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Ghost Light; in the beginning
Topic Started: Oct 1 2008, 03:50 AM (1,834 Views)
~Shin-Ra~
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The Other Guy
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"It was the Dawn of the new Federation age, one and a half years since the destruction of Phaaze and the end to the Leviathan threat.
It is an age of change, with both Federation military forces and hunters making a widespread search for surviving Space Pirate factions which are still a threat to civilized worlds.
At the heart of this manhunt is the station, Eplosion-XII one of the largest artificial constructs in the Federation.

It's a port of call, home away from home for hunters, hustlers, entrepreneurs and wanderers. Humans and aliens enotombed within two million, five hundred thousand tons of spinning metal .. all alone in the night."


Illuminated against the vast red nebula many millions of miles away, the station of Eplosion-XII sat. It had once been one of the major space stations of the quickly expanding Federation, built upon a major crossroad for the now long abandoned space lanes.

Many fractures and breaches were visible in the station’s outer hull and only a few sectors of the station seemed to still have working power, in short to anyone looking it would appear that the station was very close to death.

Constantly arriving and departing were dozens of ships from small long range shuttles to super freighters, mostly containing crews and individuals who wished to avoid some of the more populous and better known ports of refuge.

“So, remind me why we’re doing this again?”

Shaken from his thoughts Brand looked away from the visual link to one of the incoming ships and over to the other guard who was on operating duty “hm?”

The other guard shrugged, clearly a new recruit posed on the station by some unlucky occourance “it simply seems to me that there’s little reason for us to actually be here, even if we could spot a fight breaking out in that swarm they’d be better trained and better armed than us. Hell, I’d be amazed if these pop guns didn’t jam when we tried to fire them” he held up the outdated pulse carbine next to him which looked as if it was being held together with a prayer. Like almost everything else on the station.

Both he and Brand had been stationed on the ‘watchtower’ (an elevated monitoring platform) of the station’s one remaining major docking bay. Below them Masses of shipmen, bounty hunters, ne’er-do-wells and others alike attempted to force their way through crowds towards their destinations.

“Look, we sit here, we wait until someone turns up with a bounty and then they leave. The best we have to do most of the time is…”
Brand trailed off and he hit the flickering readout display with one fist but the light he was looking at continued to flash yellow. “Go contact the captain, there’s a minor power surge in one of the abandoned sectors. It’s probably a few Lurkers trying to drain more power into the slums but see if he can send a team down there to check it out.”

The second guard quickly left and Brand turned his attention back to watching the various stalls, shops, makeshift bars, and ships scattered across the docking bay.

((I’m trying to leave this as open as I can while setting the scene, so feel free to experiment with your opening posts.))
Edited by Shin-Ra, Oct 1 2008, 12:04 PM.
"You can live forever or die trying."
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~Scout~
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Artificial
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The ZMV Mudskipper and its accompanying escorts, a wing of defense ships and a triplet of gunships, silently glided through the inky blackness of space toward Eplosion XII. Two small freighters also flew, well within the protective sphere of the Zaan military vessels.

A year ago, this fleet would have been only a laughable attempt at any sort of organized military. However, the Zaan had advanced significantly in trade and technology over that year, and they had acquired shield technology, better missiles, and a complete military disciplinary training course, which had rendered most, if not all, Zaan capable of fighting without losing their proverbial heads.

However, if there was one crucial thing that the Zaan lacked, it was the ability to jump. So the carrier ship behind them that had been hired to jump them quickly disappeared, leaving the fleet to itself, with ten thousand kilometers to go before they reached their destination.

Aana Ryys Kan, the captain of one of the two freighters, was distressed. He had never delved into such hostile space as this, and though his confidence in the ZMV Mudskipper was great, his general skittishness and fear of everything bigger than him overrode this. So, as he let his freighter fly on autopilot in formation with the Zaan warship, he trembled inside the watery bowels of his freighter’s cockpit.

“Ryys.”

The text flashed across the screen of Ryys’s computer. Zaan script is known for its elegance, but Zaan do not possess a spoken language. So the computer sent out a small ping instead, which Ryys immediately noticed. He promptly checked his message.

“What is it?”

“Stop trembling.”

“…How did you know I was trembling, Cali?”

“Intuition.” Ryys’s antenna twitched in annoyance. “You always tremble.”

“I so do not!”

“Yes, you do.”

Ryys typed furiously. “Just leave me alone, Cali.”

“Fine.”

Ryys curled up into a small ball and glanced at the distance to the station. Thirty-five hundred kilometers.

Master Aana Rel Olan was not trembling. He was quiet excited, in fact. This was his first venture into hostile space such as this, and it was a very thrilling emotion. As he glanced around the bridge, however, he noted that he was one of the few Zaan that felt that way. He did not care. He was about to do something important, even if it was as small as being the first Zaan ship master to escort freighters filled with medical supplies and food to a station well beyond the influence of Gathay.

At one thousand klicks, Rel broadcasted a wave to the station. “Station Eplosion XII, this is the ZMV Mudskipper. Our noble ship, seven fighters, three gunships and two freighters are requesting permission to loiter in the general area of the station, and to dock with the station itself, if you would very kindly please grant our request.”

Rel gleamed with pride. He had been composing the message for the duration of the journey on the carrier, and he wanted the Zaan to look as presentable and fashionable as possible when they arrived at Eplosion XII.

Aana Cali Ren was not trembling, but he was still afraid.
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~Qualanx~
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A tall, spindly figure stood motionless at the fringe of most of the activity in the docking bay, arms crossed, hands on shoulders, in the traditional position of Esvogg meditation.

His name was Hukkal Okim. He had been sent here on a mission to take out a minor crime boss that was supposedly lurking somewhere on this station, rumoured to be of Space Pirate ancestry, making this target all the more important.

What could be described as eyes flicked open with an almost machinelike speed, and four red-orange pupil-less slits gazed upon the scene. Of course, the Esvogg's four eyes were hidden behind a helmet's mask. A nearly detailless mask it was, save for the ornamental (red-orange) lights dotting the sides of the abdomen, neck and legs. Slight lines could be noticed by one if they caught a look at the right angle, the light reflecting off of most of the high-gloss armor except for the hairline depressions that likely seperated each chunk of armor.

After at least half an hour of total stillness, the Esvogg started to lumber forward on his stilt-like feet, making a hollow clicking noise almost inaudible over the grunting, shouting and thumping of everything else in the docking bay.

With truly alien grace Hukkal crossed the docking bay, and entered one of the main hubs. It would likely take some wandering to get into an abandoned zone, but that's likely where his Hunter's liscence would come in.

"You there... Yeah... You... Tall shiny dude... You are a dude... Right...?" A raspy voice called out. Likely one of the lowlifes who wandered places like these, attempting to sell some sort of cheap knockoff product or superpowerful illegal hallucinogens and the like.

"Did you hear me...?"

Hukkal did not respond.

"Do you understand Galactic Common...?"

Hukkal turned slowly.

"Thats more like it... Would you care to purchase... Ammunition? Weaponry?"

Hukkal said nothing.

"I've got goods of the highest quality..."

Clearly the mugger was desperate. Hukkal stalked over, back arched slightly, an ominous aura about him.

"Pure depleted Uranium..."

Hukkal straightened up a little. "I do not require your petty rocks." A strange, muffled thumping noise, part of what could be called an accent, made itself known whenever Hukkal pronounced a vowel. His voice was a tired hiss, like something played on an old phonograph record one too many times, mostly because of his helmet. Without the helmet, his voice only sounded metallic.

The Esvogg walked away, and heard the clattering of a radiation-proofed metal box clattering to the ground, followed by a muffled thud and a bizzare chuckle. Someone must've taken out the Beggar. Good riddance.

The Esvogg ambled over towards one of the seedier-looking bars, completely devoid of patrons. There he proceeded to meditate.

(OOC: I need to draw this character. He looks absolutely bizzare and is hard to describe. Also I will be posting his bio shortly. I'm tweaking his history at the moment, but other than that everything's done.)
Takeoff.
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Clockwork Master

Tarsin had become no stranger to the technology of the federation, or the workings of their society. He had been given a fair description of what it would be like, and not all of it was completely different from his society. At first sight, he thought it was, but as time went by he did see similarity.

One similarity he found to be Eplosion-XII. It was a place that now seemed to be somewhat ignored by the federation, particularly considering how rundown it is now. From where he came from, he had been born in the underground cities, a place that, over time, had become more and more ignored by the surface. The place had definitely suffered it own fair share of problems, problems that could have been solved or at least lightened by help from the surface; and it seemed, at a time, that the place had forgotten about them.

However, in comparison with this station, his original home looked like a gleaming city. While he found it a bit pitiful that people actually used this place, he did not attempt to question it too much. There could be many answers as to why they did, and did not decide to find out what they were. Some of them, in fact, seemed quite obvious to him.

It was just odd to him that some would choose a place like this to live in.

Thankfully, he also did not intend to stay here long. He had been called up for repairs, although by the looks of it, he doubted he could fix up the entire station. Maybe a few critical problems here and there, but to be honest, the place either had to given a major overhaul, or just simply replaced.

Waltzing out of his customized ship (Simply built like the way it was for fun) with his tools, he went to the people that would tell him what they wanted him to do. As he did, he was actually quite thankful that nobody bore much attention to him, since many people were used to so many different xenos. Back at his home, when he first bore his new implants, he got a lot of eyes looking at him.

Here, nobody seemed to care about you.

(OOC: Shin-ra, you can RP who ever Tarsin will meet that will tell him what he has to fix if you want.)
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~The Boss~
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Native Son

Everything about Agent Donovan practically screamed "Fed."

From his department store suit, to his government-issue M6 tucked away in a shoulder holster, to his cheap loafers and dark shades, one look at him and it was obvious that he was a G-Man.

He had been asked to ride along as an escort aboard the GFS Tacoma, a patrol ship transporting a prisoner to Epsilon XII. This was normally a routine activity, shuttling prisoners back and forth between various government facilities. This particular prisoner, however, was a special case. Which was why they needed an Agent from Section 6 to keep an eye on things.

Donovan sat in the cockpit with Captain Berkowitz, playing a friendly game of poker while the Tacoma sailed along on autopilot. They were still a few hours away from the station, so they had plenty of time to kill.

"So who is she?" Captain Berkowitz asked, tilting his head towards one of the monitors. A camera kept watch over the prisoner as she sat quietly in her cell. The Captain hadn't been told much about her, other than that she was a major security risk, hence the presence of Agent Donovan on board. And yet, she hadn't made so much as a peep this entire trip.

"I'm really not supposed to talk about it," Donovan replied. He cast a quick glance outside the cockpit, checking for other crewmen who might be milling about. He didn't see anyone down the hall, so he shut the door and leaned in closer to Berkowitz, speaking in hushed tones.

"Have you ever heard of the Grey Fox, Captain?"

Berkowitz sat up straighter at the mention of that name. "Jesus... are you serious?"

Donovan nodded. "Dead serious," he said. "That's what I've been told, at least."

The Captain looked at the monitor again. The prisoner, the Grey Fox, was lying on the bed in her cell, smoking a cigarette and looking exceedingly bored. She didn't look like the infamous interplanetary assassin she was supposed to be. She was pretty slim, maybe a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet, and with her torn jeans and old faded T-shirt, she looked more like a bass player in a grunge band.

"Her? Really?" Berkowitz asked, his initial shock turning to confusion.

"What were you expecting? A six-foot Amazon decked out in black leather with a killer rack?"

"Well... yeah."

"That's her whole game. You don't notice her." Donovan shuffled the deck and dealt a new hand. "A buddy of mine has been following her for a couple of years now. It's kind of a hobby for him. She feeds on her image, encourages it every chance she gets. People expect something like you expect, so they don't look twice at someone who seems so ordinary."

Berkowitz continued to watch the screen, musing on what the Agent had said. Everything he'd ever heard about the Grey Fox said that she was not only incredibly dangerous, but just about the slipperiest criminal in the entire galaxy. So why hadn't she attempted anything, if she was really as good as they said she was? She hadn't so much as complained about her accommodations.

It made him wonder just what she was up to.
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~Bloody Pom~
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Science Team has vapor for brains.
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There was more than one Pirate on Eplosion-XII, that was for sure. And the bar the Esvogg had wandered into wasn't completely empty, for a single other patron was seated in a darkened corner.

What had drawn the hardly loveable, easily despised rogue to the station was mystery. Maybe he had a thing for staying in run-down hulks of metal floating in space. Maybe it was because it was an easy source of pay, as someone always had some Pirates they needed dealing with. Maybe he was just crazy.

A little from each column.

T'kran was probably the greatest single threat to the Pirates, not counting Samus herself. He was one of them, he knew their tactics, he could even blend in with them convincingly if he needed to. In fact, since he actively hunted them down for sport, chances were he'd actually killed more Pirates than the Huntress.

Mismatched eyes watched the new arrival in the bar. It was rare sight to see the Pirate out of his armor, instead he was wearing what could only be described as human clothes, albeit of the largest size, as nothing else would fit. Even though he had his exoskeleton, he wasn't exactly comfortable with being his desciption of 'naked'.

Out in the docking bay, his ship held a silent vigil, the onboard AI recording everything it saw. Needless to say T'kran would probably chuckle a little at the uranium seller's unfortunate fate.
"A battle for supremacy against many foes is a battle of the best kind. There are few considerations, only those concerning where to place your next shot. It is war in its purest form." - Commander Karziel, Ultramarines 5th Company

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~Qualanx~
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The Ignored
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Hukkal opened his eyes and inspected the bar. The bartender must've been in the kitchen, and as far as he could tell, he was the only living thing (not counting the hundreds of thousands of various mites, mice and other small parasites wandering about) in the bar.

A garish neon sign, mostly red, emitted most of the light in the alcove, giving it a slightly evil tinge to it. Half the items sounded as if they were inedible. The barstools and counter were all angular, covered in bizzare, likely human motifs.

Hukkal's attention left the well-lit counter and drifted into one of the corners. It appeared to be the darker of the two. Something was there. Miniscule amounts of light must've been glinting off of something shiny. The kind of glint that comes from eyes. Not cat's eyes, sentient eyes. The kind of glint that occured when an ambient light (such as that of the sign) shone on a figure.

Hukkal locked his eyes on the darkness, and drew out what appeared to be a shiny, black magnum on a bad acid trip.

He pointed the gun at the corner and froze. "If anything actually resides in the corner I see, I demand that it shows itself, lest it be riddled with holes..."

A slight tinge of paranoia wove itself into his voice, the vowel-thuds slightly deeper.
Takeoff.
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~DarkKnightCuron~
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Starfeather
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This was really the only place he stayed for long. The only place he really slept at as often as he slept in his ship. While he did not call it home, for a home he did not have, but he acted like it. The avian figure, his dirty-gold feathers shining in the dimly-lit station underneath his large trench coat and other civilian dress and gear, continued to walk down the lane. Z'Gato's beak was fixed in the closest thing for a scowl that a Chozo could accomplish, which was typical for him, and recognized by those he knew or knew him. While he counted none of them as friends, they were at least associates. One such associate was the owner of the bar he now walked into, a man that, when payed enough, managed to have his bar closed for the general populace with the exception of a few characters when needed. There were times when Z'Gato had needed a quiet place to discuss business, especially in his field of work as a bounty hunter, but today, he just needed a stiff drink.

As the Chozo walked into the bar, he didn't need to see the Esvogg to know he was there. Z'Gato could already smell the creature from the door, a scent he recognized only from his brief periods of exposure to them. That, he was the only other creature in the bar. So much the better then, Z'Gato noted, since he wasn't in the mood for conversation. Still, he loosened the pistol on his hip before taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar from the Esvogg, waiting patiently for the bartender to emerge.
Marching to the Black Gates...
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~Bloody Pom~
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Science Team has vapor for brains.
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T'kran blinked. Someone was little xenophobic, then. "Hey, hey, put the gun down. I was here first, and I'm just enjoying a drink. Besides... you really think that little popgun would do anything to me?"

There was sound not unlike two sheets of metal grating together, and when the Pirate brought himself out of the shadows, he was wearing an armorsuit that definetely hadn't been there before. "Put the gun down, unless you really want to shoot me. Because if you do, I'll gladly start a fight." He REALLY wasn't in the mood right now, he had better things to do than put up with trigger-happy xenos.

He was distracted by the new arrival in the bar, and a smirk crossed his exposed face. "Well now... weren't you guys wiped from the face of the galaxy?" was the query directed at the Chozo, although he knew who this one was by a rough description of him he'd heard when he was in the Legion. A Chozo that betrayed his own people and helped the Pirates wipe them out.

His kind of guy.

Shrugging, he shuffled back into the corner and continued drinking, his arm cannon resting on the table, pointing in the Esvogg's direction in case he turned hostile. He had no problems with randomly killing people without a better reason than that they picked a fight.
"A battle for supremacy against many foes is a battle of the best kind. There are few considerations, only those concerning where to place your next shot. It is war in its purest form." - Commander Karziel, Ultramarines 5th Company

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~Qualanx~
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The Ignored
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"Hey, hey, put the gun down. I was here first, and I'm just enjoying a drink. Besides... you really think that little popgun would do anything to me?"

Hukkal lowered his gun when he heard the voice. It didn't sound entirely threatening, but it didn't sound serene and heavenly either. At "popgun" Hukkal took slight offense, the shoulder-mounted device of his clicking out of it's mount and revealing itself slightly.

A fully armored Pirate hefted itself out of the shadows just after a loud, ugly noise. "Put the gun down, unless you really want to shoot me. Because if you do, I'll gladly start a fight."

"Sincerest of apologies. Events in my past may have affected my psyche in unfavorable ways..." Hukkal rasped, the vowel-thuds echoing a little in the confined space.

He put the gun down and replaced it at it's holster, where it magnetically clicked into place and practically became another chunk of his armor. He turned around and saw yet another new creature, a Chozo.

An ugly one, no less.

It was sitting at the other side of the bar, away from him. Not that he could blame the guy; who would go out of their way to sit next to something that looked like it wandered out of a night terror?

Hukkal sat back down and inspected the neon sign with renewed interest, attempting to see if there were any definite dangers to it.
Takeoff.
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