The Eyes of Sophiturn

[Apples]

((Figured I should try to at least make sure there's one roleplay up for interested people to join during the launch. ^^))



As far as space stations go, the Kelarius Sphere was a mechanical wonder. The engines were quiet, the halls well lit, every circuit had at least three backups, the exterior shell was both functional and aesthetically pleasing, the life support systems ran smoothly all the time… put simply, it was spacer luxury. It was the kind of place you’d expect to be full of pompous generals and aristocratic traders who flew golden starships through the diamond sky.

Unfortunately, the people who actually inhabited the place were the scum of the sector.

It wasn’t always that way; originally the Kelarius Sphere was full of space’s upper class travelers. The problem with luxury is that it attracts rats like… well, like scumbags to anything valuable. Usually their grimy paws would be repelled by honest security officers, but as you travel rimward you hit a point where there’s more scum than safety.

The brief history of the space station drew a resigned sigh from the lips of a pilot bringing his small transport to dock. He didn’t want to take this job. Hell, he didn’t even know what the job was yet. What he did know was that this particular space station was not somewhere he wanted to be. He wasn’t like the rogues and scoundrels who wandered its halls; he wasn’t a good enough shot to be useful with a blaster, he wasn’t charismatic enough to pull off elaborate cons, he didn’t have the technical skills to hack past complex security systems, and even as a pilot he was “above average” at best. His only real talent was his work as a mechanic, which is not exactly a skill that gets you an invite to the Kelarius Sphere.

He gave another sigh as the grav locks engaged, holding his ship securely in place. He threw on a faded cloth jacket with matching gloves and carefully slipped an eye patch over his black hair, covering the lens in his right eye socket. He found the getup uncomfortable, but experience had taught him that it made a much better impression on people than his mechanical replacements. He took one more look at the printout of the anonymous note he’d received on his message server.

Dear Mr. Black,

It has been brought to my attention that you are an exceptionally talented individual who can handle himself under pressure. I have a job for you, one I’m sure you’ll find much more interesting than your typical transport service. You’ll be working as part of a team, the rest of which you will meet in room J-367 of the Kelarius Sphere on 17343-634-22322-A, 2:00 P.M. Earth Standard Time. You will of course be compensated for your service. Failure to attend will have consequences.

Mr. Black wasn’t his real name; it was just one he had given to the shady looking duo who had requested transport to Ralum a few months back. He hadn’t learned they were smugglers until mid-flight when their "clocks" began to countdown. His mechanical skill had saved their hides, but ever since he’d been receiving offers for all kinds of dirty jobs, mostly smuggling gigs but there had been proposed thefts and even a handful of assassinations. He’d turned them all down, of course. He liked to keep his business legal. This one, however, didn’t seem to be offering him a choice.

After triple checking the ships security system, he finally left the docks and made his way through the winding corridors to room J-367. He knocked on the intricate designs in the door’s glittering metal. When there was no response he pressed the wall switch, sliding the door open in the silent, fluent movement of gears. Inside was a cozy room, with couches against the walls and a single wooden table in the center of the room. On the far wall was another door which, at his guess of the layout, lead towards a bedroom of sorts. Whether the small quarters were inhabited by a representative of their employer, one of the other “team” members, or simply vacant was a minor detail that he didn’t really care about. The sooner this was over with, the better. He moved into the room, and once the door had silently sealed itself behind him, he flopped into one of the couches. Now he just had to wait for someone else to show up.

((I have no real plans concerning the plot or what the job is. If one of you want to play a character who knows what's going on, that's fine, otherwise we'll just see where this takes us. =D ))

[Accomplice]

The familiar sights and stenches of the Kelarius Bazaar greeted Anton as he left the starport. What wondrous sights and stenches they were.

Everything a lowlife scuzball could want to waste his money on was laid out before him: bars, brothels, slimehound fighting rings, Seven-card Monte, the works. He quickly worked his way past the crowds and soon reached the market proper. Here the lowbrow entertainment gave way to the slightly-less-lowbrow. Nicer casinos replaced the bars and brothels, but the main attraction were the shops where just about anything could be bought. Shops like the one Anton worked at.

Well, not work at so much as work for. Very little of his time was spent on the Sphere. Anton was a fence. Many of the fine items in the shop were ones he had brought in, and much of what left he sold off-station. Anton recognized many of his past acquisitions as he worked his way to the back rooms. He greeted his employer with a kurt “Ship's in dockin' bay three” as he slipped past, heading for his quarters. His spartan, cramped, quarters. It had been a long flight, and his stiff cot felt like the luxurious feather mattress he had just hawked as he let his five foot five frame collapse into it.

No sooner than his head hit the pillow did his wristcom blare into life. Anton's muffled curses accompanied the beeping device as he dragged it to his half-closed eyes. A message danced across its display:

	Job for you
	J-367, 1400 hours
	The Boss

Anton's eyes snapped fully open. The Boss. Another glance at his display showed him he had 15 minutes to get to J-block. The Boss was someone you didn't keep waiting.

Anton tore out of the shop like a bat out of hell, pulling on a dark jacket and sidearm as he ran. Two miles of corridor, a turbolift, and fourteen minutes later he stood outside room J-367, desperately trying to catch his breath before, standing at his unimpressive full height, opening the door and stepping in. He took a quick look around the room, giving a slight nod to its sole occupant as he chose a couch. A quick, discreet appraisal of the man in the opposite couch followed. Spacer, by the looks of him. Probably no clue about what's going on either.

[Apples]

The pilot returned the new arrival's nod and made a note of the time. Even while beneath an eyepatch his cybernetic eye displayed basic information like the time and date. It was just a few seconds before 2:00, and while the shorter man seemed comfortable in the situation, he didn't seem to be the one who'd set everything up. If their host showed up late to the meeting after posting that kind of threat-

2:00

There was a loud crunch as the door's emergency locks engaged, sealing the premises much more securely than was probably needed. A moment later the far door opened. A woman dressed in a clean white suit stepped out and glanced at the men. "Only two of you? How.... interesting." The fingers on her right hand began rapidly tapping against her palm in what seemed to be some manner of messaging.

"I've been sent to represent your employer in this instance, as your employer is busy taking care of other business. Your task is simple: infiltrate Outpost Z-19 and retrieve the Greyson Class starship "Trinova." It was heavily damaged while transporting some... delicate... items, and has since been claimed by the FIPK. They do not seem to realize what they've obtained, but they've scheduled it to become scrap metal. Repair the ship if necessary and pilot it and its contents free from the Outpost. Further instructions will be given. Questions?"

This was certainly not going to go over well. Admittedly, the crazy mercenaries who had independently declared themselves to be the 'Free Interplanetary Peace Keepers' weren't the brightest bunch, but as far as radicals and hypocrites go, they weren't people you wanted to tangle with. Again, though, what choice did he have? He shook his head and glanced towards the man that he'd have to pull this off with.

[Accomplice]

Anton hadn't much in the way of dealings with the FIPK. Occasionally something interesting came into their possession, and Anton had taken it off their hands, but not enough to get him easy access to a secure outpost. What he had learned in his dealing was that they were dangerous, grade A thugs.

Anton kept his face deliberately neutral as he shook his head. This wasn't a proposal, it was an ultimatum. The boss says jump, you had better jump the correct height the first time, no need for questions.

[Apples]

The woman glanced at both of them, and then smiled. "Good. A ship has been provided for you. The Trofenglen is in bay seven." She stopped tapping her fingers just long enough to reach over and press a switch on the wall. The door slid open.

"Wait a minute, I have my own ship, thank you very much. Why can't I-" He cut off as the woman's gaze pierced him like a shower of icy needles.

"A ship has been provided for you."

He sighed, and glanced once more towards his partner in crime. "Shall we?"

[Raistlin]

Gaius Zhalfir had spent several days aboard the Kelarius Sphere since his failure on the fourth planet of Proxima Centauri, and tonight he found himself slouching in shame on a barstool within the Heart of Kelarius, the station’s local pub for drinking away one’s problems. Gaius had not dared face The Boss since the unsuccessful mission two weeks ago, and had fled to escape his employer’s wrath; The Boss rarely forgave, and he never forgot. As Gaius took down his fourth pint of ale, his eyes beginning to glaze over, he noticed the insignia on his ring begin to glow blue-a message. Within moments, a hologram burst forth from above his right index finger, and a message read:

Mr. Zhalfir,
I hope you are enjoying your stay at the Kelarius Sphere, but I’m afraid the time for vacationing is up. You are talented at what you do, and that is why you are still alive, but my patience wears thin. I have a job for you, one where you will have the opportunity to redeem yourself. Be in room J-367 in twenty minutes, and don’t be late.
The Boss

Fumbling for his pack, Gaius jumped to his feet and clumsily made his way to block J of the Kelarius Sphere. As he ran, Gaius felt humbled that The Boss recognized his skill. Considered one of the finest human sharpshooters in the Galaxy, Gaius was hired out by a variety of powerful employers, most recently The Boss, to “take care of” their most delicate situations. As he made his way down the slum-filled corridors of the Kelarius Sphere, he couldn’t help but wonder what the job was this time.

‘I can’t be late. I can’t let him down again,’ Gaius thought anxiously as he reached block J. He hadn’t been running more than ten minutes when the effects of the alcohol-- now churning wildly in his stomach--began to surface. His eyes began to blur as his mind fought vigorously to find room J-367. Time passed and Gaius soon found himself dazed and unable to tell the difference between 367, 397, and 897. The numbers on the doors began to swirl and jumble about in his mind, and panic struck him like a bullet in the chest. He looked down at his watch in horror.

He was late.

[Accomplice]

Anton stood. "Let's". He gave one last glance to the once-again smiling woman before turning and briskly heading out the door, typing a message into his wristcom. Just a quick word to his coworkers informing them he would be gone on "official business". That was the generally accepted euphemism for this sort of thing.

Anton was as far as "I'll be gone on some official bus" when his sharp turn into the corner brought his downturned head into hard contact with another man's chest. Stumbling back a few paces, Anton reached for his sidearm and snapped "Oi, watch it!".

Anton's hand slowly dropped as he looked over the human roadblock. The man he had just run into looked dangerous, his killer instinct was apparent even in his drunken stupor.

"Actually, you know what. That was my fault. Sorry. Don't mind me."

[Raistlin]

“ *Hic* You ‘aven’t seen room threeee shhhixty shevennn, ‘ave you? It’sh extremely important dat I find it immediately. The Boshh is gonna kill me!” Gaius was really starting to feel the ale kicking in now, so much so that he had overlooked the fact that the man had just tried to aim a gun at him.

“You must be the late one. You’re lucky The Boss was occupied and couldn’t see you like this. Come along and I’ll get you briefed. It’s gonna be a long flight to Outpost Z-19.” The man in the dark jacket looked at Gaius curiously, wondering why such a man was even working for The Boss.

[Apples]

((NOTE: While roleplaying it is typically not allowed for one person to write for someone else's character. This is because any lines, actions, or thoughts you give them may not reflect what the other person thinks their character would really have said, done, or thought. This typically applies to even a single line of dialogue. Please try to avoid this in the future. Thanks.))

The pilot frowned in disapproval. In his experience, drunks typically just meant trouble. But what could he do? "Something tells me we shouldn't discuss it right now, though. Let's just get to the docking bay." He held out his arm to help steady the new group member as they made their way through the expansive corridors to the once-nice docking bay.

Bay seven was fairly full, but the Trofenglen was easy to locate. Despite its small size, it stood out like a sore thumb. The man couldn't help but wonder if there was an inch of exterior surface that wasn't warped, twisted, dented, scuffed, rusted, or otherwise damaged. More importantly, he couldn't help but wonder if the thing would even fly. He prayed that the interior of the mangled contraption was in better shape than its shell.

"Well, this is just great."

[Tedd B.]

"I do wonder when the subjects will get here," Garth wondered aloud while pacing back and forth within the small Trofenglen. In his usual spotless white outfit and bags of equipment, he began to contemplate the thrilling chance to "improve upon" these new...associates. With utter contempt for the inefficiencies of the human body, he thought back to those he had treated. Sure some of the patients had woken up with an addition or change that they didn't in the slightest appreciate but its what they got to survive.

"Foolish people." what could they expect when falling unconscious and just assumed that he would heal them back to their weak selves. It was his self proclaimed duty to provide for them in the best possible way, "which is all I did do." so what if he was 'only' missing a finger, "I stopped improving by the elbow," though just they had stopped before he could replace more.

The boss, as with everyone else, merely tolerated Garth, and he was fully aware of that. The used him for his skill in healing, though often limiting his bringing about of the subject's full potential, and just tried not to kill him the rest of the time.

The boss had said to be here, so here he was. These improvements are all to expensive so the cash needed to keep on flowing. With the occasional acting up of his electrical parts, with over 50% of his body modified, he could use with a tune up and maybe buy a few more improvements to his small human frame.

Then from behind, the hiss of the airlocks being released

"Ahh, they've arrived."

[gametwizter]

Richard was the first on the scene when the Trinova was punctured by a medium sized asteroid. He knew it was his lucky day, perhaps he would even be considered for a promotion to a third level scout after his debriefing.

As he entered the ship donned in the most basic of space suits, he found that all life that was on the fine-looking vessel no longer had such a luxury. It was a shame that the emergency airlocks did not work after the asteroid had lodged itself into the emergency power generator.

Within four days of his finding the Trinova, Richard had towed it (with the help of various acquaintances he knew) across multiple FIPK outposts to the final destination of Asteroid Z-19. As he moved towards his administrator's office he was overcome by the remembrance of these old hallways with their worn-down painted numbers.

Z-19 held many memories for Richard, including his initiation into the FIPK six years ago. In those six years he had progressed in the ranks with relative ease, becoming an L2S (Level 2 Scout) after only four years (The usual number of years needed to obtain this rank is five).

After having reached room 43-A, Richard preformed the normal duties of conduct and came in expecting the best. 12 minutes later, he came out with the opposite of his wanted result.

It was decided that the Trinova was to be scuttled and later scrapped for the metals that it was composed of. Richard had suggested, even begged, that the beautiful ship be restored to operational duty, but his every effort was turned down by the hastily conjured meeting among the lower division members (The lower division was the third most powerful authority in the FIPK). They had decided to tear it apart and use all of the precious metals inside to help their exploration of new solar systems to colonize.

All Richard did the next day was mope around the outpost. He made sure to avoid the landing port as he did not yet have the courage to see the Trinova.

((I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors I may place in the coming posts. And Apples: If you want me to change any of what I have said to fit better within the story, tell me.))

[Accomplice]

Anton cautiously walked up the boarding ramp, half expecting it to collapse under his weight. The ominous creaks it gave off as the other two members of the party began boarding didn't ease his mind. The rush of air that hit him as he punched the airlock control was stale and smelt of mildew. "Well, at least it's airtight" he muttered under his breath as he took his first step inside.

Anton paused as he saw the man standing in the cramped cabin. "Oh great, there's four of us now. I feel so much better about our odds of success."

[Tedd B.]

"yes, they'll do, come into the light come, come. yes, that may just take a bit of tweeking but it should work. oh and for you, that will be harder but we'll manage." Garth muttered while beckoning the newcomers in.

[Raistlin]

Gaius woke to find himself lying in a hard cot in what appeared to be a starship that had been flown a few too many times for its own good. Sitting up, he quickly scanned his surroundings; an ambience of battered walls and rusted metal made up the small room he was in, and he could hear the rumbling of an old jet engine propelling the ship towards its destination.

Now fully awake, Gaius began to feel the brutal effects of his hangover. He was thirsty, his mouth tasted vile, and his eyes felt as if they were two sizes too large for his skull. Drinking was not common for Gaius, and he was ashamed that he would ever allow his focus, discipline, and raw talent to stoop to such pitiful depths. Hearing conversation in the crew compartment, Gaius reached for his pack--heavy with a brand new Walter 9000 sniper rifle, communication accessories, as well various travel supplies--and began to make his way out of the capsule. ‘Time to find out what the hell is going on.’

Gaius walked in to find a group of men sitting in a circle discussing something about ‘Z-19’ and a vessel known as ‘Trinova’. They all turned towards Gaius simultaneously, staring at him blankly with what appeared to be eyes of judgment. ‘They must think I’m a drunken fool.’

“Hello everyone. The name’s Gaius Zhalfir. Thanks for having me on board. So, what has The Boss got for us this time?”

[Tedd B.]

"ah, he's awakened. too bad, too bad. oh well. I guess I shall finish later." Garth muttered to himself then straightening up all the while staring with a measuring gaze at the now conscious warrior. "Yes, there will be work to do later on you."