Thieves & Beggars IC

TURING

Adrenaline was high, the path chosen was definitely one of the most exhilarating ones, or so it had proven itself to Turing who tackled down one of the guards following the orders of the chief, a cowardly man who was better at commanding than action himself and unable to focus. First the girl, then the doors, it was an unorganised mess and Turing lived for the chaos. Used as he was to looting and with no eyes on him Turing was quick to pull the helmet off the guard, his other arm quick to take away the prod that they used to electrify them, the sting of a hit earlier, even if it was his mechanical arm, still fresh in memory and annoying.

With another haul Turing threw the guard in arms, now without helmet, against another pair of guard running at him, effectively toppling them over like pins in a game of bowling, before activating the prod in hands, feeling the electricity coursing through his mechanical arm, reacting with the technology that replaced the limb, before making a leap and diving over the floor once more with a stomach slide to get his way over to his partners in crime, too fast and too unexpected for the guards whose armour made them too heavy to dive after effectively, or to even buckle down.

Lashing out at a leg that stood in the way, slamming into the back of the knee, Turing finally joined the other two, the helmet he had stolen on his head, mismatching the rest of his attire, but protecting him from whatever it was in the air that had made the guard he had stolen from scream in agony.
 
Zen

While the trio continued to crawl through the ventilation shaft, Zen wondered how much longer it would take until they reached their destination. The space was uncomfortably cramped even for his small frame, and with each grate that they passed the dim light faded away into oblivion.

As Kel suddenly stopped in front of him, Zen whispered, “What's going on? Why’d we stop?” He asked, wishing he could peek around the other to see what was ahead. But in such a confined space, it was impossible.

Zen turned to look out of the ventilation grate that they had stopped in front of. It appeared it was some sort of shower room. His first instinct upon seeing the incredible mess was that he should tidy up, but he quickly shook that antiquated thought from his mind.

Instead, the moment that he noticed that one of the showers was occupated, Zen was instantly concerned. “Hey. Someone's in there.” He spoke as quietly as he could, though distress was evident in his voice.
 
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Kel Ellion
Interactions: @MiharuAya (Zen)




Into the ventilation shaft seemed the much saner option, gathering from the explosion and commotion from outside further into the vents Kel crawled. Thankfully, someone else from their group had enough sense to follow after her, though she didn't exactly appreciate the questioning barely a dozen meters into the cramped space.

"Sh. . ." she hissed back to Zen, squinting through the slats as they continued to crawl. "Your guess is as good as mine. I'm just hoping we're gonna see something useful."

But their trip quickly came to a dead-end stop, and while Kel was good - there was no way she was about to scale up smooth ventilation shaft metal without any sort of tools. Which left the grate to their right: a shower room from the looks of it.

Kel turned and put her finger to her lips so that Zen could see, and then shuffled aside so that he could push the grate free. Both of them slid free of the ventilation shaft, and Kel motioned for Zen to head for the door - keeping herself between the kid and the still running shower.
 
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Viktor Paxard
Nerve agent affected even the most determined mind; only a few in a hundred thousand had the genetic disposition to be able to shrug off its effects.

Viktor, regrettably, was not one of them.

It hit his eyes first. Like a million stinging Terran ants ramming stinger after stinger into the most sensitive corners of soft tissue, the pain lanced through his head. Immediately, his eyes began to water in vain effort to shove out the invading chemical, yet somehow, it only worsened the effect, giving, besides everything else, a sticking point for the airborne stuff to cling to his face. His chest, his lungs, gasped from the pain.

It was a betrayal of his own flesh, and he inhaled nearly a full half liter of diluted nerve agent. Molten metal materialized in his throat and dripped into his lungs, or so it seemed. His body tried to scream, but there was no air to carry it. Instead, he could only cough and retch.

Through his blurred vision, he could still see the door before him; an entrance to Sanctuary, it seemed to him. There was still ten yards to freedom. Only ten yards to cross before getting to the next stage. Could he cross it? His flesh pleaded with him to give up, to fall into fetal failure; his lungs did similar. But his mind- oh, his mind, the best part of him, the part that could instantly determine the exact measurements of ingredients to make exactly the size and force of explosion he wished, the part that could study, decipher, and build any ordinance he might need regardless of external stimulus- this, the nerve agent could assault but never conquer.

So Viktor shut out his body and focused on his thoughts. Move, Legs. Breath, Chest. Look, Eyes. Grasp, Hand.

And the door was open!
 
TITUS DAN


Naturally, Titus had gone into the vents.

To be entirely truthful, he hadn't followed suit immediately. That hypnotic flashing light door had entranced him moments longer while the others had conversed, debated, palavered -- whatever you wanted to call it. Something about the light had been reminiscent of the Incident. No one was screaming this time, but the taut, barely constrained civility that preceded mayhem was there. Would death follow, he had wondered? He was quite certain who, if any, would die first. The woman with the strange eyes...yes, she'd been appropriately rash. They'd shoot her first.

Oh. He digressed.

Sometime after that woman and that man had emerged from the vents, there'd been the soft rustle of movement as Dr. Dan had exited as well, skulking behind them like a tall, unwelcome specter. He looked around the locker room blankly. Clothes, including the guards' uniforms, were strewn about haphazardly, and one of its owners was apparently content to shower even as their coworkers were otherwise called to battle.

The woman. She was directing the other man forward. Titus stared at her a moment before turning left, his eyes glued to the clothes.

Without a word to the wiser, the less than good doctor pulled a uniformed top from the pile closest to him. He sized it up against his own body, and -- apparently satisfied -- pulled it up and over his prison jumper. The pants came next. Reptilian, his eyes shifted to the other two.

@MiharuAya @Luxii

 
Zen
@Kuno @Luxii

The moment that Kel shushed him, Zen’s mouth instantly snapped shut. Even though he wasn't required to listen to anyone's orders anymore, it still came as second nature to him. Perhaps he would have tried to fight this instinct, but while trying to escape from the prison, he was more than willing to let someone who appeared better experienced take the lead. That was the logical thing to do.

When they stopped in front of the grate, Zen nodded silently as the women instructed him to continue to remain quiet. Zen removed the grate slowly, carefully prying it free from its case and gently setting it aside. As he crawled out of the vent, he unconsciously held his breath, his eyes flickered toward the sound of the running shower as if expecting the person to jump out at any moment.

Zen slowly started making his way toward the door, placing his ear on the metal as he tried to listen for anyone who might be outside. Though, the sound of the shower made it difficult to hear.
 
Violence is the answer
A collab with: @Doctor Jax @Red Thunder

If in the moment, someone was able to think about it, they would be almost terrified how quickly the sleek modernity of the space station hanger had been stripped away and its occupants seemingly transported back thousands of years to more savage times. The air was filled with the muffled screams of those guards whose bones had been brutally rearranged by the blows of the escaped convicts. Even the members of the security team who had so far escaped physical contact with the prisoners were more often than not nearly bent double as they shuffled to face their foes.

For some, it was a weak constitution that brought them low, the sight of their injured friends having turned their stomachs and caused vile tendrils to drip from the bottoms of their helmets. For the rest, it was the discovery the neuro agents didn’t just work on the “bad guys”. The hazey, burning cloud of the Nuero agents, so eagerly fired, hung in the air, choking guards and escapees alike. Freshly recycled and so far uncontaminated air lapped at the backs of the three escapees. Through fast thinking and judicious use of violence they had positioned themselves between the doorway and the guards. Logic said the guards should just rush the trio, using their overwhelming numbers to snatch victory in the battle of the shuttle bay, but it was clear to see that the fall of the colleagues had everyone waiting for someone else to make the first move.

And Xandra was not about to waste time. The former cop immediately tracked to the door as she pulled her shirt collar over her nose, breathing shallowly to avoid the neuro agent floating in the air. She luckily did not have to worry about it stinging her eyes, and so her vision was clear as she threw open the door out of the shuttle bay.

“We need signs to the garbage facilities,” Xandra said. “That’s where our ‘friend’ has a ship, yeah?”

She quickly scanned the surroundings, searching for indication where to go next.

Viktor had collapsed onto his knees just within the doorway, coughing and praying desperately that his stomach did not take quick exit through his throat. His body has cooperated only just long enough, and his constitution was quickly surrendering to the gas' effects. Somewhere in his mind, he registered the instructions: garbage. faculty. Their exit. Their freedom.

His face a mess of inflammation, bile, and nasal drippings, Viktor lifted a weak hand.

"The. C-conveyors." Following his finger, one might see a plasteel framing protecting a conveyor belt filled with obvious detritus. It was making a slow, steady journey toward its destination.

Fairly speaking, Turing had forgotten about their actual destination, which happened often with him. Mind occupied until the goal was mentioned again. The mask he had stolen barely worked and his eyes watered as he followed the direction into which Victor pointed. The quickest way down to their destination, but also with too little time as behind the guards were already making their way to the door.

Climbing onto the belt Turing pulls off the mask, useless as it was, regretting the waft of stench he is immediately met with before throwing it into the direction of the door, aiming just a little higher and hoping to hit the flicker of light he knows is reading the pressure of the room. With a sweep of his leg he kicks out more trash off the conveyor belt, hoping to barrage whatever guard that managed to follow with trash, before reaching down with his hand to aim for the sensor again, reaching for something slimy and tin-like, but heavy enough to do the trick if not cover whatever it hit with whatever it was.

“Got any bombs left?” Turing asks, his eyes still watering from the neuro agents as he aims guided by instinct and experience alone.

“Too close to be using a grenade,” Xandra said, having hopped aboard the conveyor with Viktor in tow — as a shield or as a compatriot, it was hard to tell. Her nose crinkled at the smell, but that was her only complaint.

Viktor was barely cognizant of his handling; he was struggling to maintain his focus against the gas' effects. Aggressively, he scrubbed his thin shirt against his facial misfortune, pleading with his body to stop this rebellion against him. By reflex, as Turing made his suggestion, Vik felt a spike of focus again.

"No!" He felt a bitter resentment at the woman- what was her name? that had prevented his owning both devices; his frustration came out with his reply unwillingly. A deep breath, as well as could be managed in his state, and he composed himself. "No, I only had- the one. That- woman took the other.

"So. Now what? Wait for the conveyor to carry us? Or crawl through the garbage?"

Xandra considered this as she watched men congregate at the door leading out. She had started to cotton onto Turing’s fascination, the pressure diaphragm that would keep the section shut. She kicked through the trash to find a suitable piece of rubbish, coming up with a servo motor.

The insets in her eyes came alive with a grid, and as her arm arched back, a golden arc appeared in her vision to help her trajectory, complete with a percentage of success. Finally, she seemed to hit that sweet spot in the wind-up, and she chucked the motor at the diaphragm, barely clipping it.

It was enough to make that section of station believe wholeheartedly every single thing beyond the door was about to be sucked into the void. Alarms rang in claxon disharmony, and Xandra nodded, pleased with herself.

“Definitely crawling, man. We don’t know how many of the beetle-boys are running around out here. Would have been nice if you had another grenade, but I guess them’s the breaks. Let’s just hope this thing doesn’t empty into a trash compactor,” Xandra stated, a laugh following that didn’t quite reach her face.
 
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Cleanliness is next to godliness

Collab with @Kuno, @Luxii, and @MiharuAya

Even their ear pressed right against the door of the changing room it was hard for Zen to make out what was going on beyond. Muffled shouts were mixed in with the everyday hum of the station, the sound of falling water from the shower and the slight rustling of fabric as Titus wriggled their way into stolen clothes. It certainly didn’t seem though that there was anyone on the other side of the do-

“Hey, you out there, do me a solid and toss me my shampoo will ya.”

A hand reached out blindly through the curtain that screened off the shower cubicle, fingers groping blindly through the air mere millimeters from Kel’s hips.

“Don’t see why the boss man had to call us all in. This was meant to be my night off. My girl is coming up on a shuttle from Mars tomorrow. Hopefully the old man get wise soon and I can get home and straighten things up before me and her trash the place, ya know.”

There was a short little chuckle from inside the cubicle before the reaching hand waved around with a hint of frustration.

“Come on man, don’t leave me hanging. Top row, second locker from the right, you must be able to see it right.”

Kel met eyes with the others and placed a finger to her lips, retrieving the bottle of shampoo from that second locker on the right. Still not saying a word, she held out the bottle and eased it forward until the man’s grasping fingers closed around it.

“Thanks my man.”

The hand holding the bottle disappeared and shortly afterwards, the bubbly reverberating noise of its contents be emptied was briefly audible over the sound of the shower.

“You know what the worst thing is, when we clock off, those stupid civilian security dumbasses are still gonna be running the checkpoints. I took the maintenance tunnels just to avoid them earlier. Cost me an extra fifteen minutes to get here from my pod but those guys are the fucking worst ya know.”

"Absolutely," came the calm reply that the showering man was expecting. Titus had completely donned the uniform of the patrol guards, and though it wore him more than he wore it, he now resembled one of their former captors.

A shadow passed over the curtain. The doctor poised himself behind the silhouette of the showering man, sizing him up. He must have been, hm…just shy of six feet tall.

Right. A good blow to the head ought to do it.

Titus raised his fist above the man's blurred outline.

Zen frantically waved his hands in the air as he tried to get their attention. He then pointed towards the door, trying to signal to the others that they should just leave while the man was distracted.

The android didn't understand the need to knock the guard out, it was obvious he wasn’t interested in suiting up to help his comrades. Wouldn't it just be safer to leave unnoticed? Or, was this just an example of humans' propensity for violence?

The next sound that filled the room was the thump of a button being driven home and the slow cessation in the cascade of water from behind the curtain.

The next sound after that was the hard whump of the full force Titus' clasped fists above the back of showering man's head. From the inside of the cubicle a shocked gasp was quickly followed by a dull hollow thump and then silence. After a few moments the water visible in the gap at the bottom of the curtain started to be stained with wispy red trails.

Titus studied it. He couldn't help it; there lay his life's work, bloodied and untreated in a dour space station shower. And yet he could not bring himself to lift a finger.

He looked away, and soon his body went away too, passing by Kel and Zen out the locker door with nary a sound until a deafening klaxon began to blare through the station. Ahead of the doctor, the door that lead to the holding cells and thus to the shuttlebay was suddenly covered with pale blue shimmer as it air lock field generator reacted to the stations emergency signals.

When Zen eventually caught up with Titus, after having been stunned by the bloodied guard for a moment, he peeked around the man. “What is that blue stuff?” He questioned, while his face twisted in confusion. Zen took a few hesitant steps forward, reaching out a hand to touch the shimmer, unsure if it was dangerous.

“It’s so we don’t get sucked out into space,” Kel said, coming up behind the other two and assessing the situation outside of the locker room. “It’s a hull breach somewhere. . . and I’ll bet that it has everything to do with our jailbreaker. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

"Naturally."

Titus had already veered left, his steps quickening in urgency after the sudden roadblock. The hall was long; thus the opportunities for further escape routes plentiful still. A single deterrent did not mark the end of their adventure.

There. Another door awaited further down, but this one was locked. Titus peered at the blinking security scanner before fumbling at his pockets. Something hard and plastic emerged; he glanced over the guard's keycard with the barest interest before swiping it over the light, watching it go from red to green. He shoved through at once.
 
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Location: Deimos Station Waste Processing Centre

Even for someone who had spent most of his life amongst the stars, Captain Street had to admit the view from the port holes in this station's waste processing center was a mighty fine one. The red bulk of mars covered a third of what was visible beyond the moon's horizon, the rest was left for the majestic void of space. It was the kind of view he always promised himself he would paint one day; after he had learnt to paint, that was. For now, just staring as, he waited would have to do. Stretching his legs out from the overturned barrel he was sitting on, the captain yawned and then took off the eye patch that covered his left eye, his free hand ruffling the hair underneath the strap.

"You got any news for me little bird. I kinda thought that they would have been here by now. I wanna turn and burn before my beard goes gray."

"What color is it before you dye it then?"

"I don't"

"You do, but anyway you don't need to worry, they are going to be with you soon, the first few are basically on top of you.

"At last. Be ready for my signal."

"Bite me."

The captain put the heels of both hands over his eyes.

"You know just once you could…"

A burst of static filled the communicator's speaker, and the line went dead.

"Captain used to mean something I swear."

If he had had an audience, Alex would have looked around at them as if to ask, it definitely did right? As he didn't he simply got up, repositioned the eye patch and moved towards the wide double doorway that connected this waste centre to the rest of the station. From somewhere above the captain, in the mess of pipework and ducting that were really the arteries of any station like this, came a series of heavy thuds as something large dropped onto the final collection belt of the waste system. As he peered through the small window in the door, looking for his soon to be crew, Alex couldn't help but wonder what the hell people on this station had to throw away that could be that big.



It was strange to see to have eyes that he was used to seeing in lifeless photographs staring back at him, twitching with his every move. Alexander could feel a weight of expectation in the stares of the escapees before him; a familiar feeling but one that he hadn't felt in a while.

"Well I'm glad to see you made it, at last."

Blue light from the airlock barrier behind him illuminated his new crew members faces. At least three of them were almost certainly going to have several delightful new bruises in the morning. The dumpster they had landed in might have had a scattering of garbage in, but a fifteen foot fall was a fifteen foot fall. Artificial gravity was a bitch.

"I know you probably have a question or five for me, but they will just have to wait till we are aboard my ship. You've come so far, we can't afford to risk all that now by standing around for a chat. As for getting to my ship there is good news and less good news."

Calloused fingers ran through the captain's almost fluffy brown hair. He wasn't sure how what he was about to say would go down.

"The good news is my ship is nearby. Obviously it can't dock with the station, or it will get tagged, but it can scoop us up after a short space walk. The bad news is I was unfortunately let down by a man vis-á-vis EV suits. To be blunt, I don't have any. My engineer has come up with a work around, though."

Pace back and forth now, Alex's eye flicked from recruit to recruit as he tried to remember who he should keep his eyes on in case they had a regrettable reaction to what he was about to tell him. The almost cyborg woman seemed like a contender, as too were the other two she had arrived with. Still there was the red-head with the cybernetic arm. Their file had contained the word volatile quite a few times.

"A few of you are familiar with the dumpster behind you already."

The captain pointed to the dumpster that had been Victor, Turing and Xandra's point of arrival.

"Senate regulations say that all waste transportation vessels must be able to be sealed airtight because of biohazards or something like that. So you lot are gonna jump in and I'm going to weld down the lid and then guide you all safely to my ship. My engineer said she saw the idea described in some old earth text, something about some men with a growth disorder and a thief escaping capture but that doesn't really matter. She says it'll work and even lent me her best welding torch."

Just as the captain started to fumble in a bag for the borrowed tool, a pulsating high pitch screech started to ring though the room and the lights overhead began flashing red.

"Or you are welcome to stay here and try your luck with the authorities."

A cat-like smile spread across the captain's face.

"I'm sure they will be fair, even tempered and law abiding."

Surprise flash round!! You have one week if you wish to object to react to the captain's plan, say anything else or decide to surrender to the rozzers.
 
Xandra
To be quite frank, the idea was ludicrous. Disgusting, in that it was figuratively and literally trash. Harebrained, in that it revolved around a singular piece of information that was to keep them from suffocating in the vacuum of space in a trash bin. Risky, in that it she was currently getting to possibly pick a future, smelly coffin.

Xandra gave a long, low hiss of air as she considered her options.

She could end up in prison on one of the several moons of Jupiter, where she would more than likely contend with the entirety of the prison population solo, given her previous occupation, with limited options for exploiting the foibles of others to make her way back to civilization.

Or she could take a short ride in a trash heap onto a ship, or suffocate in garbage with however smelly other convicts wanted to tag along.

She sucked her teeth and groaned, “Sounds……… fun. Which one are you welding shut?”
 
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Zen

The idea wasn't something that Zen was particularly thrilled to partake in. But, the man was right. He had already gone this far, it would be a waste if he were to surrender now. Not after what they had to do to get there.

As he gazed passed the old man, he could see his freedom just on the other side of the porthole. He was so close, only a single sheet of metal separated him from it. "I-...I'm in." He announced, his lips forming a tight line as he resigned himself to his face. He just hoped that this ill-prepared Captain knew what he was doing.

Zen walked around the room to inspect the transportation vessels, realizing the odor that they would be welded in with would be intense. This was probably the first time that he wished he didn't have a sense of smell.
 
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Sierra Moreno

For the first time since they brought her in with the others, Sierra's face gave away a reaction when the crazy in her shy former cellmate poured out unexpectedly soon. Rather than following out before the ordeal was completed, she sat on the bench, knee supporting the arm that extended into a slow-burning cigarette. She continued to smoke without haste while the thumping sounded.

One.
Two.
Three.
Effective.

Olive-green eyes protruded from the sea of smudged black mixed with blood that collected under her arcade. Smoke in her lungs remained trapped as she focused on the events. First degree without batting an eye. Seemingly just for the sake of it. She was unsurprised, although her amusement seeped through a smokey grin when she caught the old man leaving the crime scene.

"Shit," came out as a prolonged groan as she eyed the man with a chuckle that echoed against the tiles covering the space.

A flick of fingers later, what remained of a lit cigarette flew across the room with great precision, disappearing somewhere between shower curtains where it - she imagined vividly - mixed with water and blood before it would make its way down the drain. By the time she made herself rise again, her side still sore from a friendly encounter with the authorities, the group had moved forward after the mad one. She followed behind.

Options in the deep space were limited enough, but even more so, she was intrigued by the turn that her temporary residence on the station took. It wasn't ideal, but it was good enough to work with. Even with the strange rendezvous choice of their self-proclaimed savior, her conviction didn't falter. There was plenty of time to complain about the organization and a waste of time once she stepped off that travesty of a vessel.

The man talked and talked some more, making her feel like she was right back in the office, listening to case details she didn't give a shit about. A quick instruction would have had the same effect, if not better, than the theatrics that continued once the alarm blared across the waste disposal.

Making deductive reasoning for living marked the most significant part of her early life. Two and two equaled an acceptable risk, so while displeased groans filled the room, Sierra nodded at the order. Regardless of the man's clumsy image, his actions so far made for a fair assumption that he miraculously knew what to do. After all, what other choice did any of them have? Being ready to break into a place like that for a meager chance of bailing out and convincing a bunch of convicts proved to be working so far. To put them through a life-threatening risk without plan B now that all his resources were at stake was a foolish thought. Whether it was a fair assumption or she suddenly became the worst judge of character would be evident soon enough.

"I call shotgun," Sierra spoke up, seemingly indifferent.
 
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Viktor Paxard​

Viktor was still rubbing his bruised arms- and his bruised ego. Of course there had been a fall into a waste container; any unaccounted for detritus in space was a significant hazard to anything you wished to have retain its integrity, and a marble-sized bit of plastic would tear a hole in a station the size of a freighter, if there was sufficient speed involved. Mister Newton's laws would be the death of everyone aboard.

Damn that fall. He stretched, trying to ease the pain. And trying to figure out what was going on. Given the whirring of machinery and the general odor, they had clearly arrived at the end of their line. And given that overly relaxed voice, they clearly had a familiar greeter.

The tears in Vik's eyes were not the tears of joy at the prospect of being free, nor was the twitching his body was doing an outward sign of inward excitement; the effects of the gas were slow to wear away. Yet he found himself relieved, for all the promise of an awkward and noxious trip.

"Fine," he said, characteristically bland. Without further word, he turned back to the dumpster in question and began clearing it of its contents.
 
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Location: Demios Station Waste Processing Center

Ozone filled the Captain’s nose as the arcs of electricity from the welding gun dispersed into the artificial ether. There had been more objection and complaining from his new crew than he had hoped for, but far far less than he had expected. A couple of them had been positively enthusiastic about the unusual vehicle of their salvation. Perhaps they were aware of what the future held for them if they stayed in grasp of the authorities. That kind of knowledge would certainly make taking a space walk in an oversized trash can look like an inviting option.

Heavy boots banged against the side of the dumpster.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We shall be taking flight shortly, so I would ask that you make yourselves familiar with your nearest emerge-”

A loud, violent hammering from behind him wiped the smirk from Alexander’s face. Twisting around he saw a face, red with anger, screaming silently at him through the porthole in the heavy door that connected the waste plant with the rest of the station. A finger reached for the communicator in his ear.

“I hope you had the engines running because I think I have overstayed my welcome.”

”You busted?”

“I will be if we don’t leave now.”

”Starting the depressurizing procedure now.”

Blaring Claxons and flashing lights suddenly filled the room, suddenly silencing the hammering at the door. Alex sprinted over to where he had left his helmet and pulled it over his head while at the same time the seals of the light weight void suit cinched tight. The captain had just enough time to get comfortable and raise a single fingered salute to the person at the doorway before the slow descent of a blast shutter put at least half an hour of industrious plasma cutting between them and the escaping convicts.

Feeling calmer, Alex walked back to his encapsulated crew and took up position behind the dumpster, pausing only to clear a bit of debris that had fallen into what would be his path in a few moments.

“If you want to take a deep breath, you know just in case, I’d do it now.”

The sound of the captain's voice, already made tinny by the cheap speakers in his helmet, was also hushed by the rapidly lowering air pressure.

“And remember, if you do die, it is better to die free.”

With that Alex braced himself against the dumpster like an athlete waiting for the starting gun.



Luna dust billowed up as the last remaining scraps of atmosphere poured out of the side of the habitat. Barely a moment later the rudimentary spacecraft carrying those not fortunate enough to have more advanced protections from the ravages of the endless void emerged, soaring free of the artificial gravity of the structure that it no longer belonged to. Trailing behind, Alexander Street experienced a strange moment of being stretched between the gravity of the station and the momentum of the dumpster before the former let him slip from its grasp and the latter carried him further into the dark, nothing beyond. For several long seconds the strange pairing seemed to float aimlessly, burning through precious oxygen and then in a flash of plas-steel, quartz glass and thruster flame, both were gone.



Location: ??????

Sparks died away and for a few seconds, inside the dumpster, darkness reigned supreme once more before the lid was lifted away and dull white light poured in. A second later the captain’s head appeared over the edge of the vessel, a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Sorry about the rough landing folks, you just can’t get the staff these days.”

Somewhere out of sight there was a heavy metallic bang and the captain’s cat-like grin conspired to spread even further across his face.

“Now I have a mighty powerful suspicion that some of you are wondering who the fuck I am and why the fuck you are all here. Fairs fair, I owe you some answer so climb on out of this trash can and I’ll give em to ya.”

Taking a seat on a crate, the captain waited as the escapee clambered out of the vessel that had carried them to freedom. He felt more at ease than he had back in the waste processing plant; handing a person their freedom was a hell of an opening gambit.

“The name is Alexander Street, and this fine vessel is my ship, The Poisoned Fortune, make ya selves at home.”

The captain's arms extended out towards a room full of random scattered machine parts, grease smears, hanging cables and a dumpster. Even to the inexperienced eye, scrap yards had looked more space worthy than the surroundings the escapees found themselves in.

“Now as for the reason I had all of you diverted to that charming little shit hole, well I need a crew for a score and your… resumés impressed me. Some of you are probably smart enough to be wondering why I need to bust folk out of prison to get a crew, and you have a point. Well the score I want to take, most folk out there think its just a fantasy, they’re wrong, and everyone else thinks it is suicide. They might have a point.”

Alexander paused to take stock of his audience before he showed them his cards. Somewhere behind them he caught a flicker of movement in the gloom.

“See I have it on good authority that out in the dark space beyond Pluto a few corps have banded together, built themselves a nice little space station and are using all that empty space to try and build themselves the holy grail.”

Once again there was a pause, though this one was purely for dramatic effect. Alexander was grinning like a cat as he went to open his mouth once again.

“For fucks sake, If you wont get to the point I will.”

The captain shut his mouth as a voice rang out from behind the escapees. The voice belonged to a woman, tall and skinny in stature with sharp features and hair orange like a flame, stepping out from between the piles of debris that litter the room they were all in.

“They’re building a ship that can just to FTL without a gate. If we can get them, the plans alone would sell for enough to buy Mars.”

“And if we can get the ship,” Alexander interjected, “we will be able to paint our name in the stars and die old and sitting on a pile of treasure and stories. Ladies and gentlemen, please meet my second in command and mechanic, Gudren.”

The woman snorted before turning her back to the strange assortment of misfits and moving towards a ladder.

“Don’t let this asshole sell you a dream. This idea will likely get us killed, but it might just make us rich. It’s gonna take us a week to burn to the Victus gate, so you have then to decide if you’re in or out. Till then, dont fuck with my ship and dont go in my room if you like your head attached to your neck.”

The Captain, looking somewhat deflated, was silent until the thumping of heavy boots had died away.

“She can be quite nice once you get to know her. What she said is right though, you’ve got a week to decide if you want in. If not we can drop you off at some out of the way place for you to make your own way as a highly wanted escaped criminal. Until then there’s food in the galley, water in the washrooms and medical supplies in the infirmary. Please make yourselves at home. My crew are my family. If you need me, come find me. I alway have time for family.

Standing up, the eye-patch wearing man dusted himself and headed for the ladder his colleague had so recently used, his hands reaching for the rungs before another thought occurred to him.

“Really dont try to go in her room, its a fucking death trap in there.”

With that the captain of the Poisoned Fortune climbed out of sight.

No real objective here. This is a chance for lets say some character stuff. Feel free to seek out the captain and ask him questions, or Gudren if you are feeling brave. Or have a party in the Galley.