Blackrock

Beneath the helmet, the woman's face was one of confusion. She reached up and opened the locks that kept her helmet connected to her flight suit. Whoever this woman was it was easy to say that was pretty. She had bright blue eyes with a mischievous gleam, a small nose, a wonderful ivory complexion, and a supple mouth.

Her eyes locked onto the credits that had been rudely thrown at her. Her blond eyebrows drew together into a tight knot. She didn't move to take the currency.

When the man disappeared, the woman dragged herself over to the trap door and tried to open it.

It was out of sheer curiosity that the woman attempted to follow the man. That and she wanted to know why he would have just thrown money at her like that. Did he plan for her to leave or was she allowed to stay until the storm passed?

"So the contract was a success, yes?"

Asked a silhouette behind a computerised screen, hooked up to a large, flat-keyed keyboard and several neon lights by a large amount of cables and other electronics.

"The pay was two thousand credits in cash," the man replied, removing his goggles and headwraps. "Minus one hundred for local expenses."

"Very well. Then that is... One thousand nine hundred times one hundred equals an additional one hundred and ninety thousand credits added to your account."

"Thank you," he replied, removing his boots as he sat back in a chair. "I'm leaving tomorrow, I'm tired of all this sand. What else is there?"

"The Elodisien chancellor. Pays seven hundred thousand."

"How many more jobs in the sector?"

"Half a dozen, maybe. Most pay relatively well, but any thug should be enough."

"I don't want to travel all that way for the sake of one contract," the man replied with a sigh. "But I'll think about it."

"Good. Still, I'll keep the database search running. If anything interesting pops up I'll let you know."

The screen shut off, leaving him in silence.

Oh, shit. An assassin.

The woman scrambled back away from the hatch. Glimmer had closed it before she moved away from it. She couldn't remember if she had made any noise doing so because of her panic. Her heart raced inside her chest and she shoved her helmet back over her head. If anything it would keep the white-haired man from knowing her identity.

The woman locked the helmet back into place and shimmied back into the corner she was in earlier.

Everything seemed the same as it had been before the assassin disappeared down into his secret hole.

"Don't be here tomorrow," he said, as he climbed up out of the hatch and watched the woman in the corner. "At noon the building will self destruct, so I highly suggest leaving before then if you want to live."

He straightened out his wraps, then began to wind them back around his face and hair as protection against the sandstorm outside. Replacing his goggles over his eyes, he took in a deep breath and opened the door a little.

"I'm leaving now, goodbye. There's a hover bike outside that you should be able to use to get to the town I mentioned, if you need it."

With nothing else needing to be said, he stepped out of the shack and ventured into the storm, quickly getting lost in the sand.

Glimmer was perplexed in the least. So far her adventures on the dust cloud of a planet were-... well, Glimmer couldn't exactly describe it, even if she tried.

The assassin had warned her to leave before high sun tomorrow. She looked down at her ankle and then down at the miniature mounds of sand that had formed on the floor from when the man had left into the storm.

How in the hell was she supposed to know when it was noon if the storm didn't pass before then?!

Glimmer groaned and knocked the back of her helmet up against the wall. She did it again and again and again. This was just her luck and it didn't help that she was missing a certain someone.

"Unbelievable," Glimmer said to herself and to the empty room in front of her.

"I see skies of blue. Clouds of white. Bright blessed days. Dark sacred nights. And I think to myself ... what a wonderful world. Yeah right," Glimmer said to herself before she gave up and closed her eyes.

High above the planet a ship cut through levels of atmosphere as it decended to the surface. Most would not attempt such a thing in a sand storm but Isra Ventra had no fear though it was not a clean flight. The ship landed and she made final preparations for her journey here. She wore something a bit more revealing this time and left her battle armor behind though took both her vibro sword and lightsaber with her. She exited down the ramp and retrieved her speeder bike from the cargo bay. Then she set off toward the local cantina in search of hired help and maybe some information as well.

The battle over Blackrock had ended. The Denaili fleet had been repelled, for the time being, and several Nalinathrian warships hung overhead in a low orbit.

This sector of space had never seen the like of either faction before. While they were probably nothing altogether new, technologically speaking, there had not been any incursions from either of them.

The Denaili pressing this far into uncharted territories meant only that the Nalinathrian Legions had to follow. And so they did, pushing them back to whence they had come.

The battle had not been without loss, however. Among the powerful warships of the Nalinathrian Advance Fleet, many crippled wrecks lingered and mingled with those of the Denaili. Salvage efforts would purge the system of any traces of their presence before the Nalinathrians departed.

But there was one matter to attend on Blackrock.

A shuttle burned hard through the scant atmosphere of the planetoid. It was designed for rapid planetary insertion, and bore the sigil of Nalinathris; a blue twin-headed bird of prey, emblazoned over a shield and blades. It was armed with twin pintle-mounted autocannons on either side, and one dual auto-cannon forward facing. It was, simply, meant to drop off a large number of troops in haste.

It came down in the vast expanse of a deserted tract of land. Kicking up dust and debris, landing gear probed outward to settle the ship on a level plane. Nearby, the wreckage of a Nalinathrian fighter craft lay. Salvage teams would eliminate it later, but the sole occupant of the landing craft was more interested in the nearby disabled Battle Armor.

Barely giving the craft time to cool down from entry, the loading ramp hissed and lowered. Striding down the opening portal was a massive man with an almost regal posture.

He wore the fatigues of a Fleet Commander. Multiple badges adorned his figure, telling of his status. Ages of warfare showed on his face through layers upon layers of scars. He bore no weapon, save for a large pistol, which was safely holstered on his hip.

The man was Commander Nachytsm Encaitar. He had one mission here on Blackrock, and that was to find his wife.

Dark brown eyes locked on Teraleen. The assault shuttle that carried the Battle Armor, along with multiple others, had been shot down early into the battle. Nachytsm was furious. Teraleen had been jettisoned, it seemed, but not before it either suffered extensive damage, or was damaged by the fall. The craft carrying the rest of the suits had detonated on impact with a plateau farther down the range.

Nachytsm did not sense his wife nearby, but he could sense her somewhere. Turning back to the shuttle, he charged back inside. “Pilot,” he called out, his voice rough from many years of shouting orders. “Contact Salvage Operations. Tell them they have a retrieval op on a Class Eight B.A.”
“Aff, Sir. Our directive?”
“Take us around. Keep us low. We’ll search through the night if we have to.” Nachytsm’s words brooked no questioning. He’d stay ground-side until the moon exploded if he had to.

Nachytsm sat waiting in the hold as his shuttle pilot flew them around the wasteland. It was a perilous storm. If the craft had not been built to survive rapid entry, it would have likely been torn apart.

The Commander’s eyes were closed. Long ago he had bound himself to the woman he chose as his wife, and through that bond, he could sense her. The only reason he had not found her yet was because it had been so long since he had needed to track her down.

Nachytsm opened his eyes with a start. He had dozed during the night, but when he finally sensed his wife, the man awoke. Standing, he barged into the cockpit and took a look across the landscape.

It was desolate. Most anything that had been out there probably didn’t survive the night. Nachytsm had been through less furious storms that had eaten the flesh off bone.
But he could sense her, and he did not give up.

“Pilot,” the Commander uttered suddenly, pointing to a dot on the horizon. “Heading 0-1-1.”
“Aff,” came the curt reply.
The shuttle made speed for the tiny structure. It was nearing high noon on the small moon, and it was about time the fleet carried on.



Glimmer woke with a start. She did not remember falling asleep. Panic rifled through the woman as she remembered what the assassin had told her. She unlocked her helmet and took it off. There was light pouring in through the boards nailed over the windows of the shack.

The sole fact that Glimmer was still alive meant that it hadn’t yet reached the noon marker. She doubted she had much more time left. Without thinking ahead of herself, Glimmer attempted to stand. She cried out in pain as her ankle gave out beneath her. The woman crashed back down to the floor.

A slew of curses in a foreign tongue flew out of Glimmer’s mouth.

Her silver colored eyes looked toward the door across the room. Perhaps if she scooted her way out of the shack, she could at least make it far enough away from the building. There was light coming into the room so she assumed the storm had passed. Glimmer took stock of the room around her. There was barely anything useable, and nothing she could use as a crutch to help herself out. Glimmer had no other choice but to drag her doomed ass out the door.

And then the woman looked down at her good foot. If she took off the boot then maybe she’d be able to hop out of there, but that wouldn’t get her far. She’d exhaust herself before too long.

“Damn it all,” Glimmer shouted to the room. “My husband is taking me on a cruise after this shit!”

Her husband. Glimmer’s lip trembled as she thought of Nachytsm. She didn’t want to die and leave him behind. No. She wasn’t going to die! Glimmer pulled herself up off the floor using the boards nailed over the windows.

“This is going to hurt,” Glimmer breathed in a whisper to herself. “But you will heal. You always heal.” She placed weight down on her bad ankle and began to hobble towards the door with pained tears running down her face.


“Bring us down there,” Nachytsm demanded of the pilot. He pointed towards the small shack in the middle of nowhere. He could sense his wife there. He could feel her pain, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from further pressuring the pilot. He was doing his job admirably.

“Aff,” the man replied. The shuttle’s powerful thrusters flared off while the landing jets burned into life. The sound it would make as it came in for a landing could probably be heard for miles.

Nachytsm didn’t even wait for the shuttle to touch the ground before he had opened the loading ramp and jumped out. With a powerful stride, the large man marched up to the door of the shack and nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to open it. “Glimmer!” he shouted into the structure as he did so.

“You don’t have to shout in my face, you big brute!” Glimmer shouted back at Nachytsm. She sighed in relief and threw her arms around her husband. The embrace didn’t last long before she gasped and looked back up at him.

“Nachytsm! What time is it!” Glimmer demanded. The building was set to blow at high noon according to that mysterious assassin. There was another word Glimmer wanted to use to describe that man but he did sort of save her life after all, but only to turn around and abandon her in a giant bomb!

“Pick me up! We have to go. No time to lose!”


Nachytsm’s relief was almost palpable. It didn’t help that he could feel Glimmer’s, as well. He didn’t even mind her shouting at his face. He didn’t expect her to be right in the doorway, but he took her into his arms almost immediately.

“Glimmer,” he said again, softer this time. Her question gave him pause. “My chrono’s not set for this world, but I would say-”
Her words cut him off. Nachytsm widened his eyes at her, but did not hesitate. He trusted her intuition, always.
Well, not exactly always. There were often times where she demanded she be allowed into a particular battle, saying she would be fine, when in fact her transport would get shot down over a desert moon. Nachytsm would give her some flak for that later.

Picking her up, Nachytsm brought her outside, rushing towards the waiting shuttle. “Your armor is safe,” he said conversationally as he charged forward.

Over Nachytsm’s shoulder, Glimmer watched the shack as she was carried away from it. When he mentioned Teraleen, she looked back to her husband.

“She’s safe? That’s wonderful, but you should probably run. I’m not sure when high noon is on this awful satellite but a man told me that shack was going to blow sky high at high noon. I believe him,” Glimmer stated in a dry tone.

“He was a real good conversationalist. You two would have gotten along just fine a few thousand years ago.”


At the mention that the building might explode, Nachytsm hastened his pace considerably. He didn’t fear for himself, particularly, but he wouldn’t see Glimmer come to harm. Besides, she’d ordered him to be more careful. Even though he technically outranked her, these days, he held to that.

Stepping onto the boarding ramp, he shouted into his shuttle. “Pilot! Get us to minimum safe distance for potential nuclear blast!” Glimmer said it was going to explode, and he didn’t want to assume anything less than apocalyptic might occur.

Then, he scoffed at Glimmer as he walked the rest of the way into the shuttle. “Sounds like a real charming gentleman.”

“You bet,” Glimmer said with a grin on her face. “By the way, you owe me a cruise on a resort planet,” she mentioned to Nachytsm. Her face grew somber and her eyes fell away from her husband.

“Did anyone else survive?” Glimmer asked quietly.

Nachytsm chuckled lightly at Glimmer’s attitude. He silently agreed that they could use some quality time. They had, after all, been on the Denaili’s tail for the better part of a year.

The shuttle’s thrusters kicked into life suddenly. Nachytsm kept a firm hold on Glimmer and a steady footing as they blasted away from the ground. He looked out through the still-open ramp hatch, then walked deeper into the shuttle and hit the closing button.

“I’m afraid not,” Nachytsm said, setting Glimmer down on one of the shuttle’s impact seats. It hadn’t been the first time her unit had experienced casualties, but there were seldom cases of complete loss. “Your transport hit a plateau wall.”

Nachytsm had knelt down before her, examining her leg. He was no medic, but many years of tending his own wounds had lent him a basic understanding of how to help others.

Glimmer felt all the air in her lungs disappear as she sighed. She cursed herself some more in a hushed whisper to herself. Her entire unit had been wiped out and she was the sole survivor. Glimmer closed her eyes for a moment as her husband fretted over her injury.

It hadn’t been a spacial navigation issue at all. They had been hit. There was an explosion and screaming. Glimmer had shouted for them to head toward the B.A. They were already burning up in the atmosphere by the time she reached hers. Her memory went blank after that flash.

“You’re going to have to take the boot off. It’s broken or sprained. I’m not sure which,” Glimmer said to Nachytsm. She looked away from him and her bottom lip quivered. She didn’t want to cry but tears formed in her eyes anyway.

There was a high pitched whine from outside the shuttle before the shack imploded in on itself, disappearing completely from Blackrock.

Nachytsm didn’t pay any attention to the blast. The pilot would ensure they were at a minimum safe distance, and then bring them back to the fleet. His focus was on Glimmer. She had sprained her ankle, from what he could tell.

Following her advice he removed her boot and looked over her extremity. The full body jumpsuit covered her from head to toe, very literally, aside from when she took her helmet off.

Nachytsm wasn’t sure what he could do about a sprain. A broken bone he could at least set, but sprains were not his department. Looking up to Glimmer’s face, he could tell she was distraught by the expression and the tears.

The Commander was a hard man. He would seldom be seen in his daily life with anything but a dour, serious expression on his face. He was quick to order his men and was not afraid of anything.

Glimmer was the only person who saw the other side of him. The softer side. The side that cared. She was the only thing that could bring him fear by being lost. Nachytsm raised one of his hands to caress her cheek, trying to comfort her. “I’m glad you are alright,” he said gruffly.

As Nachytsm held her cheek, Glimmer felt a few tears slide down her cheek. She couldn’t look at him while she cried. The woman bit down on her bottom lip and stared at a console until she felt that she could control herself.

“I am alright,” Glimmer said to him and to herself. She cleared her throat and took a few calming breaths. “I’m just glad that I came out alive,” she said to Nachytsm. Fresh tears threatened to spring back up in her silver eyes but she held them back.

“I just have a sprained ankle, is all, Nachytsm,” Glimmer said to her husband in a broken voice. “Everyone else died but I just have a sprained ankle from running to shelter from a sand storm after crashing through the atmosphere and my ship hit a plateau wall.” Her brows drew together. She could have very well died but, no, she escaped without a single scratch.

Glimmer’s fingers tapped a rhythm on her leg out of frustration and uncertainty. “What’s the report on the Denaili?” she asked Commander Encaitar.


Nachytsm stared at Glimmer’s face as she braced herself. He had always admired her strength and tenacity, but he knew the vulnerable side of her as well. He never thought any less of her for it. If anything, he further admired her for being able to show her weaknesses on occasion.

“It is war,” he said to her simply. “People die, many times without a chance. You’re the only one who’s not allowed to,” he rumbled. “If you had died... I’d have had to kill you.” He smiled a little bit to show he was joking.

Standing up, Nachytsm sat in the impact chair next to Glimmer and placed an arm around her shoulders. He wanted to utilize the privacy they had while it lasted. “We’ve pushed them away from the sector, and they’re retreating back into the Contested territories. We should be able to keep them out of this sector until they make another large push.”

Loud shouts and jeers carried through the outskirts of the rugged and lawless settlement on the surface of Blackrock. Brawls and scraps in the streets weren't entirely uncommon on the backwater moon, but there was an added weight of cruelty and menace today coupled with the occasional bout of laughter.

"What is it?" someone asked.

"Beats the shit out of me," a sneering man named Kane replied. "We found it adrift just outside of Ang'und."

Kane was well known around these parts for piracy, smuggling, and worse. His cargo of choice was the illegal trafficking of kidnapped women and children for prostitution and other manners of slave labor to the outer planets beyond of the scrutiny of the law.

"D'yah think it came from Sol?" another asked.

"It sure as hell is ugly enough to be," someone else remarked.

"How did it get out here?"

“Do you think there’s more of them out there?”

"How am I supposed to know?" Kane retorted with a snort. "There hasn't been anyone from Sol in these parts for longer'n I've been alive."

The target of the men's conversation was a Wolven, a creature native to the Sol system, and to the planet Terra in particular. The heavily furred humanoid was sprawled in the dusty street with its hands bound by a thick length of twine. Its features were unmistakably wolfish in nature with an elongated snout, canine ears and furred tail. It was clothed in a uniform of some nature foreign to the natives, and an empty pistol holster was strapped to its thigh. The lupine being shook its head and tried to rise, only for Kane to drive a boot into the side of its head to send it sprawling back into the dirt once more.

"Hey mutt, where did you come from?" one of the jeering men asked.

When no reply came Kane kicked the captive over onto his back and pressed a foot to his chest. He leaned down with a sneer. "Hey, he's talking to you."

"Maybe it's too dumb to talk," someone suggested. "It looks like a fucking dog.”

"I could use a guard dog. I'll give you thirty-five drachmali for it," a spectator offered.

"Buy a dog. That things pelt will sell for more than it's worth alive. I'll give you forty for it," another called out.

Soon shouts and offers of coin were being thrown about as the scene grew all the more heated.

If there were two things that Vincent May-Rose’s ears were finely tuned towards, it was the sound of offers being made for a sale and shouts of anger. If asked about the way his head whipped around to take in the crowd, he’d insist that it was part of his business - nay, his duty - to know when something was worth buying, and had tempers flaring.

After all. If it was worth selling, it sure as hell was worth stealing.

Rubbing a rapidly forming bruise on his jaw absently, the smuggler buried his free hand into his coat pocket, skirting the edges of the circle to see what all the hullabaloo was about. It took him four seconds to see the figure, bound and wolflike, in the middle of the thrashing and shouting mob. Disgust curled in his belly, equaled with a rising annoyance.

Playing the hero did not do well for his reputation.

Sighing, he glanced at the man to his right, shouting his own figures as loud as he could. The man’s hands were above his head, waving his coin rapidly. Vincent considered for a moment, then drew the man’s pistol clear of his holster and fired into the air.

The effect was not as well received as he had hoped. The din stopped for a moment as a few eyes landed on him, before immediately turning back to the lupine and doubling their efforts.

Frowning, Vincent turned the gun on it’s original owner, pointing at his thigh. He fired again.

The man cried out, falling backwards, and that time the crowd stopped their jeering now that a definite casualty was amongst them.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves,” Vincent snarled, sliding the borrowed pistol into his belt, “tossing figures over a live being like this. Have you no sense of grace?”

Vincent had their attention now as all eyes were upon him. Kane though it would seem was unimpressed. He rested his arms on his knee as he pressed his weight down against the wolfen creatures chest.

"And who the fuck are you to tell me how to run my business?" Kane asked.

He didn't reach for the gun at his hip and arrogance was written all over his face. Several bodies were already moving hands for their guns, ready to draw if things went south. There were about four of Kane's men among the crowd and a brief glance was all it took to send one of them quietly maneuvering through the spectators to get around behind Vincent unnoticed.

Vincent let out a nasally laugh, stepping into the circle of men to stand over the lupine. “Well, for starters, these ingrates are giving you terrible figures. First of all, look at this coat!”

Vincent leaned downwards, gripped some of the lupine’s fur, and sunk his fingers into it. “Fine, silken, heavy. This one’s eaten well. Good muscle structure, too; at least, what we can see of his arms. But you’re doing it all wrong, sir!”

He gestured with wide palms. “You need to let the merchandise stand up. No slave buyer worth his spit would buy a damn dog breath without seeing the hind leg muscle. Are you new at this? First day on the job?”

Vincent glanced back towards a bystander, rolling his eyes. The man chuckled, nodding agreeably. Doubtful that he knew a word of what Vincent was saying, but some men loved to look smarter than others.

Whirling back to Kane, Vincent folded his arms. “Well,” he barked, “are you going to get the product on his feet or not?”

"And how many dolls have you smuggled on the black market lately?" Kane sneered.

The dig drew a few guffaws from the crowd as Kane stood up straight. The canid creature proved far less humored by the situation as it capitalized upon Kane's distraction with Vincent. Rolling to the side he knocked his weight into the back of Kane's legs.

"What the fu-" Kane began before the furred oddity had his hands around the holster strapped to Kane's leg.

The gun was pulled free with a tug and the bound captive scooted back in the dirt as the weapon whined to life in his hands. With his wrist bounds, he had an awkward one handed grip on the weapon that didn't lend for a great deal of accuracy, and the weapon wavered between Kane and Vincent.

Kane's hands were already easing up in a show of being unarmed.

"Hey now, no need for any of that. It was just business, eh?" he asked.

The slaver quirked a smirk as he took a seemingly wary step back to leave room for his men to open fire.

Vincent stepped back, too, keeping pace with Kane as the lupine had the pistol pointed between both of them. “I wouldn’t call it business,” Vincent continued, waiting for Kane’s eyes to flit to his, “because, as usual, you can’t a dog to fleas.”

With that, Vincent suddenly lunged, grabbing a fist full of Kane’s shirt and slamming his head into the other man’s nose. As Kane’s head rocketed backwards, Vincent drew his borrowed gun, leaping to tackle the Wolven as gunfire erupted around them.

Vincent felt a bullet ruffle his hair as he hit earth, men collapsing forwards as the bullets collided with other targets than those intended. The crowd, too, drew pistols and began to randomly fire into their own midst, pleased roars and cries of pain rising above the din.

The captive fired at Vincent, and a wave of heated air scorched past as the wayward shot missed its mark. The weapon appeared to be of no local make, and the streak of light struck a nearby building structure leaving the sheet metal scorched and blackened. The scent of burnt metal filled the street as Vincent's weight drew a grunt out of the captive before it could fire off a second shot.

“I had it under control!” Vincent shouted at the lupine, trying to pin the other humanoid to the ground, “For God’s sakes, don’t move.”

The Wolven's first instinct was to resist, but beaten and malnourished, and with its wrists bound, Vincent had the upper hand. It took a moment more before realization dawned upon it and it raised its bound hands up between them. The length of twine had been bound tight enough that the fur was stained red where it had bit into flesh.

"Get me loose," the canid creature growled.

Vincent’s response was to roll his eyes. “Well, you did just try to shoot me,” he said, pointedly, wrapping his arms around the lupine’s waist as a shot snapped home near their heads.

“Okay, do what you can to shift your weight; we’re going to roll.”

Without further fanfare, he hauled his weight to the side, rolling the two between scuffling boots and kicked up dust. Once they were clear of the melee, Vincent hopped to his feet and hauled up the lupine, pointing the pistol at the knot in the twine and staring at the Wolven’s eyes.

“Kay. Don’t shoot me.”

“Only if you don’t hurry,” the Wolven replied.

“I like your style,” the human fired back, then pulled the trigger, severing the rope. Following through with the motion, Vincent kept the pistol pointed between the lupine’s legs, at a very important piece of anatomy.

“We good?”

The Wolven rubbed at his wrists as he tried to work the circulation back into them while surveying the situation. The gunfight in the street was scattering as participants sought cover in the nearby buildings, and behind whatever bits of scrap and junk they could find.

"We're good," he replied. "Where are we?" he added trying to get his bearings.

Vincent smiled, tapping his nose. “Not far from my ship. You look like a man who could use a lift.”

He turned and began jogging down the dusty streets as the gunfight behind them increased in pace, bystanders joining into the fray. “Once we outrun those guys, we should be clear from any further distraction-”

“ROSE!” came a bellow from down the street. Vincent’s smile died as he glanced towards the sound to behold Ryan and several other thug-like people from the bar tussle, advancing towards him steadily.

“...Or we run,” Vincent shot at his new companion, and exploded into a sprint, his pursuers increasing their pace to match.

Amidst the gunfire, the Wolven and Vincent ran, ducking under obstacles, darting through alleyways, lending all manner of cunning and endurance to shake their pursuers. It was readily apparent, however, that an escape was not easy in coming.

Vincent dug into a pouch at his waist, pulling a flat disc free of the leather confines. Pressing a button, he was rewarded with a static hiss as the communication device connected to the Rabbit.

“Vanora! Get the engines hot; I may or may not have pissed off a large amount of mean-spirited folk with enthusiastic aim.”

“Is it Monday already?” came Vanora’s response over the crackling comm device.

A brick wall exploded when a round smashed into it, forcing Vincent to stumble and curse. “You know, I’d really love to hear you snark at me some more, but people are kind of actively trying to take my life.”

"Understood, sir," came her response. "Engines are starting up, we'll be ready to fly in... three minutes." There was a brief pause. "Captain?"

“Yes, Vanora?” he hollered back over the gunfire and the muffled grunts as he slid to run hard down an alleyway.

"Did you get the aft suspension calibration repaired?"

“Uhhhh,” came Vincent’s eloquent reply.

“If we die, I quit.”

“I’ll give you your severance pay myself, Vanor-” The remainder of her name was cut off by a stray round, shooting the comm right from his hand and reducing it to a molten lump on the dirt. Shaking his head, he continued running.

Back aboard the Rabbit, Vanora was working over the command consoles on the bridge and flipping switches rapidly. The engines were humming and whirring to life as she prepared for liftoff. The back hangar bay was standing open and she had a comm device in hand.

As she checked some readings on the display screens the comm device let out a painfully loud screech.

"Captain?" she asked into it. "Captain?"

She shook her head when no reply came and hung it back up.

With the the ship ready for lift-off, Vanora grabbed her coat from the back of the pilot's chair and threw it over her shoulders. The coat was quickly followed by her rifle which she checked was loaded before slinging it over over her shoulder. She put the ship on standby before she quickly made for the hangar bay. From the sounds of things, Vincent was going to need some cover fire when he arrived.

It took another five minutes of dodging, diving, and rolling through the torn up streets of Blackwater, but finally, the Rabbit was in sight. Digging in for more strength and more will, Vincent pumped his arms, skidded slightly on his feet, pointing towards the small transport.

“My ship,” he panted, as a light post exploded from an incredibly poorly aimed shot, “almost there.”

As more gunfire peppered the air, the pair took shelter behind a small transport lift that had been being used to move crates of luggage onto the Rabbit. The stretch open space between the lift and the ship didn't leave much in the way of cover.

“If I didn't know any better,” the Wolven growled under his breath as he checked the battery cells in his gun. “I would say the locals don’t much like you any better than me.”

Half-power.

As the weapon whined back to life he ducked out to fire a few shots off at their pursuers, forcing them to take cover as well. The weapon was clearly of some sort of energy based tech - highly illegal in the hands of a civilian. Although given his rather furry visage it was a likely safe assumption that he wasn't from around here.

A rifle shot split the air over the sounds of the gunfight and one of the men pursing Vincent fell to the ground in the dusty street. A second shot, a second body.

Aboard the Rabbit Vanora had taken to one knee behind a crate with an open view of the area.

"Still alive, Captain?" she hollered as the gunfire abated for the moment.

The pursuers had taken cover and were weighing their options while Vincent and his furred companion had the cover of the lift. Only about forty yards separated them from the ship - forty yards of open ground.

"Just about!" Vincent hollered, as the pursuers were forced to adjust their aim to compensate for the suddenly stationary and very armed woman on the hangar ramp. Vincent utilized the distraction to tear towards the ramp, leap ontop of it, stumble at the sudden change in angle, and dive inside the safety of the ship.

"Get on, new guy! Vanora, keep them off us while I take off!"

With that, the captain disappeared into the Rabbit, heading towards the cockpit to make good on their full escape.

The wolven made his move next and as he ran for the ship gunfire opened up once more, but a rifle shot whistled past to strike the first man to break cover to try and get a shot off on him.

Once aboard the hangar bay he dropped down behind a stack of crates across from Vanora to take cover from the spray of gunfire that was leveled on the ship.

With both Vincent and the stranger on board, Vanora struck the button to activate the hangar bay doors. With a rumble the large doors began to slowly raise closed, taking most of the gunfire upon their reinforced hull before with a thud they slammed shut.

She pounded her fist into a second button that served as a comm device throughout the ship.

"Ready for takeoff, Captain."

"Affirmative," came the reply, followed by the squealing of the loudspeakers on the exterior of the ship being activated. Suddenly,

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

With a rumbling lurch, the Rabbit lifted skywards, the landing gears and fields that kept it tethered to the ground retracting into its belly. With a roar and a screaming of engines and thrusters, the transport ship shot into orbit, leaving Blackrock far behind.

AHSC Battlestar 'Columbia'
Commander Tychus Octavio
Task Force 'Chimera'

As the Rabbit shot into orbit, leaving the moon far behind, something else would grace the ship as it left.

Less than five hundred meters in front of them, space itself bent and warped, before there was a blinding flicker of light which bathed the cockpit of the oncoming starship in a brilliant flash of light. What came next would be all 1,200 meters of heavy Aschen metal, as the Battlestar winked into existence right before their very eyes.

"Sir! DRADIS Contact! Zero One Zero Carom Nine Seven Zero! CBDR!" A Lieutenant shouted and the Commander turned.

"Take evasive action! All hands brace for impact!" He called out, and the massive Aschen Battlestar banked as hard as it's large frame could take to try and avoid the incoming ship.

Three more Aschen Battlestars flickered into existence, heading straight for orbit towards the lone moon.

A moment passed and a Reverence I flickered into existence, gunning towards the moon.

But the immediate concern was the Mercury Class Battlestar that was directly in front of them, the collision so narrow that one could make out every detail of the ship. The Battlestar would be too large to get out of the way by itself, but the presence of an Aschen Task Force would foreshadow even darker plans.

"What the fuck is going on?"

The door to the hangar opened to admit a red-haired girl who couldn't have been out of her teens, looking more than slightly dishevelled with mussed and grimy hair and a face slick with sweat and grease from mechanical components. Willow looked from Vanora to the wolven, then back to Vanora. "That take-off could quite easily have- no, by all rights should have killed us. And it's set back my work on the engine by at least three days. Longer if we don't set down again soon."

The quite clearly disgruntled teenager glowered in the direction of the cockpit. "I'm getting an idea of why this ship is in the state it's in. I swear to god if he tries to take us FTL, I'm jumping out and taking my chances with the vacuum of space."

At the sudden appearance of the battlestar, Vincent let out an impressive stream of curses, flipping switches, punching buttons, and turning dials until the Rabbit leveled off. Reaching up with one hand, he slapped on the COM throughout the ship, pulling tight at the controls and sending the Rabbit into a small dive.

"Willow! I'm needing you in the engine room for a bottomside burst; vent our thrusters until we have ten percent left. New guy and Vanora, uh, hold on to something."

He flipped the COM back off, sent the Rabbit into a dive, low and starboard, counter to the battlestar's movements. The bellies of the smaller ship and the massive Battlestar nearly kissed as they grazed each other.

"Fucking lunatics," Vincent snarled as he gripped the trembling controls, "jumping around like they're playing leap frog with an FTL system. Hurr durr, I'm a fuckface, I've sacrificed my common sense for this massive ship to hide my puny erection!"

The COM flipped back on as Vincent struggled to maintain distance between him and the bigger ship, fighting to keep the two seperated. "Willow, where is my goddamn thrust!"

Commander Octavio grabbed the nearest console as the Battlestar lurched and jerked abruptly to the side in an evasive maneuver. Alarms continued to blare. After several moments, the Commander and his CIC managed to get themselves together.

"Colonel Rose, Get me a marine strike team on board a raptor in one millicenton."

The Colonel nodded promptly. "Aye, sir."

Tychus then turned to the communications officer, a young female.

"Lieutenant Mira, send hostile challenge and ID, initiate hostile boarding protocol." He ordered, and the Officer responded.


"Attention unknown vessel, this is the Battlestar Columbia. By decree of the Emperor you're being detained. If you attempt to escape you will be destroyed without hesitation. Prepare to be boarded and searched, compliance is requested."

While the message was being played, a pair of Apollo class interceptors flew up alongside the Rabbit, and the Reverence began to broadcast a Planck field which would provide a localized FTL inhibition field.

"This is Apollo Tango One Niner One Seven, follow outlined course and prepare for boarding procedures. Any deviation will not be tolerated."

The two Apollos would then transmit landing coordinates to one of the Battlestar's Landing bays, providing escort should the ship comply.

Wandering the desolate landscapeIn the outskirts of the wasteland, an ominous cloud of black smoke can be seen from the rugged, rubble choked hills of this desolate landscape. Following the remains of what was once a heavily used road, one would have normally found a small settlement made entirely of scrap; shacks cheaply assembled using whatever materiel was around ranging from corrugated steel plates to peices of cars and concrete. However today, the inhabitants of this settlement met their untimely demise at the hands of a being that is neither man nor beast, but something in between.

This being had gained a bloody reputation amongst the poorer settlements in the wasteland. For this, he had many nicknames; "The Drifter" for he frequently traveled from place to place in a constant search for supplies. "The Impailer" for his brutal skewering of opponents on the weathered blade of his Retro Lancer Assault Rifle. Most notable of them all is "Rampage", for his relentless assaults on settlements. Rampage is the name that most call him, and he has become a sort of an urban legend.

Deep within the confines of what was once "town hall" and surrounded by burning huts, he sits in a wooden chair in the center of the dilapidated building. His chalky white skin bore many scars from the numerous times he's been stabbed and shot; but for each wound he received his flesh would only get tougher. Patches of thick, grey scales cover his entire back and shoulders. His right shoulder sports an enlarged, semi-spherical pauldron covered in bleached, chipping paint. The pauldron also had a sleeve which covered the entire arm and was supplemented by a large, roughly arrowhead shaped slab of metal strapped to both his lower arms. The slab sported large metal rivets on it's weathered surface. The sleeves ended in a glove sporting large metal claws on each of his 5 fingers where as the one on the other hand ended in a fingerless leather glove wrapped in a net-like fabric.

His left arm and most of his upper body are completely exposed, showing every inch of his impressively muscular physique from his pronounced pectoral and abdominal muscles to his bulging biceps flecked with grey scales. His head was mostly exposed, save for a weathered cloth bandanna around his mouth and neck. The only thing covering his chest are a series of rusty metal chains holding together tattered pieces of rudimentary body armor that only cover his upper chest. Below his neck is a large circular collar that goes around his neck and shoulders before ending in a dull point on his back. The back of the collar is studded by circular pegs in two single-file rows.

On his belt he has numerous pouches and ammo pockets which he uses to store small items like additional ammo, shotgun shells and such. His legs are protected by tightly wrapped and stitched leather bands which end above the knee, where the entire lower legs are armored in metal plating before ending in large, weathered boots. In his right hand he holds a large, revolver-like weapon of a somewhat primitive design. The handel bears a cross-like insignia amidst the leather bands wrapped around it. On his back he sports two additional weapons, a Rifle-like weapon with a bayonet and a double barreled shotgun with vertically stacked barrels.

Around him lay the eviscerated bodies of those who had once lead this settlement; their remains ranging from semi-intact bodies to tiny, blood stained meat chunks and bits of bone. He looked around him through the tiny eyeholes in his helmet's protective lenses with his pale orange eyes. The smoke and fire from outside was beginning to slowly engulf this building like a snake swallowing prey. Deciding it was time to move, Rampage slid his Boltok revolver into it's holster with his right hand and grabbed his Retro Lancer Assault Rifle off his back before lumbering out the door which fell off of it's hinges shortly thereafter.

As Rampage walks away from the settlement, the last few huts collapse in a flaming heap along with town hall.

"That would be the Captain," Vanora replied by answer to Willow's demands of what was going on.

Nearby Leon was picking himself up from the floor where he had taken cover behind some crates. "Well that was bracing," he remarked before tipping his head towards Willow. "Ma'am," he greeted as he holstered his gun.

Vanora arched a brow as Vincent's voice came through the speakers in the hangar bay.

"Best grab onto something," she parroted to Leon as she braced herself.

With a shudder and a groan the hangar bay quivered and shook as the Rabbit scraped up alongside the larger Reverence, scarcely avoiding a direct on collision.

Several large crates that had still been being loaded and weren't secured yet slid across the hangar bay and slammed into a wall.

A few moments passed as Vanora waited to see if they all died in a fiery inferno before she hit the comm button again.

"Sir?" she asked. "Might I respectfully request to know what the fuck is going on out there?"

Down in the hangar bay she remained woefully unaware of the situation outside, or the orders for their ship to be boarded.

Willow groaned, muttering something under her breath about suicide and impending doom before she turned around and disappeared back in the direction of the engine room. Only a few moments later she was back on the comms system, a rattling that sounded disturbingly like a washing machine with a brick in it in the background almost drowning her voice out as she spoke. "Venting now! For the record, if we all die in a fiery explosion because of the state of this engine, I am going to kill the lot of you. Again."

There was the sound of something snapping in the background, followed by Willow loudly cursing "Motherfu-" before she cut out, breaking off from communication, presumably to go and fix whatever had gone wrong. That or get a head start to the escape pods.