looking for a snooze button. In failure she sent a frustrated backhand across the device’s face. It flew across the room, which was not far, and greeted one of the walls, who was not kind. Bits of electronic gore splattered over the deck plating. The harsh beeping turned awkward and pathetic. It was a long time in dying. With grim determination she hauled her sorry ass out of bed and headed out the door.

She shambled zombie-like down the hall to the cargo hold. Mustard was stood guard on top of a crate as she came in. His beach chair was strategically placed for maximum comfort. She rapped the box with her knuckles, “Ahem.”

“Hubbawha?” he looked away from his magazine in surprise, “Hey Edo!” he dropped it on his seat and hopped down from his perch, “There’s something I gotta talk to you about, I’m glad you came and found me.”

“I just wanted you to move.” She confessed with a yawn as she started to work the latches on the crate he just vacated. She remembered this one special.

“Uh, right. Of course. You have a second?”

She eyed him seriously, “Are you a chocolate flavored breakfast pastry?”

“Not last time I checked.” he said slowly.

“Then no, no I don’t.” Displeasure surged through her bond from Atra’s end like she’d stuck a fork in a socket. With a sigh she amended, “I mean sure, why not.”

He took a deep steadying breath, “Okay so—“

“How’s the happy couple?” Fusion beamed as he emerged from further into the ship, “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

“What are you talking about?” she eyed the men suspiciously.

“Guy stuff.” West assured as he gave the merc a knowing smile.

“Mustard.”

“Oh would you look at that, the crate is open.” The merc shoved the lid off hastily. His chair toppled into the box along with a small stack of manga. Flash! A burst of green light sparked from within. He looked into the crate and reeled back in horror, “Nuuuuu! I haven’t read those yet!”

Edo peeked in. A swirling emerald portal stared back at her. A single surviving silver package danced around the growling storm of energy like some tribal warrior. One wrong spin took it too near the fire and crackle it was gone. West scratched his chin, “Hmmm, forgot about that.”

“The hell do you mean you forgot about it?” Edo demanded, “You didn’t leave your keys here, it’s a friggin hole in space-time!”

“Calm down. I’m practically an expert on these things. They’re harmless, trust—“ the light intensified as the portal ballooned and swallowed all three before shrinking out of existence.

**

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!*

Edo crashed into Mustard as the vortex belched her back into the universe. They landed in a tangle of limbs that scattered a wave of pop-tarts and dust. Mustard groaned on the floor, arms up to break Edo’s fall, “You okay?” he asked.

“Hands.” she said icily.

Her breasts were pressed against his palms. He snatched his hands back like her blouse was on fire, “Accident!”

She swallowed her outrage towards Mustard as the portal fizzled into nothingness behind her. She tucked it away in a file reserved for slights real or imagined. For now there were more important things to use that energy for, like murdering West. Edo pushed herself off of the mercenary and took in their surroundings.

The room was large, dark, and long abandoned. It didn’t have windows so much as holes in its walls. Those were boarded up like an afterthought. Daylight peeked in through the cracks to stare at piles of worthless rubble. Anything of value had long since been pillaged. A coat of dust covered the chamber like a blanket of gray snow. What color she could see beneath was charred black. The place was a burnt-out husk of what it must have been years before.

The small mountain of breakfast treats that broke her fall had already been raided by bands of mice. Anything not devastated by the attacks was crushed nearly to dust by the weight of two people. “Fusion.” She began darkly, “Did your harmless portal drop-kick us into another dimension and then disappear ?”

West stood with his back to them, framed in the doorway that was the only exit. He laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s still there.”

“And what else is there, the Easter bunny?” Mustard scoffed as he got to his feet, “Because I don’t see a damn thing either.”

The Captain shook his head, “Look the portal isn’t going anywhere it just needs a day to recharge and it’ll open right back up. That’s how the Doc explained it to me and it’s worked pretty well so far. Sooo…” he began, “let’s go exploring while we wait.”

**

The group found themselves in an urban sprawl. It was crowded by an artificial steel skyline that tried its damnedest to block out the natural one. Edo shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and gaped at the shiny metal ring that arced lazily across the cloudless blue. That was the Kane Band which meant, “This is Earth.” She breathed.

Fusion frowned at having his big reveal stolen from him, “Yes and no.” he pulled his exposition hat out, “Take a look at the crowd.” Every fifth person was hard-eyed and tattooed, “Aurorans.” He elaborated. West filled them in as he led them through the city’s busy streets from memory. Edo and Mustard passed through a packed shopping district that rested in the shadow of buildings tall enough to tickle the clouds. They craned their necks and looked where Fusion gestured like a couple bewildered tourists. That restaurant’s a good place to eat. That store has pretty nice jackets. Oh look, a statue commemorating Aurora’s conquest of half the known galaxy, “This ain’t our Earth. The Aurorans crushed the Federation before it ever got started. Then Polaris took Aurora over its knee and spanked em for being bad little boys and girls.”

The Captain was not a quiet man and his voice drew all the wrong kinds of attention. Edo was mindful of all the people who seemed to recognize him then and how most remembered important business they had elsewhere. After another woman turned whiter than Edo and a third man pretended to be a mannequin in the window of a clothing store Mustard noticed too, “You been here before dude?”

“Yes sir,” the big man preened, “I’m almost as famous here as I am back home.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Mustard mumbled. News of their arrival swept through the crowd like a ripple in a pond. By the time they reached a park square at the next intersection they were alone save for a few tumbleweeds and three guys in loin cloths.

The ringleader was a skinny bookish man with glasses barely so tall as Edo’s nose. She didn’t know much about Aurorans besides the fact that more tattoos is supposed to mean more badass. These three didn’t have two between them. The leader spoke with a voice that was barely aware of his manhood, “I am Ton Tsung, defender of knowledge.” He pointed to the fat man on his left, “This is Yun Lee the Rat Slayer.” And then the lanky fellow with a lazy eye on his right, “And this os Bob. You would do well to fear him. We seek Fusion West.”

“You found them.” Edo said dryly, “You want an autograph or something?”

“We seek a challenge.” He said haughtily.

West shook his head, “Sorry little guy I don’t just fight people for no reason. One of my rules.”

Edo stared at him, “That is one of your rules? That? Here’s a new rule for ya, stop @#%$ing s### up. You make that your mission statement and I’ll take care of these clowns.”

“You’re not going to fight them are you?? Mustard cut in.

“Of course not, I’m going to snuggle them until they agree to go home. Yes I’m going to fight them..”

“Wait!” he grabbed her hand, “There are rules when fighting Aurorans.”

“Like what?”

He counted off fingers as he recited directly from the Federation Civilian Guide to surviving in Auroran space, “One: Use a gun. Two: In the absence of a gun do not fight. Three: If there is no gun and you have to fight, run away.”

“Well what if you can’t run?”

“Uh, the fourth rule wasn’t written out in the pamphlet, it was just a picture of a sad faced stick figure man with his head between his legs.”

“Bullcrap. They’re just a couple losers.”

“You and your lady having a problem?” Fusion asked.

“Not now man.” Mustard pleaded.

“Look I don’t care if they’re Aurorans or Feds or friggin Huns, I don’t discriminate like that. I am an equal opportunity ass-whooper. And you and me are gunna have a talk as soon as I’m done here.” Edo told the merc.

“Yay.” He deadpanned.

The warriors behaved themselves as they watched the back and forth even though the disrespect left them visibly upset, “You are my first opponent?” the man with glasses glared at Edo.

“Whatever, let’s just make this quick.”

“Gladly.” He moved like she didn’t think a man could move. One second he was just a dork with glasses and bad fashion sense and the next he was some teleporting warrior messiah hammering an uppercut into her stomach hard enough to lift her off the ground. All the air left her lungs. She had just enough time to realize she hadn’t made the best decision before he slammed an elbow into the back of her neck. Things went dark quick.

**

Edo woke up behind bars in a dim dungeon-style cell. Her prison was a filthy six by six stone box barely big enough for her to stand or lay in. It stank like sickness and death, “Where…”

“You’re up! Thank god, you okay?” Mustard’s panicked voice came from the cell next to hers.

“I think so, what happened?”

“Damn, the way that guy hit you I thought you mighta died.” He started gathering himself, getting better composed as he went, “We got arrested for being friends with Fusion. I think. Auroran’s aren’t too big on due process.”

She almost didn’t want to ask, “So where’s West?”

Mustard growled, “Son of a bitch got the hell out of there when you went down and the fat guy got me in a submission hold. He yelled tactical retreat and then I never saw him again. I don’t think they got him.”

“He ran away?” she hissed.

“I’m pissed too but that’s the least of our problems. We’re under this arena they have for prisoners. I think they’re going to make us fight a Cunjo soon.” The fear was creeping back into his voice.

“What the hell’s a Cunjo?”

“It’s like a rabid bear-puma thing.”

“I heard people go on tours and hunt those for fun, how bad could it be?”

“Are you kidding?” Mustard laughed mirthlessly, “Those tourists are on fortified ships when they hunt those things. And they use rocket launchers.”

“No talking, meat!” barked an angry stranger. A hulking warrior stalked over to her cell with a sword that looked even meaner than he did. At first Edo thought he was fully clothed, but then she realized his tattoos covered most of his body. He smiled, just a cruel curve of his lips, “You two won’t be fighting the Cunjo. Prisoners worthy of such a death are on the level below you. You are only worthy to feed the Cunjo before he fights. Now pray that the beast grants you swift death. If I hear you make another sound I will not be so kind as that.” He gave her a few moments of evil eye before marching over to Mustard’s cell to presumably give him the same.

Edo listened to his footsteps fade into the distance. She crouched against the wall closest to Mustard’s cell, “_{You were awake when they dragged us in here, so you think you could find your way out?}” she whispered.

“_{If I had the chance I guess I could. You got a plan?}”

“_{Maybe not a good one.}” she admitted. “_{I’m going to need you to actually help this time Atra.}”

Without real light to define Edo’s shadow Atra was more or less invisible until she rose up out of the floor and gave an exaggerated stretch. She walked through the bars and into the corridor, taking the time to dip out of sight and head into Mustard’s cell to wave hello, “_{Oh hi!}” the merc said in surprise, “_{I’m alright, been better. You know how it is.}” Edo started tapping her foot impatiently, “_{Thanks, I like my hair like this too. You know most people don’t appreciate the work I put into this look I mean—}”

“_{How the hell do you know what she’s saying?!}” Edo demanded.

“_{Sign language. Duh.}”

“_{Since when do you know… Wait, when did she learn sign-language!}” Atra started to explain, “_{You took mail order classes and studied while I was asleep? You speak directly to my brain, when would sign language ever be a useful skill for you to have? Okay, with the exception of this specific situation. Alright you know what, how about I don’t care. Pick the damn locks already.}”

“Are you whispering in there?” the guard growled as he stomped back down the hall. He stopped in front of Edo’s cell and stared murder at her, “Do you have a death wish little girl, because I would be happy to… what the hell is that?!” He took a swing at Atra as she lunged for him and his blade passed through her harmlessly. She crashed into his chest and washed over him like a black tide. In seconds he was flailing wildly with Atra coating his skin like he’d been dipped in tar. The shadow silenced every sound he made but that didn’t stop him from trying to scream with a terror far beyond what the situation called for. Of course he didn’t know that. After a few more seconds of futile struggle the big man fell away from Atra and hit the floor with a thud.

“He should be out cold for the next hour.” Edo said as her cell door swung open.

Mustard met her in the hall, “If she can do that why did she let you get your ass kicked before?”

“Spite.” Atra signed.

“No, smart-ass.” Edo corrected, “She didn’t want to attract attention. You know what happens when people see Atra? They call other people, people with guns.” The shadow-girl reluctantly agreed with a nod, “Alright Mustard you know the way out, lead on.”

“Ummm… Hello?” A woman’s voice called from one of the cells, “Do you think I could come with you?” Out of the shadows came a pretty twenty-something with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her clothes were ripped and a little dirty. She flashed puppy dog eyes to which Edo was immune. What was most remarkable was how well she was taking the sight of Atra.

“Sorry hun, we’re not in the business of taking in strays—“

“But we’d be happy to bring you along.” Mustard cut in. He snatched up the guard’s archaic key ring and did the honors of freeing her himself, “You’ll be alright with us, we’re professional mercenaries.”

This post has been edited by Ragnar0k: Oct 31 2009, 08:59 PM

[fishloaf]

"...and breathe out." chirped the physical therapist.

Ramon, face buried in a gym mat, responded with a long, stifled puff. The chiropractor held his arm and eased it back just a little further, cinching him up into a human knot.

"Nnf!" A chorus of pops rippled up through Ramon's spine.

"There we go," cooed the plump lady. "You're still really tight back here, have you been doing your stretches?"

Ramon glanced guiltily down at the book-sized pamphlet of yoga exercises she had perscribed. The only one he did with any consistency was the one where he reached all the way up to his mouth and swallowed a Tylenol.

"Anyway, I think that's all we can do with your back for now. I'm especially worried about this muscle group," she rested a palm somewhere between his side and the small of his back, the place where Ramon had folded over Fantome's seat during a crash a few days back. "...so pay special attention to the exercises in pages 34 through 56. Now lets move on to your shoulder--"

"Uh, I'm not so down with the shoulder exercises." Ramon pleaded, rolling over and sitting up. "I think at this point, its going to be, whatever its going to-- "

"No no, I promise that we won't have a repeat of Monday." She said gently. There was a small patch of discolored paint on the wall where a sink had once lived until Ramon chose to brace against it for that exercise, which was called the butterfly. Ramon had offended the entire waiting room with what he called it.

"I know you have a lot of inflammation still, but we need to get those muscles moving or else they'll just cement into place and you'll never have that range of motion back. All I want you to do is, very slowly, touch my palm like you're giving me a high five." She held a hand at eye level.

Ramon reluctantly extended his bad arm. Like a freighter making a port call, he eased it slowly forward, red-hot pain marshalling throughout his upper ribcage and shoulder. Grimacing, he completed the pathetic, sloth like manuever with a small cup-sound as their palms touched.

"Perfect!" she applauded with a voice Ramon feel, for a brief and pathetic moment, a surge of triumph. Damn this woman and her infectious enthusiasm. "Now if you hold your arm out stiff, I can ease it up gently like its a lever."

Right. Like a lever. Suppressing the parts of his imagination better reserved for talking s### with Mustard, Ramon obediently held out his arm. She took his hand and then began easing his arm up.The physical therapist had brown eyes, and Ramon unconsciously sighted them down the length of his outstretched arm;

It had looked exactly like this.

He was again dangling by a cable on high, hissing through the pain as he slowed the feeble shuddering in his hands with ragged will. The wind roared and tore at him, the engines howled, the spaceport boiled over with bloody clouds--something warm and alive wriggled in his opening, dying hand. Jaqueline. The invincible woman was disarmed, helplessly staring up at him with pleading, almost bewildered eyes as thin air waited below. The sight shocked and charged him with a sense of uncontrollable power, iron and fire surging through him. He was not letting--!

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the physical therpist gasped at Ramon's expression, releasing the arm. "How bad does it hurt?"

Ramon blinked, his snarl disappearing as he eased his grip. Now he was back in a PT clinic, complete with blue mats and bright, globe-like exercise balls. "...uh," he said lamely.

"Is there anywhere in your shoulder that's throbbing or feels hot or tingly?"

"N-nah, I'm cool. It was just a second." Ramon waved it off and extended his arm again.

"Okay, we don't have to do shoulder exercises if its really that bad." she said gravely, leaving him hanging as she scribbled down notes. "Go ahead and skip pages 56 through 87 in your stretches and I'll see what we can do about it next time. But you need to really make sure and try to do the rest of those exercises, though, because..."

Ramon zoned out, a trusted defense mechanism in the face of circumspect lecturing which stayed in effect long after he had left the office. It wasn't until he arrived at Fantome's holding bay that he finally collected himself; Only one man on Colosseum had the gall to wear a sunflower yellow suit like that, grinning sleazily as two bruisers rounded the corner behind him.

***

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Nov 2 2009, 02:52 AM

[Ragnar0k]

The Aurorans must have stolen their prison design from medieval dungeons. It was dark and musty, haunted by the echoing moans of prisoners unseen. Light was not generous. There might have been two fading bulbs to a corridor. They dangled from rusty chains at either end and left the middle shadows to their own devices.

Mustard seemed to lead them more from memory than sight. He came to an intersection where every path was the other’s twin and picked a route with barely a pause. Atra flitted through the shadows ahead of them hunting for other guards they never ran into. The lack of opposition made Edo nervous, “Something isn’t right. Who leaves one guy to guard a whole prison?”

“Aurorans, that’s who.” Mustard replied, “I think you’re underestimating how badass that one guy is.”

“We met, remember? Atra wasn’t impressed.” The shadow-girl passed through the light at the end of the hall, there and gone again in a blink, “Still doesn’t make sense, there should at least be a couple guys making sure no one just walks out.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we’re not just walking out.” He said confidently. The doe-eyed girl Mustard freed clung to his arm like a frightened child. Her name was Melissa. After picking up their damsel in distress the merc elected himself team leader. That worked out since he ran unopposed, Edo didn’t care for a position of responsibility. Now Edo could practically hear rusty gears turning in man’s head while he plotted some fool heroics to impress the pretty girl. He and the blonde kept their heads together whispering about some scheme. The only words Edo caught clearly were “freedom” and “liberate”. Not good.

They came to a heavy rusted door that was not the exit and Mustard whipped out the jangling janitor’s key ring he’d looted from the guard. The groaning of other prisoners was especially loud there. Edo could almost make out the lamenting pleas of the inmates, “Are you seriously doing this?” Mustard ignored her and focused on the door. He had to try a few keys before one seduced the lock into opening with a clink. As they passed through the bulky thing’s hinges creaked and whined and otherwise bitched about not seeing an oil can in years.

A hush darkened the cell block like a black cloud. Terrified faces stared out from behind the bars. There were many, young and old, but none gaunt or injured that Edo could see. There was nothing there to justify the fear in those eyes, “Who are all these people?”

“Entertainment.” Melissa said softly, “Sacrifices for the celebration.”

“For the Cunjo?” the way the inmates cringed at the word Edo knew it was true. The cells closest to the door were recently slept in but empty now. That painted a grim picture.

Mustard gave a handful of keys to Melissa, “Start on that end and give a few to anyone that wants to help.”

Edo held out her hand, “Give me some.” The merc gave her a considering look, “What? I don’t care or anything but this’ll take forever if I leave it up to you and we need to get gone.”

“Uh-huh.” He smiled as he handed her a few. Damn him.

**

A thunderous cheer came from somewhere outside. It sounded muffled through the hood they made Fusion wear. That didn’t bother him though, aside from being a little stuffy. All part of the plan. Turn himself in, check. Get imprisoned in the same place as Mustard and Edo, check. Overcome mysterious challenge and free said friends… work in progress.

The four other guys from his cell block were brought up to that waiting area with him and the guards had sent each of them out one at a time. The crowd’s started yelling pretty quick after that last guy got sent out. He’d be a tough act to follow doing so well. Jerk. Get your game face on West. His hands were shackled together and a heavy chain hung from them. The links clattered whenever he moved. The other end was in the hands of a guard, though he couldn’t tell which. “Exciting stuff, huh guys?” One of them grunted an affirmative. That was the chatty one. West got to calling him “Gabs” since he was the only guard who ever responded. He was the biggest and angriest looking of the bunch but had an air that said he was… Well the least mean. He wasn’t a sadist like the others, “I’m gunna miss you Gabs. You’re good people.”

The doors opened again and the roar of the audience crashed into the room. The guards marched Fusion out as the announcer continued a grand speech, “With the fourth battle ended it is time for the main event! The great Fusion West will answer for his crimes and honor the wedding of the crowned prince Aurora!”

The crowd once again erupted as Gabs pulled off Fusion’s hood and backed away. All the other guards hurried back where they came. It was Gabs who held his chain now. West blinked against the glare for a second as he took in the stadium they were in. It was a reimagining of the Coliseum in Rome made of concrete and steel. There were four gates leading to the field if you counted the one West had used. The ground there was coated in white sand that looked shipped from some exotic beach. It seemed a fresh layer was set down just for him.

Fusion did his best to wave for the audience and bask in their applause but all went quiet as a man in red and gold finery approached. He had half a dozen guards, each of whom bristled with melee weapons like they’d just robbed an armory, “Do you remember me?” he asked as Fusion lowered his hands.

West noted all seven men were tense. Like he would spring forward and drop all of them if they let their guards down. Lucky for them I didn’t eat my Wheaties this morning. He chuckled. The speaker’s face didn’t ring any bells. It was a mask of tattoos that couldn’t hide a tinge of nervousness. The Captain shook his head, “Should I?”

“You dishonorable liar.” The man growled, “I am Prince Aurora. Your attempt on my life at the succession ceremony failed and you have returned to try again. Would you deny this?”

Seeing the Prince so angry brought back some unpleasant memories of his last trip through that dimension and the last time he saw that face, “The only thing I attempted to do was land my ship. How was I supposed to know you’d be doing something important on that specific roof? I needed a place to put the shuttle down and nobody got hurt right. No harm no foul.”

“An imperial palace did not seem important to you?” the lord scoffed, “Three of my personal guards ended up in the hospital and I may wait weeks before I can ascend to the throne.”

“Okay.” West continued, “Nobody got hurt badly. I thought I explained this before, I was just passing through.”

“Polarans are all the same.” The Prince suddenly declared, raising his voice for the crowd, “They fear me and what I will do for our people when the throne is mine. This is why they sent such a mighty assassin after my life. They would stop me from taking the throne and they would stop this marriage. But I lead a proud people who will not be cowed this way. And today I have earned two great victories our enemy.” He turned his triumphant gaze upon Fusion, who had no godly idea what the guy was talking about anymore. Aurorans really knew how to blow stuff out of proportion, “Is there anything you wish to say for yourself or your people now that you have been defeated?”

West grinned petulantly, he had a rescue to get back to, “Let’s just get this over with. I can say whatever I need when I’m done here.”

“Empty words.” The Prince took a spear from one of his guards and tossed it to the Captain’s feet, “May you face death with more honor than you did life.”

The lord and his entourage stalked back off the field as the cheers rose up again, “Hey wait, I thought we were gunna fight!” Fusion laughed, “He afraid of me?”

“Everyone is.” Gabs said, stepping forward to undo the Captain’s restraints.

“He speaks.” West exclaimed, “Why though? I’m not such a bad guy.”

Gabs looked to him in awe, “You have struck blows to the empire that no one man should be capable of. And then you play the fool so well I could almost believe that is who you are. Our greatest masters can suppress their battle skills so that you cannot sense them unless you are nearby. I have never heard of a warrior who could do it so well he seemed to have no skill at all. Not until you. Your prowess must be truly frightening.”

“Uh… thanks, I think.” West tossed his bonds into the sand and kicked up the spear. He caught it awkwardly and gave it a little twirl. This could be fun.

“The Prince is not convinced you are so great a warrior as others believe. He will not gamble his life on that though. I can understand his not wishing to cast his life away, but I have learned something unsettling.”

“Go on.” West said distractedly, again catering to his adoring public.

“If you survive this battle there are soldiers in the crowd with orders to kill you immediately. By law you should be freed if you prove yourself, there is no honor in breaking our code this way.”

The Captain stopped, “Thanks. But why would you tell me all that?”

“It is the honorable thing. I ask only that you remember that when you return with the Ory’Hara. Now I must go.”

“The Owly-Hoosa? What?” Gabs was already jogging back, “Oh well. Thanks for the pep-talk buddy.” Need to focus. Gunmen in the crowd had to mean snipers, right? With all the people cheering and milling about though it was impossible to spot them. And then he only had a spear to fight them off with. The audience fell silent a second time as the gate across from him began to open, “Here we go.” He pointed with his spear, “Who’s got the nerve to come after Fusion West?”

Something out of a rabbit’s fevered nightmares padded out onto the sand. It was all spiky fur and claws and fangs. Big like an economy sized car with legs. Ugly as sin. West recognized a thing he’d only seen once from much further away. On a tourist trip where he questioned the sportsmanship of using rockets to hunt those beasts but quickly joined the fun of fertilizing the forest with tiny bits of them. That monster was what karma looked like after taking a trip around the galaxy and across dimensions specifically to kick Fusion in the junk, “Oh crap.”

The cunjo noticed him then. Abused, fed a steady diet of criminals, trained to hate anyone standing on the field. It positively glowed with red rage. West tripped as he stepped back and the beast ran for him. Great strides cut the distance in half by the time Fusion grabbed his spear again. It was ten yards away when he got to his knees. It was five when he lifted his weapon. It all happened at once. The cunjo’s claw dug into the sand for its lunge and hooked into West’s discarded shackles. It threw the heavy chain to its hind legs and tangled itself awkwardly, fouling its jump, and crashed into the Captain.

West was laid out on his back with the wind knocked out of him but none the worse for wear. Momentum carried the tumbling cunjo almost to the wall. Half of Fusion’s spear was clutched in his white-knuckle grip. The other half was sticking out of the cunjo’s heart. The shocked crowd loosed a booming cheer, “I did it…” West breathed, “Of course I did!” he bounded to his feet and tossed his broken weapon to the sand for an impromptu end-zone celebration. A blaster bolt whizzed passed and singed his jacket, “Geez man watch I, this is my favorite! Oh right, assassins. Heh.” West made a break for the cunjo, who would no longer care about a final show of disrespect, and used its corpse to spring board into the stands. The Auroran aristocracy was only too happy to panic and get the hell out of his way, effectively disarming would-be sharpshooters.

He made his was for the nearest entrance as a man ran into him from inside, “Riot! The prisoners are escaping!”

West face-palmed that guy to the floor and busted in to have a look-see. Sho’nuff a mob of scared dirty individuals were giving the guards hell, and Fusion recognized the ringleaders, “Guys!”

[Warlord Mike]

---CONTINUING TRANSMISSION---

---BLACK PLAGUE, PT II---

COLOSSEUM STATION
COLOSSEUM SYSTEM, NOVA-VERSE
1042 HOURS, MAY 7, 3961 A.D.

A very, VERY tired Leon Roderick made his way to the Colosseum Bar, after surviving what could've only been described as Hell on Earth. He wasn't sure himself how he managed to get off the planet, but all that mattered is that it was now in perpetual lockdown. For all intents and purposes, the planet never existed, as far as the Bureau was concerned.

Walking into the bar, he made note of several characters, but one in particular caught his eye.

Hang on, is that...

“HELLO, MR. RODERICK,” the unmistakable Death said.
“Yeah...hi, Death,” Leon replied, walking almost zombie-like up to the bar. “Gimme some Saalian Brandy – I need something to take the edge off.”
“AS YOU WISH,” the Reaper replied, procuring a bottle of the hard liquor. “I AM TERRIBLY SORRY ABOUT YOUR LOSS, AS AN ASIDE.”
“Don't remind me,” he responded, pouring a bit into a shot glass.

He threw his head back and downed the amber liquid. It wasn't scumble, but it still burned his throat all the same, causing him to cough. Anything to push the memories back, though, he welcomed.

LEON (slightly drunk): “Yeah...*coughs*...Now THAT'S the stuff!”
DEATH: “WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO, NOW?”
LEON: “Well...”

Leon stopped himself. What WAS he going to do? His family – the only thing he lived for – was gone, and he wouldn't know where to look for work unless it came up and slapped him in the face.

Said slap was about to come soon.

DEATH: “PERHAPS I COULD MAKE A SUGGESTION?”
LEON: “I suppose.”

On cue, Death procured a piece of paper from a ball of flame, placed it on the bar, and slid it towards Leon. It read, scribbled in pen:

“Go to the outfitters. Ask for someone named Sergei Gurevich. They'll take it from there.”

The scrap disappeared in another ball of flame, from which a small lizard hopped out, wearing a tux. Said lizard then danced a little jig while whistling on a recorder, jumped off the bar, and ran out the door.

LEON: “Well...THAT was interesting. The outfitters, you say?”
DEATH: “I NEVER SAID THAT. UNDERSTOOD?”
LEON: “Uh...yeah. Sure.”

Leon took the hint, left his drink (getting drunk wasn't the way to go about solving one's problems, anyway), and left the bar. As he trudged along, a few insectoid-like creatures passed by him – not to mention some worms, it appeared, a few robed men like those he saw on Acre, some Feddies, Aurorans, and even the odd Polaris here and there.

Just another typical day aboard the station, he thought to himself.

At last, he made it to the outfitters. A small bell dinged as he opened the door.

“Can I help you, sir?” the clerk asked.
“Uh, no thanks – just looking for someone,” Leon replied.
“Alright, then.”

The clerk resumed reading the paper – something about a tournament was on the front page, but Leon didn't have time to browse. The long shelves of weapons, armor, reactors, et cetera, were a bit overwhelming – the fact he'd have to search for his contact made this a bit more...problematic.

LEON: “Er...excuse me...sir?”
CLERK: “Mm-hmm?”
LEON: “Perhaps you could help?”

The clerk folded his paper, placing it on the table. “We-alll,” he drawled, “I don't see why not. Who you looking for?”
“Someone named 'Sergei Gurevich'...you heard of him?”
The clerk scoffed. “Sergei, eh? Stops by fairly frequently, actually. Try aisle seven – he's usually looking for parts.”
“Thanks very much.”
“Don't mention it,” the clerk replied, a warm smile on his face.

Leon soon made off towards the aforementioned aisle. As he trudged off, the clerk procured a small, stopwatch-like device.

“02396 – you're up.”
“Da. Acknowledged, comrade,” a voice replied, in a thick Russian accent.

Leon eventually found aisle seven – after about 30 seconds of navigating the maze-like outfitters. “Parts” indeed – they reached 30 feet to the ceiling overhead. In the middle, a stout, bearded man, looking to be in his 40s, was standing by a dolly with all manner of ship paraphernalia – cables, computer parts, the odd gizmo here and there, placed rather neatly on his cart. Most other shoppers would've just thrown it on and let the workers sort out the ordering later.

“Prokl'anite eto! (Damn it!)” he cursed. “Do these imbeciles not carry a single fusial converter?!”

Leon, with a face half of terror, half of confusion, was unsure what to say. He most certainly had found Sergei, but the Russian's current mood made Leon hesitant about speaking up – Sergei didn't look much taller than 6 feet, but he definitely looked like he could easily beat Leon in a fistfight.

Leon was spared the need to speak up, though – Sergei noticed Leon as he turned back to his cart.

SERGEI: “Da? You need something?”
LEON (nervous): “Ah...Sergei Gurevich, is it?”
SERGEI: “Da, I am he. Now, you have something to ask? Speak up! Quickly! Davai! (Give!)”
LEON: “Well, uh...I'm Leon Roderick...I heard you were offering some work?”

The bearded man's expression changed quickly. “Ah, you here about job? Good, good! Is hard to find willing men these days, comrade.”
“So, when do I start?” Leon asked.
“Whoa-ho-ho!” he stated, with a hearty laugh. “Let us not go for the whole hog at once, as is said, comrade. You still need to properly apply, yes?”
“Er...well...yeah, I guess so.”

Sergei grabbed his cart, and walked toward Leon. “Let me see here...” he began, pulling out a small datapad. “How does 10 o'clock tomorrow morning sound? Should give enough time to properly prepare, da?”
“Sounds good,” Leon replied. “I guess I'll see you then.”
“Da. Do svidanya!”

Suddenly, Leon realized something – he was strapped for cash, and he had no place to stay tonight.

LEON: “Say, Sergei...do you know someplace I could stay tonight? Preferably someplace cheap, if possible...”
SERGEI: “Wha? You have no place to stay? Ho, ho! Why did you not say so before, comrade? Come! You sleep aboard my ship tonight!”

Leon blushed. “Sergei, you offer is very kind, but-”
“Bah! Such nonsense!” he scoffed. “At least come have dinner with me! Is not much, but better than most other places aboard here, I assure you, comrade.”

Leon's stomach suddenly growled in protest. He hadn't eaten for a couple hours – or a couple days, rather, if one were to discount the god-awful rations he had aboard the frigate leaving Acre, and a proper meal sounded very attractive to him, now.

LEON: “Well...alright. I guess you talked me into it.”
SERGEI: “Ha ha! Good, good! Come, let's be off, shall we?”

After Sergei had paid for his merchandise (an astronomical amount – Leon was amazed the credstick he tossed the clerk paid for it in full, even saying “keep change” to him), they both made for his ship. Thankfully, Leon didn't have to carry any of it – a small, boxy service droid did the job for him.

SERGEI: “Careful, Natalya – those parts did not come cheap.”
NATALYA: [Yes, sir.]
SERGEI: “So, Leon – how is it you came to be here?”

Leon suddenly looked away, eyes downcast.

LEON: “I'd...rather not talk about it.”
SERGEI: “Hmm...I can tell is troubling tale.”
LEON: “Come again?”
SERGEI: “Your expression, comrade – I can see it in your eyes that what you went through is a tale of great sorrow – perhaps loss of wife?”
LEON: “That's...amazing! How did you do that?”
SERGEI: “Eh, is a learned ability. Short version is 'I can just tell.' Comes from many years experience.”
LEON: “I bet.”

They continued on, moving through crowds. Natalya, not wanting to drop anything, elevated herself so that she floated above the heads of the two companions.

There was something about Sergei that nagged at Leon – but what, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It almost seemed like Sergei knew what Leon was thinking, probably a result of his talent, but the fact he called out the death of his wife seemed too coincidental to be a lucky guess. But, the Universe was a big place, and much stranger things had already happened over the course of the past few days.

“Ah!” Sergei chimed in. “There she is!”

Leon looked up to see a (unrecognizable) Maskirovka IPV-1 Corvette. The sleek, white body of the craft dwarfed a few Vipers and Valkyries nearby.

“That's your ship?” Leon asked, incredulously.
“Da, she is my baby,” Sergei affirmed. “She is Star of Moscow – a craft I built myself, comrade. Is mainly why you don't see others like it – because she's the only one like her!”

Leon just gazed in wonder at the metallic beauty. The ship's profile definitely stood out from the other ships, and he thought to himself that the ship likely didn't just turn heads – a few necks must've been broken in the process, as well.

“Well, no time to stand,” Sergei said. “Come! Let us eat!”

The dining hall was ornately furnished – most of the furniture was beautifully hewn from cherry, and the cushy, leather chairs were a considerable change from the hard, metal seats he had been accommodated to. The Star felt less like a ship than it did a palace, with marble tiling, chandeliers, and the odd statue now and again. No wonder Sergei treated the price of the parts like they were chump change – the man had to be among the rankings of Castellans or some other royalty.

“So...what you think?” Sergei inquired.
“I'm still trying to decide what to marvel at first,” Leon replied.
“Oh, ha ha ha!” Sergei laughed, heartily. “I suppose I was a bit enthusiastic when I built her, comrade – only finest money could buy would do! But enough about the furnishings – let us eat!”

The crew was enjoying themselves as they ate, conversations cropping up here and there. Leon and Sergei sat at a separate table, which included some of the officers of the Star. Oddly, everyone seemed to have roughly equal treatment aboard this ship – even the cabins of most of the crew were spared no expense. Leon took some meat from the platter that was offered to him, as well as some dark red-colored soup that smelled simply wonderful.

“My goodness...what is this?” Leon asked, after having tried some of the stew.
“Ah, a classic from Mother Russia, comrade – is called 'Borscht.' Here, try with some bread,” he stated, offering a hunk, “it tastes better still, I assure you,” he noted, with a sly wink.

Leon was overwhelmed by the stateliness of the ship. That meal had to have been the best he'd had...well, CERTAINLY in years, if not his whole life. Sergei and Leon were walking the halls as his host showed him around the ship. The only truly grimy place was the engineering section, but that was sort of expected. He also got to meet a bit of the crew, as well, though one of the officers, a Hiram Robinson, was the only “person” who made him uneasy – he was a werewolf, and considering what Leon had been through, he wasn't trusting of the wolf-man. Sergei assured him Hiram was actually the most social of the crew, but Leon knew to take his statement with a grain of salt.

SERGEI: “So, Comrade, you decided?”
LEON: “Wha?”
SERGEI: “Staying the night aboard my ship?”
LEON: “Well...are you sure you don't mind?”
SERGEI: “Nyet! Of course not! Is no trouble, really!”

Leon thought for a few moments. On the one hand, he didn't want to inconvenience this man any more than he had already, and he was sure he could find somewhere to stay. But on the other, Sergei was offering one of his cabins for free – cabins that would've put about half the suites in Las Vegas to shame.

“Well...alright. I suppose.”
“Ha ha! Good! Iverson!” he called out, clapping his hands.

Shortly thereafter, a butler, with a small mustache and looking to be in his 50s, appeared. “Yes, Mr. Gurevich?”
“Please show Mr. Roderick his room – he is guest for tonight, and wishes to apply for job tomorrow.”
The butler bowed deeply. “Absolutely, sir. Mr. Roderick – this way, if you please.”

Iverson showed Leon his room – one of the reserve crew cabins. A luxurious, quilted bed sat in the center, while a small vanity sat in the far corner of the room. An armoire stood on one side of the bed, and a drawer flanked the opposite side.

“Here is your key,” Iverson stated, handing him the card. “The shower is just around the corner, Mr. Roderick. Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you. Thanks for the offer, though.”
Iverson bowed. “Well, then, enjoy your stay, Mr. Roderick.”

The door closed behind him, and since he didn't have much better to do, Leon decided to get ready for bed. It'd been days since he last slept, and tonight would be one of the best he'd had in his life.

Julianne...

Elsewhere, on board the Moscow...

Sergei walked to the bridge, being saluted by his fellow Imperials. He returned the salute to his comrades, sat in the captain's chair, and opened the communications link. The holographic projection showed a seated man, with brown, crew-cut hair, a trenchcoat, and shades.

AGENT: “Report.”
SERGEI: “I have made contact with Leon, and will be present tomorrow.”
AGENT: “He is the one from Acre, correct?”
SERGEI: “Da. Scent on him was unmistakable.”
AGENT: “Is he aware of his power?”
SERGEI: “Nyet. Likely has never had any triggers in his life. Infusion is likely needed.”
AGENT: “Very well. I shall bring 81205 and 9142 to be present at the meeting. Be ready.”
SERGEI: “Acknowledged. And 78124?”
AGENT: “Yes?”
SERGEI: “Any particular reason you've decided to dress like, uh...Wesker, I think it is?”
AGENT: “Hm hm hm. I thought I'd give the look a try.”
SERGEI: “Well, try to be on best behavior, da? We do not want Commander or rest of High Command getting wrong idea.”
AGENT: “Understood. 78124 out.”

Sergei terminated the communications link. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, he knew.
“A psyker completely unaware that he is one...heh. Should be interesting 'wake-up call,' as is said. Robinson?”
The wolf made his way over to Sergei. “Sir?”
“Make sure Mr. Roderick is well-guarded tomorrow – last thing we want is Akasi getting grimy paws on him.”
Hiram nodded. “Sir, yes sir.”

At a wave from the Russian's hand, Hiram took his leave, and left the command deck. Leon was in for a surprise, indeed...

---TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED---

[fishloaf]

The merc paused from throttling a guard to scowl at Fusion over the top of his shades. "You! You ditching son of a--!"

"'Ditching'?" Fusion balked, jamming his elbow into a tattooed nose with a spongy crunch as he climbed through the doors. "Let me tell you something buddy, its not a ditch if you remember to say 'tactical retreat' first, which I did--you just weren't practicing situational awareness and thats why you fell behind."

"My face was in a dude's armpit!" The dude in question had clearly never known the luxury of deodorant, at that.

"Well, that's another mistake right there." Fusion assed. "I don't usually go out of my way to clean up other people's messes, but I'mma pull you out of this for old times' sake;You're just lucky I like you so much, Mustard."

Mustard ignored him, eyes sparkling behind his shades as he unbuckled a sword from the belt of a downed guard. Its was as though some diving tailor had taken his measurements and dropped it here--Mustard glanced around for a convenient hairband.

"Morchsk grubble grok!" Growled the weapon in Old Auroran. Mustard went rigid.

"Reggx hrtle durdle gretgk rok-bok. Ra ha ha ha!" replied its sheath. Not this again; he tossed it through a window.

"Hey, I thought you were into that samurai stuff." Fusion said. "If you're still afraid of Ramon giving you crap about it, just tell him--"

"It had s###ty balance." Mustard lied.

The raging torrent of prisoners had ushered them through the outer promenade and into various other parts of the stadium. Opportunistic bystanders swelled their ranks, secret frustrations at their Auroran masters surfacing violently; suited businessmen fought side by side with haggard prisoners.

The sun glared through the valerium, a vast canvas shade bordering the top of the ampitheatre that protected viewers from the elements, before they were inside again. They weren't even fighting anymore, just charging along with the herd as the front runners mowed everything down--you did not fight the crowd when the crowd weighed in the tons and had hundreds of legs to step on your face with. Pots and utensils sailed through the air, signalling their arrival in the kitchens. Chefs scrambled onto counters and ducked into cupboards to escape the onslaught.

"Man, this is good. What is this?" Fusion said past a mouthful of some delicacy that had made a mouth watering crunch when he sampled it. "Say, what happened to your lady?"

"Edo?" Mustard asked, glancing around until he saw her bobbing distantly in the sea of human heads. She was yelling something. Seeing an opportunity, Mustard thought for a long moment, as long as the boiling mosh pit would allow. "We didn't really f###, by the way." he began delicately.

"That right?" Fusion asked, stirring intently with a pair of chopsticks while the crowd jostled him left and right.

"Y-Yeah, man, I mean; all that happened was, uh...I walked in on her while--I mean, walked in while she was...doin stuff, and then we got to talking." Mustard fumbled.

"Huh." Fusion said plainly.

"I mean, she's not even into guys--she told me that you know. Whaddya think about that?"

Fusion offered a frown. Mustard tensed up, anticipating which of the ten thousand holes in his story Fusion was going to pick.

"This needs salt."


***

The Atom Heart had lived to see another landing; nose-deep in dirt, it rested at the end of a long trench carved by its own undercarriage. There was no sign of its bovine pilot other than a shattered canopy and a set of hoof tracks receding into the distance.

"I need the 3/8th's back!" Frtiz announced from somewhere in the fighter's aft. "Fowlus?"

Archerfish glanced at the toolbox where the wrench in question plainly stuck out, and then at the rooster, who was lost in a pair of maxxed-out headphones. A muted chatter of bird-music filled the gutted cockpit.

"It's right here!" Archerfish called back.

"Fowlus? Hey, Fowlus? Can I get the 3/8ths back here?" a robotic tentacle snaked through the hatch and began feeling around.

"Its right here! In the toolbox!" Archerfish raised his voice.

"What?" Fritz echoed.

"...The wrench! Is right! Here!"

"(Hang on a sec, Archerfish, I need to talk to Fowlus)--Hey Fowlus, I need the 3/8th's!"

"Ugh." Archerfish sighed. The only thing that kept him from hating humans was the knowledge that this would mean having something in common with Betta. "3/8th's! Toolbox! On dashboard!"

"Oh! Thanks."

Fowlus suddenly stood up, swiped the 3/8th's and then disappeared with it.

"Ugh. Never mind, Fritz." Archerfish called.

"What?"

"Never mind! Fowlus took it!"

"Hang on, I'll be right there. Toolbox, you said?"

Archerfish facefinned. "No, I--!"

The robot thumped his way into the cockpit and rifled through the toolbox. "I don't see it."

"Fowlus has it." Archerfish admitted darkly.

Fritz treated him to an accusing stare before walking off and resuming his chorus. "Hey Fowlus, where's the 3/8th's...?"

Archerfish let himself sink to the bottom of his bowl, sourly studying his decorative kelp. Fritz returned, wrench in hand and set a holovision projector down in front of Archerfish's bowl. "Here, why don't you go ahead and keep busy with this while Fowlus and I get some stuff done?"

Okay, Dad. Archerfish thought. The screen flickered harshly and a sudden cannon barrage of news briefs boomed from the speakers. The water came alive with the noise, plunging Archerfish into a tempest of agony; head in fins, he did a few writhing flips before disappearing inside the flimsy shelter of his castle.

"For God's sakes, turn it down!" the fish howled into the smothering thunder.

"What?" the distant reply was lost in the pounding voice. "--STAY TUNED FOR THE LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN OUR ONGOING COVERAGE OF TODAY'S FUSION WEST ATTACK!"

Fritz was back in an instant, practically hugging the screen as it segued to a commercial for Ratchkar Burial and Embalming Services, Inc ("Their Spirit may be in the Hall of Heroes, but their body is still on the front lawn").

"Did he say Fusion West?" Fritz demanded, alternating between the screen and the bowl. Archerfish simply groaned while a wholesaler on the screen gushed about his boneless, skinless, clawless, parasite-less, AEDA-Approved Ghekt cuts. It wasn't long before the new anchors returned, a hulking, bronzed man paired with a tawny woman, to reiterate the facts and otherwise pass the time until the next opportunity to present--

"BREAKING NEWS!"

The robot literally hung on the screen. There, in living color, was an archive shot of Fusion, offering a thumbs-up as he marched past the remains of a sacred altar piled under the feet of his landing gear. It then cut to a bird's eye shot of the Sol Coliseum, where Abomination gunboats circling overhead like vultures.

"Multiple sources have confirmed that West was one of the intended sacrifices at His Lordship Stohler Aurora's wedding ceremony. Eyewitnesses claim that he successfully defeated his cunjo executioner just moments before rioting erupted among the spectators. The exact cause and nature of the riot is still to be determined and West's whreabouts are as yet unknown. Once again, the Polaris deny any involvement--"

Fritz went through a number of reactions at words like 'sacrifice', 'executioner', and 'unknown'. With the urgency of a man burning alive, Fritz backed away.

"W're taking off!"

"We have no engine."

"Grr! Where's that 3/8th's?"


***


The riot finally vented itself out into the streets, staggered, and then came to an awkward halt as shouting berserkers trailed off: Hovering low over the rooftops, scowling gunboats waited, tendrils of current arcing off their charged weapons as they raked the streets below with fire.

Like a retreating tide, the crowd evaporated from all around Mustard and Fusion, leaving them alone in the street as the blocky, flying bunker rounded on them. They exchanged glances.

"Lemme guess; tactical retreat?" Mustard asked.

*PHH-Bzzzzzzzzzeeoooowwww!* The gunship spiraled out of existence, leaving nothing but fresh blue sky and a disappearing wormhole.

"Tactical retreat." Fusion scoffed. "I keep telling you, you can't run away from every problem. Sometimes you just gotta stand and face your knocks."

Mustard tore his shades off and did his best to get in the taller Fusion's face. "Oh, hell no! You hypocritical, egomaniacal, lying sack of--"

"Mustard!" Edo stormed up to him out of nowhere, a wide eyed Melissa in tow, "Where were you? we could have been killed in there! You can't just get someone involved in a jailbreak and then forget about them!"

"I heard him say something about a tactical retreat." Fusion volunteered. Edo didn't grace that with an answer.

"Can we continue this discussion somewhere else?"


Elsewhere!

Ramon blinked, trying his best to catch up with the last five seconds. No matter how many times he looked twice, there was still an Auroran gunboat resting lopsidedly on top of where Murphy and his thugs had once been standing.

"...the hell?" he breathed, glancing up from where it had fallen. It didn't fly in here. It couldn't have been carried. It couldn't--Ramon's head hurt.

He rubbed his forehead with a hand. First that jedi in the cab, and now this...when the f### had he entered the twilight zone?

With a shrug, he popped the lock and hit the door motor, watching Fantome's feet yawn into view...

This post has been edited by fishloaf: Nov 14 2009, 09:28 PM

[fishloaf]

Ramon crumpled his hamburger wrapper with a papery snarl, absently damning it to an eternity under the pilot seat as he stared through the canopy. It had been twenty minutes, his ass reminded him as it battled against the digging springs of the seat cushions. A tiny fan purred into an open computer housing and a fly buzzed endless, dizzying loops around Ramon's head.

Presently, an AC stamped past. Big and blocky, it slouched ogre-like under a towering arsenal of weapons--practically everything Ramon could see was meant to deliver some kind of munition. The AC stopped at a painted line, its scowling, cycloptic eye suverying a long line of slalom gates frantically darting to and fro.

Automated cannons and missile racks dotted the walls of the corridor while MT's prowled the mine-littered floor. The slalom gates themselves were high energy shields that would easily dismember any unlucky AC they sliced through, and more than a few severed arm and leg parts had collected in the gutters for just that reason. Toward the middle, the gauntlet took a steep downward dive complete with rolling boulders (generously provided by Colosseum's asteroid nets) that led to a heat and ECM-hazard chamber. There, a fresh AC piloted by someone with dangerously low self-esteem waited to mop up the survivors and gloat over the remains.

They called this course "Silent Line".

Ravens couldn't get enough of it; the waiting list went back two weeks and even a slight delay in the interest of maintenance was enough to get customer service reps beaten to a pulp. Like every other S&M mecha-dungeon that passed for Galactic Cortex's "Challenge Courses", there were mad props to be had and winners recieved little ribbons, devices, and other accoutrements they'd never be authorized to wear but could "just happen" to have in their pocket whenever they wanted to establish their cred at a get-together. Losers received a repair bill.

An overhead stoplight suddenly blinked on, turning red, then yellow.

The AC braced itself, shutters popping open down the length of its back as a bank of Overboost thrusters fumed to life.

Green!

The AC sailed out of view, heralded by a receding cacophony of flashes and explosions. Chunks of debris rained down on the starting line, and Ramon gulped down a painkiller, waiting for the next contestant.

A gangly yellow AC stilted its way up to the line, looking more like a sculpture made out of pencils than a war machine. AC Poindexter, according to the readerboard.

"You." Ramon grinned, hitting Fantome's ignition. "You're my man."

'Main System. Engaging Test Mode', the AC's Pilot Assistance Interface obediently droned. Because of all the nonsense data they could report while debugging new configurations, an AC operating in Test Mode was ignored by Cortex various surveillance computers, a deniability that Ramon would need. The upshot was that it couldn't fire real ammunition, but that wasn't a problem today. Fantome flexed its empty hands.

The stoplight blinked on, and then red. At yellow light, AC Poindexter revealed its overboost and hunkered down against the gathering thrust.

Ramon stood on the booster pedals.

Fantome lunged out of its hiding place, jostling Poindexter aside with a mighty wham and cutting in front; Poindexter rocketed off course, Overboost hurling it into a wall with a clattering boom.

As Fantome burst by the first slalom, Ramon felt a twinge of guilt as he watched Poindexter careen off the wall and crash headlong into an MT, turrets pelting it mercilessly from all sides as it went down.

"Poor bastard." he breathed, manuevering towards the far wall; he stooped down and closed Fantome's hand around a laser rifle discarded sometime today, his first piece of salvage. Normally, he would check on the other Raven who's wave he had stolen, but a glance in the side mirror told Ramon that Poindexter was not moving. Fantome swooped past an MT (which promptly annihilated itself on a mine) and between the next two slaloms as they scissored shut, scooping up a nice, core-hangar sized shotgun and stashing it away.

Letting the tiny shots plink away his armor, Ramon quickly browsed along one slalom at a time, conquering the first leg of the course and emerging with a vertiable botique of weapons. Upon rounding the corner, however, he sighed; the guns got bigger and the slaloms moved faster, but worse still were the assembled rows of high volume speakers. Steeling himself, he moved Fantome forward.

The speakers boomed to life.

The fly in Ramon's cockpit immediately dropped out of the air, kicking violently before going lifeless. He sympathized.

"Every now and then I fall apar-rt!" thundered Bonnie with the heartfelt longing and sorrow that only a top-billing artist can understand. "And I need you now tonight!"

"...And I need Viagra™ tonight." Ramond ad-libbed along. "And I need it more than ever...but if you only--" a slalom sizzled dangerously close by. "...uh...shaved that unibrow..."

Ramon's usual exit, a convenient access tunnel for towing out disabled AC's, came into view and Ramon immediately sobered up. He was really pushing security's forbearance this time, not to mention--

Ba-Tam! A spray of bullets pelted against the wall right next to Fantome.

...other Ravens.

Ramon glanced over to see a dark, humanoid-style medium AC, balanced yet imposing, glare at him from behind a weapon. Bullet scars criss-crossed its body, telling Ramon that it's pilot had chosen to followed him through the live fire. Bet he was in a good mood.

"Y'done here." said the pilot in question in a flat voice that radiated finality. "Power down."

[dsaf]

Some time even later, a four-engined TDO variant and two six-engined Phoenix variant Corsair Thunderheads sat near a disabled Argosy, having already triggered the classic Pirate trap. Another Argosy, this one cloaked, also waited nearby.

"Okay, AA2, what did you want me to leave intact for you again?"

"The Manticores. Everything else you can slag."

"Great. And your Thunderheads won't be getting in my way?"

"No. They're just deterrence for that cloaked Argosy. Might have them kill a few fighters for you."

"That won't be necessary," And the Sylvatha Grey Wolf exited the cloaking field. Alone.

Moments later, the Argosy exploded from a near-invisible ARPIA Rocket. Soon afterward, the pirate fleet, consisting of a Pirate Carrier, two Manticores, and four Pirate Valkyries, exited from hyperspace. Almost immediately, the rearmost Valkyrie's velocity cut to zero, even while in full afterburn. Hull panels creaked, then vibrated and cracked as support structures twisted from some immense, invisible force. The upper left engine nacelle wrenched free from the vessel just before the shattered and flaming wreck was catapulted into one of the Manticores.

"Seriously AA2, Rattlers?" as a Rocket impacted on the Carrier's shields, preempting its launching of fighters.

"Why not? I have real tractor arrays on Bastion, not miners," as the Wolf banked into a dive to follow one of the scattering Valkyries. It didn't last long under the continuous pounding of several Fusion Pulse Batteries, an Ion Cannon, and the green lightning of the Stingray Laser.

"Point." Heavy Blaster shots brushed past the exotic warship as it reversed its dive to scythe its Capacitor Pulse Lances across the Carrier's flank before sending Wraithii and another Rocket into the undamaged Manticore. Ion Cannon beams lit up the Sylvatha's shields as it flew to intercept the Carrier's fighters while Anti-Missile Beams and Storm Chainguns whittled away at a pursuing Valkyrie which was soon shredded by the sextet of T-head Lances from a Phoenix variant. Stingray Lasers snagged each fighter in turn, allowing the FPBs increased accuracy for the few seconds they lasted.

Wolf completed its arc around the Carrier, put enough Wraithii in the first Manticore to disable it, and afterburned after the fourth Valkyrie, which was preparing to jump away. Pulse Lances cored the fleeing pirate hot rod before it could escape. The Sylvatha then reversed course and pumped the second Manticore full of Wraithii and sent two more Rockets at the Carrier.

It was then the Argosy decloaked and made its move. Diabling-only FPCs and FPTs blazing and at full afterburn, it disabled the Carrier and flew over it in a flash. Somehow, the Carrier's self-destruct sequence was triggered and it blew up before Wolf's next two Rockets could finish it off.

"What the..! Was that what I think it was?" as the Argosy attempted to fly over the first Manticore but the TDO Thunderhead nudged the Argosy aside and tractor beams from Bastion and the two remaining platforms pulled away the Manticores.

"Ninja looting? Yes, it was, and I wouldn't have minded it if most of them didn't also try to suborn the targets' computers as well as draining the credits," as the foiled Argosy cloaked.

* * *

Warhammer watched from a cloaked Project Slayer III as the Koria hypergate disgorged a score of Pirate Starbridges and Valkyries and two Pirate Argosies, all of which making a beeline to the Unrelenting.

* * *


OOC: NVM, nix that Naxos part...

This post has been edited by dsaf: Dec 10 2009, 08:19 PM

[DarthKev]

If you want to add to this story, I would prefer that you PM me first with your idea(s) on what to add. This is supposed to be a serious story and if your ideas go in a different direction it may interrupt the mood. I'd rather that doesn't happen. That said, I encourage people to try to come up with something to add.

Also, the universe this takes place in is one of my own creation, the HOTS Universe, for my upcoming TC, and thus uses characters and other elements from said TC. This story may or may not appear in the final release of HOTS, I'm simply using HOTS as a setting because it's something I know.

Thank you, and enjoy!

The Fall of a Warlord

Location: Orion's Sword bar, Orion Station, Orion system
Day: July 12
Year: 3251 AD
Time: 1462 hours


Kronos sat quietly in the bar, nursing a full glass of root beer. Things hadn't been the same lately since the Shojen Samurai began mass producing their Hwatcha Class light missile cruisers. It was bad enough when a squadron of Sapphire Dragon fighters stumbled upon a small scouting fleet of Crossbow Classes, but the Hwatcha?

Kronos downed his entire drink. It wasn't alcohol, but it still seemed to calm his worrisome mind. Besides that, he never drank beer anyway; he preferred to keep his mind sharp as did most SD Mercenaries, the vast unit that Kronos was partly in charge of. The other commander of the elite Sapphire Dragons Mercenary unit was DarthKev. Together, DarthKev and Kronos directed the movements and tactics of SD war fleets and starfighter squadrons, respectively. Things had been getting worse, though, in the war against piracy.

Suddenly, a warning klaxon sounds and a voice over the intercom states that a combined Samurai and Mafia fleet is on its way into the system. All SD Mercs are to report to their ships to defend Orion Station, the headquarters of the Sapphire Dragons. Kronos got up and almost lazily headed toward the docking hangar. This was the sixth pirate raid in the past week! Where do they get the ships and manpower? It was beginning to feel like defending Orion Station was an everyday routine.

When Kronos arrived in the ship hangar it was mostly empty, only a pair of Raptor Class heavy interdictors and a large, deadly-looking vessel remaining. Standing at the boarding ramp of the the heavier vessel was a tall man, about 6'3", wearing combat armour on his chest with elbow and knee pads. Underneath the chest armour is a light brown tunic which meshes well with the figure's desert camo cargo pants. He has a laser pistol under each arm with another laser pistol facing backwards on his left hip. On his right, however, is a blaster pistol, also facing back. In his hands is a large rifle-type weapon, a custom job made by the man himself. The trigger side is in his left hand.

"Must you always carry those things around, DarthKev?" asked Kronos of the man.

At this, DarthKev retorted, "Says the guy who refuses to drop his own weapons."

Kronos faked a shocked and hurt look. "Whatdayamean? Do you see any weapons on me?" It was true, Kronos appeared to be completely unarmed, not a single gun or knife in sight. All Kronos had on him was his trademark midnight blue button down shirt, trademark black slacks, trademark black boots, trademark black cloak with the hood up, and trademark blue shades, all of which shimmered as if made of some sort of flexible metal.

"I do," said DarthKev. "For one, that black cloak you always wear. Another might be your boots or shades."

After a pause, Kronos spoke "Let's just get this over with. I'm tired of these raids." The two commanders turned to face the large ship beside them.

"I'm starting to wonder how much more of this she can take." commented Kronos on the state of the vessel before them.

"Ah, you worry too much, Kronos. I built her, remember? She can take anything those pirates can throw at her. You just worry about your 'Phoenix'."

"You mean the starfighter sitting inside your ship? I am, that's why I'm worried about the 'Wyvern'. If your ship goes, the 'Phoenix' goes with it, assuming I haven't launched yet, of course."

"But that's just it, you will have launched, 'cause we're going into a firefight and I need you leading the fighter squadrons while I get the warships organized."

"Yeah, yeah." Kronos then turned to the Raptor fighters. "Go ahead and launch, we'll be right behind you!" The Raptors lifted off their landing pads and exited the hangar as DarthKev and Kronos headed up the boarding ramp to the 'Wyvern'. Soon, the 'Wyvern' also took off and headed toward the chaos to come.

__________

Location: Islanda Resort, Islanda, Nesre system
Day: July 12
Year: 3251 AD
Time: 1468 hours


Jesse Kovacich was relaxing by the pool at the galaxy's premier resort enjoying the company of a tall glass of ice cold egg nog. Ever since he became CEO of Alliance Shipyards, he had ordered the construction of an egg nog factory in the offices so that he could drink the stuff year round instead of just during the holidays. Everyone thought he'd just get sick of the stuff after that, but this was the tenth year he had been drinking egg nog regularly and he still loved it.

*beep beep*

Jesse looked around to see his wrist comp ringing. Now what, thought the annoyed executive. He was finally away from the office and yet he still seemed to have business to do. Would it never end? He decided to leave it alone.

*beep beep beep beep beep beep*

It just wouldn't stop. Eventually Jesse got fed up and answered the damn thing.

"What?!"

"Is that any way to talk to your brother?" It was Kronos.

"Sorry, I didn't know it was you. Look, you got me at a bad time, I'm on Islanda right now. Can it wait?"

"Sorry, no can do. We've got some serious firepower facing Orion Station."

"And?"

"And we think the Shojen Samurai may have left openings in their front lines at Outlaw, Samurai, and NSS-5328." Jesse had been supplying ships, weapons, and manpower for SD Mercs to use ever since he gained control of the company. It was a good thing, too, since Fleet shipyards preferred to stay neutral and the Earth Empire was still miffed at the Orion Government for having left the empire.

A sudden explosion on Kronos' side of the transmission causes Jesse to jump. "What the hell was that?!"

"Whoo! Take that, you sonuvab*tch! Sorry about that, decimating Shurikens just never gets old." Kronos was referring to the Samurai fighter of choice, a class that seems everywhere in Samurai space these days.

"Alright, so what do you want?"

__________

Location: cockpit of the 'Phoenix', around Orion Station, Orion System
Day: July 12
Year: 3251 AD
Time: 1469 hours


"I want you to send a Claymore Class and two Scimitar Classes from Sienar over to the Horse Head Lookout Post. Have them give the Obiards there the signal to start their attack on Samurai and the NSS-5328 system. Your ships will act as a replacement guard for the time being. I also want you to send three Machete Classes over to Betelgeuse. The Star Corp fleets there need to make a push against Outlaw."

"Why can't you give them the signal?"

"Because the Star Corp works for the empire and the empire won't listen to us, you know that."

"Well, why can't you give the signal to the Obiards yourself then? You're only two systems away."

Another explosion. "Because I'm busy, dammit! Just send the ships!"

"Alright, alright, no need to yell." Actually, getting Kronos to yell was exactly what Jesse was trying to do. Ever since they were little, Jesse loved tormenting his older brothers Kronos and DarthKev, even in dire situations like this. Jesse knew Kronos would be fine, his piloting skills were too good for him to be killed in space. "You need anything else?"

"That'll be all for now. I'll get back to you with further instructions. Kronos out."

"Later bro. Over and out." Kronos then closed the channel and opened another with the 'Wyvern'.

"Jesse's spreading the word, pretty soon we'll be able to move on Shojen."

"Alright, good. How are you and the 'Phoenix' doing?"

To answer his question, Kronos pulled his starfighter into a barrel roll headed straight for a Mafia Missile Barge, its Plasma Lance drilling a hole through the bridge. At the same time, Kronos locked a pair of radar-seeking missiles onto the engines of the same ship and fired, incinerating the vessel from two sides.

"How do you think I'm doing?"

__________

Location: bridge of the 'Wyvern', around Orion Station, Orion system
Day: July 12
Year: 3251 AD
Time: 1470 hours


"Not bad, not bad, but I can do better." DarthKev then turned to his tactical officer. "Do we have an opening at the lead Samurai ship?" In this case, the lead Samurai vessel was a Shogun Class heavy battleship.

"Yes sir, we do."

"Excellent. Fire a volley of Jericho missiles at the sucker."

Tubes on both sides of the 'Wyvern' lit up as the deadly missiles left their housing and screamed for their target. Not even asteroids could phase these monsters as they bobbed and weaved through the wreckage around the system. Just before entering the range of the Shogun's PD turrets, the four Jericho missiles switched off their engines and opened up panels along their sides. From these panels came smaller missiles, five from each Jericho, all twenty of the little things charging toward the unsuspecting Samurai vessel. Kronos and DarthKev watched as the hail of ordnance pummeled what little shields the ship had left, reducing them to zero and striking vulnerable armour.

Kronos turned to his communications officer. "Contact Squadron Four, order them to do a strafing run along the lead Samurai vessel's port side."

"Aye sir!"

Squadron Four was made up of two Sabertooth Class bombers and four Panther Class light fighters, all six of which mounted Talon Guns, a variant of the empire's Chainguns. There was an eerie glow as the six starfighters began their run, firing off a hail of pink dots at the hull which buckled under the pressure. Soon the Shogun Class was engulfed in flames and down for the count. Cheers erupted on the bridge of the 'Wyvern' as well as most of the other warships in the SD fleet. The battle was won.

It was not, however, over. Kronos next turned to his helmsman. "You feel up to doing some starfighting?"

"Aye, sir," was the response.

"Then get to it!"

"Aye!"

The 'Wyvern' suddenly leaped forward, PD Talon Turrets automatically incinerating a pair of Harquebus Class bombers as they flew past. The 'Wyvern's' helmsman selected a target, a Daimyo Class escort carrier attempting to turn tail. A Warlord Class frigate noticed the 'Wyvern' bearing down on the Daimyo and attempted to intercept. That was a fatal decision for the 'Wyvern' took it out with its Heavy Plasma Cannons, punching holes in the bridge of the opposing frigate. The unique cruiser then opened fire with its Plasma Lance and cut a hole through the middle of the escort carrier big enough for the 'Wyvern' to fly through. The 'Wyvern's' turrets next took advantage of the hole to strike the Daimyo's exposed interior, transforming the stricken vessel into an expanding ball of fire.

__________

Location: hangar bay, Orion Station, Orion system
Day: July 12
Year: 3251 AD
Time: 1474 hours


Within minutes, the battle was over. Wreckage from both sides—pirate and mercenary—littered the system as the remaining SD ships made it back to Orion Station.

"Well, that was fun," remarked one merc.

"Yeah, too bad the wusses couldn't stay and play longer," added another. Both walked off, laughing, toward the bar for drinks. Kronos, however, headed for the communication terminals. Business-like as usual, he wanted to know how the fight was going elsewhere. Upon reaching a terminal, he sent out a signal to the Samurai system, hoping all was well.

"This is Kronos, Squadron Commander of the Sapphire Dragons Mercenary unit. Come in, please."

After a moment of silence a voice responded. "This is the Obish battleship, 'OCS Stargazer'. How can we be of service?"

"'Stargazer', I assume you got the message from the Alliance vessels to make your attack?"

"Yes, Commander Kronos, we did. I must say, we all feared something may have happened to you when it was someone else giving us the signal instead of yourself."

"Yes, the Shojen Samurai and the Mafia both sent fleets after us just before I could send the signal. We couldn't spare any of our ships to replace yours as guards at your LP. I had to notify Alliance Shipyards of our need for ships. Have you secured your target systems?"

"Yes, Commander, we have. The EM Rockets you gave us worked—how do you say—like a charm." Being aliens, the Obish people weren't fluent with Human sayings.

"Wonderful! Absolutely marvelous! Hold your positions, we will be taking Shojen soon." Kronos then closed the channel and opened another to Jesse. "Jesse, you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Everything alright over there?"

"Yeah, we're fine. I need you to contact Star Corp and see if they made it through for me. You know they won't tell me anything."

"I already did. You were right, they threw so many ships at you guys that the Star Corp fleets were able to easily take Outlaw. Minimal casualties, too. The Shojen Samurai weren't expecting Star Corp to seemingly abandon one of their outposts in order to send that many ships. I guess they didn't count on me getting you guys extra ships."

"Excellent. Thanks, Jesse, I owe your one."

"You mean another one. Glad to be of help. Later."

Jesse terminated the signal and Kronos turned off the terminal. Now it was SD's turn to make an offensive. But how? If the Shojen Samurai were smart, they'd pull the rest of their forces back to Renegade, but with Mafia help, they could just as easily send all their forces to hold Shojen. This was going to be one his toughest battles yet.

To be continued...

This post has been edited by darthkev: Dec 10 2009, 06:13 PM

[fishloaf]

"What, are we gonna do this the hard way? Power down." The radio demanded.

"Uh...about that..."

Ramon eyed the maintenance door in front of him, straining visibly to tune out the sappy ballad and think. Half a second for it to grind open, another third to rev Fantome up and sneak through...no wait, he was fully loaded now. Best case scenario, he had a tunnel fight that started with his back to the enemy. While in Test Mode, with no weapon control or sensors. That was the hard way, alright.

"Really don't wanna kill you, man..." The AC raised its rifle, one of those expensive dual-mode guns that could fire an entire clip in shotgun fashion if the pilot needed some fast damage. Badass.

"Right. Powering down." Ramon conceded, throwing over the ignition. Fantome's lively rumble went still and the mech slouched over in defeat.

Immediately, the world followed suit; the speakers left a sterile silence, the laser-slaloms faded out of existence, and the automated turrets folded into standby. The lights glared to a red, someone-got-in-trouble-color and the MT's began to march inward.

"Good call." said the mystery raven, relief evident in his voice. Ramon continued to dial in commands, ignoring him. "Now I want you to open up the canopy and wait for--"

"Main System: Engaging Combat Mode" boomed the computer as Fantome stood tall.

"Hey,what the hell?!"

"You said power down, not surrender" Ramon's machine bucked, plunging a howitzer shell into the enemy AC. "Gotta use your words, man."

He surged toward the maintenance door, back stinging as he reached for the door call button. Error, his console said helpfully. Ramon swatted the button again, getting another digital 'screw you' as a volley of fire from the MTs began to drizzle down on him.

"Open, you bastard!"

An angry red blade sparked in the corner of Ramon's canopy. He pressed back in his seat, and his balance lurched backwards as Fantome mirrored the gesture, surging out of reach.

A fake--the enemy AC's blade suddenly shrank out of sight, revealing a double-barreled gun muzzle behind it. It detonated once, twice, three times.

Armore crumpling under invisible hammerblows, Fantome flailed its ill-gotten laser rifle and parried sword-like; the weapon jostled into the charging enemy's face, crowding out a fourth rifle blast that went wide and scarred the wall.

"Why isn't this thing shooting?" Ramon snarled at the laser rifle, strangling the trigger wildly as it simply prodded the enemy's visor.

"Prolly 'cause you just picked it up off the ground, fool. Don't you know you need software for that?" The other raven volunteered. Another red swipe flashed by, leaving Fantome with half a laser rifle.

"Well thank you, tech support!" Fantome chucked the molten stump at the dark AC, who vaporized it with a neat, overhead slice.

Fantome let its backward momentum segue into a full retreat, parting ways with a second howitzer shell to buy time. MTs scrambled to track Fantome as it sped further into the depths of the corrdor. By the time the thick forest of turrets re-booted and calibrated, Ramon had hit the end of the hall.

"Peace!" Ramon crowed as the course veered down into the final slope. The hollowed out remains of an AC sprawled against one side, caked in dust and surrounded by gravel. This part was lovingly known as the Indiana Jones section.

Ramon lit Fantome's boosters and took a running leap, just as the flickering lights signalled the prompt arrival of a boulder thundering just behind him. The collision siren wailed in his ear.

"Da-da-da-daaaaa-dun-da-da..."

His canopy suddenly filled with the pinkish haze of an energy slallom, chopping through the corridor like a guillotine. He had just recovered from nearly swallowing his tongue when a second asteroid dropped from above, trundling at a snail's-pace in front of him; Ramon threw the AC into the ceiling, letting the two slabs of rock collide below.

Another energy slalom followed, and rounding out the festivities was his old friend, likewise struggling his way past slaloms and rubble of his own. Ramon was just about to send him a Gift-bomb when a spindly shape appeared in the corridor entrance. Almost as soon as it took shape, AC Poindexter disappeared in a bright Overboost flare and rocketed past Fantome


High in the gloomy rafters of a blast chamber waited the final challenge: AC Spiderbite.

Six furnace vents dotted the walls of his home, roaring and glowing a sullen red as they belched torrents of rippling heat into the air. Spiderbite sat in a darkened cockpit, mech powered down and radio off. It helped him get in character.

Presently, a yellow AC came stumbling hell-bent out of the course exit, along with a shower of dust, smoke and gravel. Poindexter, eh?

Spiderbite powered up and waited for Poindexter to get its bearings; he prefered to let the interloper wander around in false triumph for a moment before dropping to the ground behind them. Nothing was quite so beautiful as shattered illusions, you see.

Poindexter simply flattened itself against the wall, however, watching the tunnel it just emerged from as if preparing an ambush. Losing patience, Spiderbite's pilot finally settled on the next best thing, a slow descent from on high. He waited for the mech to make "eye" contact, but Poindexter continued to ignore him even as he touched the ground. Spiderbite paused awkwardly; the stupid idiot must have been waiting for the MTs to follow him or simply wasn't didn't check his radar. Honestly.

"Did you think you were winning?" Spiderbite broke the silence with practiced minimalism. "Because--"

Ka-BLAM!

A howitzer shell flattened AC Spiderbite. A second intruder shrieked into the chamber, followed by a bounding, tumbling boulder. The powder-blue AC wasted no time exploring the room, desperately feeling around for an exit.

"No." the second pilot whined. "Noooo, locked chambers are bad."

Spiderbite quickly boosted back to its feet. "Good, a challenge." he quickly ad-libbed. "I've become so bored of picking my teeth with the likes of--"

A third AC charged in, spraying liberal doses of fire at the blue one.

"Okay, what the hell?"

[JoshTigerheart]

...in a galaxy far, far away

Unknown Location

The Wild Fire drifted for what felt like a long time, running only on auxiliary power, just enough to handle life support. The ship floated aimlessly through space amidst the wreckage of the Pirate Carrier they had destroyed before getting swallowed by the vortex. The crew not busy trying to repair the damage buckled themselves down in their seats in case the gravity went off. This turned out to be a good idea in the long run, however, but for different reasons.

The Wild Fire suddenly shook and rumbled as something collided into it's unshielded hull. The power flickered for a moment from the collision and then again when an explosion resounded throughout the hull. Immediately, everyone reached for their weapons as the boarding alert called out weakly. Considering that the Wild Fire was not a large vessel and there was only one entrance into their current room, they were in the best position to fight off the enemy.

Within a couple of minutes, a beaten and bloodied crewman stumbled out the door and fell to the ground, "I don't know who they are, but they want to talk to you, Captain."

"What happened?" Captain Oliver demanded.

"I don't know who they are, but they boarded us to investigate. Some of us instinctively resisted, but they cut us down. They don't know who we are, so they want to find out without killing us."

"Tell them that three of them can come in. Anymore and we open fire."

"Three it is," answered a gray-clothed officer, flanked by two soldiers in white armor, as he stepped through the door.

"You came in rather unannounced, what's the meaning of this?" Oliver demanded.

"Forgive me, I am Captain Hartson of the Imperial Fleet. We did not recognize your ship or it's technology, so we decided to investigate. Some of your men decided to give us... a warm welcome."

"Those were good men you killed," Oliver stated, "They were doing their duty keeping intruders off our ship, which you are classified as."

"I believe your ship right now is classified as a derelict and you as survivors, not a combat vessel and it's crew. We were willing to provide assistance, but I'm pondering withdrawing that."

"Withdraw it then! If you do not get off of MY ship, I will order my men to forcibly remove you."

"Is that a threat?" Hartson asked, "You see, if I wanted to, I could overrun your "ship" and it's "crew" in a heartbeat. I have the command of a hundred stormtroopers, a number which is far larger than your entire crew combined. If anything your lives are in my hands, not the other way around."

"Don't think you can push me around!" Oliver growled, "I am a captain of the Federation Navy! We will not allow ourselves be pushed around by savage Aurorans, even ones who pretend to be civilized and dress in white."

"Aurorans?" Hartson asked, confused.

"Don't play cute. Only ones who would call themselves Imperial would be from the Auroran Empire. With you being out this far, you're more than violating Federation space," Oliver raised a pistol at Hartson, which in turn got the white-armored soldiers to raise their own rifles, "Now, you're going to get off this ship or my men will eject you our..."

Part of Oliver's head was melted off from blast from someone's weapon. But none of the Imperials had fired. After some quick glancing, they spotted the gunman as he stood up and lowered his pistol.

"I apologize for interrupting my superior, Captain," the gunman said, "However, not everyone on this ship shares the same suicidal tendencies and incompetency as he does."

Hartson approached the gunman, "What's your name, son?"

"I am Gunner Samir Stukov," he replied, "And I do not wish to be killed over my ex-captain's blindness. You're obviously not from the Auroran Empire and there's more here than either of us know. I cannot speak for my fellow crew, but I for one believe we may be able to help each other."

"Your cooperation is appreciated, Stukov," Hartson commended before turning to the rest of the screw who were still getting over the shock of Stukov's murder, "As for the rest of you, cooperate with us and we will forgive you of your captain's folly. Hand over your weapons and then you can come aboard as ship not as prisoners, but as rescued survivors. We can work out the details later."

Not wanting to be carried aboard as a prisoner or body bag, total compliance with the request was easily met.



Meanwhile, in the present

Classified

"We managed to clear out the debris in the installation on the asteroid, sir," the research director told him, "Most of it was in ruins. There's some interesting bits of technology here and there, a lot of technology that's just built different, and then these."

Admiral Samir Stukov accepted the papers, used over digital transfer as a hacker could not intercept and download a sheet of paper, he was handed to by the subordinate and examined them, wordlessly.

"These, of course, are not the original documents. Those were on disks and required significant cracking to access. However, I believe, and I'm sure you will too, sir, that these schematics may be very handy in some of our research."

Admiral Stukov nodded in reply, "Perhaps. Instead, I think we may be able to use them more directly."

"Sir? How so?" the director asked.

"We clearly lack whatever technologies were used to create this," Samir replied, "but it all could easily be substituted with technologies native to this universe, let alone with others we have acquired."

Samir set the paper down onto his desk and motioned for his research director to look closer. He then took a pen and began to make notes as he spoke.

"First would be to make changes here at the chest so it's not a vulnerable location, we can likely design that in a more secure manner. Second, Polaris technology would be very useful for constructing this weapon. Using their bio-tech, we could create the creature and swap whatever weapon systems are on here for our own. Bio-relay Lasers and Wrathii would be very useful additions, but adapting some of our own weapons to work with an organic weapon would also be an option. And third, once we have something workable, we can try experimenting with RF-39C in the mix."

"I see," the director replied, "Sir, I believe something like that could work very well."

"I want you and your scientists to make the needed modifications to the schematics and build the new weapon. I'm believe this has great potential, so I'm giving your team prototype priority over the various mechanical projects that are currently active. Since we're largely playing with familiar technology to reach the first stage, I expect result swiftly, understood?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply.

"Good, you are dismissed," Samir told the director. As the man left the office to get started, Samir pondered the possibilities. A bio-weapon like this could function quite nicely alongside the Proverb soldiers...



Colosseum Station
Colosseum System

Traveling between universes was quite a different experience. Within the span of a week, Varus, Zeradar, and Tiana had seen three universes. First, of course, was their own, followed by the one the Commandarians were from, and then finally their destination. Knowing now that there were probably hundreds more, it was easy to feel tiny and insignificant against it all.

Then again, most people weren't traveling between universes to fix a fracture in reality.

The Commandarians were busy with their own concerns. They had asked the three to come along and help them, but there was a conflict of priorities. First and foremost, they had to fix their own universe. Therefore, the Commandarians agreed to drop them off at their destination universe, choosing to put them on Colosseum Station. They were told it was a bit of an anomaly in the area, so it'd be a good place to start looking.

"You know, dressing like this is a little but uncomfortable," Tiana remarked.

"I imagine," Zeradar replied, "But humans are the only species native to this universe, so I'm sure your ears, eyes, and tail would draw a lot of attention if they were visible, something we don't want until at least we have our bearings."

Varus nodded, "Plus, supposedly that Bureau would take a lot of interest in you against your will, we don't want that. The less trouble we create, the better."

Tiana sighed, "You're both right, of course. I just wish there was a better way."

The three had dressed so as to not stand out. Zeradar, with his more normal build, had this the easiest. As a large man of imposing stature, Varus would stand out by virtue of his size. On the bright side, even though he was dressed casually, he still looked like the kind of man you did not want to mess with, so at least that help them avoid some trouble. Tiana, however, being selune rather than human, was forced to cover up her distinguishing marks. Her ears were kept under a hat, her tail in her pants, and she wore darker glasses to keep her slitted-eyes from being visible. Long sleeves kept her spotted skin from being visible and her hair could be passed of as a custom-dyeing job. Even still, she was the one likely to draw the most unwanted attention.

The Commandarians had also warned her to be careful around Japanese people and at anime conventions, should they encounter either, as she was very likely to draw a lot of attention from either group if they took notice of her differences. The warning, of course, confused her, but she took it anyway.

The three made their way to the bar, a location, they were told, would be the best to find information. They were also told that the barkeep, who they should not be afraid of, could be a valuable resource in obtaining information. Naturally, the trio worked their way up to the counter, where a black-robed barkeeper had his back turned.

"Hey barkeep, what's on the tap," Varus asked as they sat down.

"EVERYTHING." was the monotone reply as the barkeeper turned, revealing that he had both a scythe and a skull for a face. Tiana grimaced a bit at the sight, not quite as used to seeing things of this nature as her two companions were.

"Hey, you look like the stereotype of the grim reaper," Varus commented casually.

"I AM DEATH, VARUS. I KNOW OF YOU AND YOUR COMPANIONS, AS YOUR UNIQUE BLESSINGS KEEPS ME FROM TAKING YOU AWAY WITHOUT CERTAIN CONDITIONS BEING FULFILLED."

"Death, really?" Zeradar asked, "I never expected to meet you as a bartender..."

"IT IS A JOB. NOW, ARE YOU GOING TO ORDER?"

"What do you serve?" Tiana asked.

"LIKE I SAID, EVERYTHING. DOESN'T MATTER WHERE IT'S FROM, WHAT IT IS, OR HOW RARE IT IS. IF IT EXISTS ANYWHERE, I SERVE IT."

"Three wines, then. Light." Zeradar ordered.

"AS YOU WISH," Death replied, pulling out a trio of wine-glasses and filled them, "EVEN THOUGH YOUR UNIVERSE IS IN A STATE OF REALITY FLUX, I WILL STILL JUST WITHDRAW THE CHARGE FROM YOUR ACCOUNTS."

"Hey, not so loud," Varus said quietly, "We're trying not to draw attention here."

"YOU THINK YOU WILL DRAW ATTENTION WITH THAT? THAT IS NOTHING. FOR EXAMPLE, JUST A FEW DAYS AGO A GOD OF MADNESS WAS SITTING IN THAT VERY SEAT. I'VE HAD CUSTOMERS OF FROM ALL OVER WITH STRANGER, MORE ATTENTION GRABBING THINGS THAN YOU VISIT AND TALK FREELY ABOUT THEM. NOBODY CARES. IN FACT, SATAN CALLED AND RESERVED A TABLE A HOUR AGO."

"In that case, can you tell us where to find the thing that'll fix our universe?" Tiana inquired.

"I CANNOT, FOR I DO NOT KNOW. EVEN IF I DID, I HAVE BEEN EXPLICITLY INSTRUCTED BY A CERTAIN BEING NOT TO INFORM YOU ON THE ACCOUNT THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY AND BORING."

"What?"

"NEVER MIND."

"What about telling us all you can about this universe, so we at least have a better idea here?" Varus asked.

"VERY WELL, HOPE YOU ARE READY FOR A LONG STORY."



Bureau of Central Intelligence
Earth
Sol

The Bureau of Central Intelligence was publicly it's own office with it's own powers. It's task was supposedly to root out foreign spies and conduct domestic reconnaissance on foreign soil. While it did perform these roles on the surface well enough, the reality was much different. The truth was, the B.C.I. was really just part of the Bureau of Internal Investigation. It's main existence was just another position to stick higher up B.I.I. members.

At least, that was the summary of the basic information about it on one of the Bureau's most secure systems. Granted, security on a computer system didn't matter much to him. If the machine was accessible, he could get into it. Though, machines weren't his only forte.

According to his own file, he was an young male, aged in his early twenties. He had been making a decent enough living by maintaining a number of popular blogs and getting revenue from ad-clicks from his site. The blogs were all political in nature and opposing, often linking to each other's arguments so that they could refer to what they were tearing down and, most importantly, generate more traffic. The file only listed four, in truth he had six. This was good, of course, because he had been trying to keep his talents low-key. Granted, his curiosity eventually gave him away when he accessed systems he shouldn't have too many times. How did he do it? Simply logging in as if he was an authorized user. His file doesn't know how, as he used no special technology and no hacking. He had no special abilities whatsoever. All they could come up with was that he was "highly perceptive".

"Yes, I know. If it had been anyone else in this position, you'd have to kill them. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time, so it's a good thing that I'm more useful to you alive and am on your side, right?"

The Director of the B.C.I. stared for a moment and shook his head, "I was warned about you, they said that I would hate it when you did that. Seems like they were right."

The younger man turned in his seat, "Does it need saying that I'd knew you'd say that? ...on second thought, don't answer that, I already know."

"What I'll ask instead is how you manage it, Rickey."

Rickey Boyer, a recently installed low-ranking officer of the B.C.I, since higher positions weren't available, and new B.I.I. operative, shrugged, "I just understand how everything works. In this case, human psychology. I can't explain to you how I do it, even the Vell-os were confused. It's just my talent. And no, I don't know everything, I'm not THAT good."

"Well, see to it that you put your talents to good use instead of snooping around on our secure systems."

"It wasn't snooping, I was simply obtaining information I thought could be useful in my new job. After all, you and everyone else above me does expect top performance, no matter what. Don't try to object because you want to reprimand me, you know it's true. Just be glad I'm devoted to my nation and, consequently, am on your side."

The Director shook his head again in frustration, "Just... finish setting up in here so we can get your started on your first assignments."

Rickey couldn't help but chuckle as his superior walked out. If he had to work with the people who were manipulating his nation for it's own good, he might as well have fun with them.

This post has been edited by JoshTigerheart: Jan 17 2010, 04:20 PM

[dsaf]

OOC: Just an irregularly scheduled bump...

IC:

Dsaf frowned when he noticed that the Grey Wolf still hadn't re-entered the cloaking field even though she'd finished with the pirates what seemed like forever ago. He glanced at Slayer's chronometer panel and his eyes narrowed as the display marked "Current" read that only five minutes had passed since then. A look further down the panel to a display marked "000-001" revealed that 85 days, 7 hours, and some minutes had passed, much more than was considered normal. He then sighed and went back to staring at tractor beams.

* * *

Warhammer tapped a holographic foot upon Slayer III's main console, noting that it had taken an eternity of eternities for the pirate reinforcement convoy to move even an inch. In less than a picosecond, he ruled out temporal distortion, equipment failure, Rampancy (which was impossible for an AI of his constitution anyways), and Kiori overtaxing graphical displays and processing capacity somehow. The rest of that picosecond was spent cross-referencing sensor scans and chronometer readings. A zeptosecond after that, he went to sleep mode.

* * *

Naxos hung in space above Colosseum Station with one of her hangar doors open scant centimeters and opening at an appallingly torpid rate in order to accommodate the first transport of stuff from the station, which was also approaching with excessive slowness.