Firebrand
Inactive Member
Mid YE 41
IPG Blacksite, code name SHEOL
Abjection, Dejection System
Abjection was an intensely shitty world, even before one got to the IPG blacksite sited on the planet. It was cold and wet at the best of times, with carnivorous birds and land creatures accompanied by even worse fauna in its oceanic depths. The average temperature was only a few degrees above freezing, just enough so that the near constant rain didn't freeze until it hit the ground. Light was also at a premium on the planet, resembling twilight on brighter worlds at Abjection's sunniest.
Naturally, the IPG had a prison on such a world. Not just a prison, but a Blacksite code-named Sheol. Sheol was a very special camp, used not only for political prisoners, but as a holding place for hostages used to ensure the loyalty of various civilian interests. Of course, it wasn't that much of a hell: the prisoners weren't tortured much, and the hostages were treated well in gilded cages. Yet the senate of Nepleslia didn't know that Sheol existed, nor the identities of all of those who it held.
One of the people held within Sheol was a Lorath. An Occestan, to be exact: T'nayja "Rook" Occestan. Her cell was in the woman's compound within the Blacksite, and was comfortable enough, if only warm enough to keep her from freezing to death. She had two meals a day, at the bare minimum of caloric intake to keep her alive and functional. And she hadn't been tortured, beyond the sadistic bullying of the guards. Today, though, she had a pair of visitors, which meant that she had been drug from her cell and sat down in a waiting room, hands cuffed behind her back as she waited, staring around a room that was featureless save for a table with another chair behind it.
The one styled Rook shifted in the chair uncomfortably she had been told to sit in to await the arrival of her mysterious guests, wrists chafing in familiar places as the cuffs that bound her rattled a few times. Maybe a mighty Fyunnen would have had better luck with trying to force them... too bad there wasn't one of those musclebound oafs handy right about now. Or a flight-aspected Llmanel, even. No, the tanned-skin Occestan of decidedly human size and strength was now alone and penniless in this Goddess-forsaken place, with all of her fancy clothes long been exchanged for a rough prisoner's jumpsuit.
The darling child of a former United Manufacturing Collective top executive was truly a smooth operator to have gone on as long as she did running an interstellar parts smuggling ring, but when the Matriarchy checked out of the cluster suddenly she knew her days were numbered. Nepleslian authorities were called in when books were found cooked and warehouse stocks not matching up, and the noose finally tightened around the lovely bird's neck as her trusted people squealed when the hush money ran out. Supplying those the DIoN's labeled as pirates and scoundrels was a capital punishment, one that landed her in the IPG's vaunted penal colony, with ill-gotten assets stripped away and interstellar bank accounts frozen in the ongoing investigation that would take a few more years to track down all the manifests Rook forged.
T'nayja sighed, as her white hair draped down the side of her head that was forced to lean forward because of her position, her vestigial black wings sagging to match it. The game she had once played so well was up, and the Occestan was on ice (literally) for a long time. This once proud schemer of a Lorath really couldn't imagine who still cared to see her at this point. Disowned, betrayed, broke and with a rap sheet decades long... what could she offer to them but maybe a chance for one of the people she connived on the way to fortune to come spit in her face and laugh one more time?
The thing with the IPG is that it has use for those who are broke, as long as they can get something out of it. While her other guest stayed outside the room, T'nayja got to see the man who was intent on delivering her from Abjection: a tall, gaunt Nepleslian. Tall enough to make even a Fyunnen look short. Gaunt enough that his face looked like a skull with skin stretched painfully across it. The worst part was the smile on his face, a smile that T'nayja normally saw on people who weren't entirely all that there. Still, he sat down across from her, and with a motion of his hands, the Lorath woman felt the cuffs about her hand unlock and fall to the ground.
"I have a proposition for you, Miss T'nayja." That smile of his was unsettling, his eyes like their gaze passed through her without any effort. "If you accept it- and I trust you will-, You'll be commissioned into the Nepleslian Star Navy as an officer."
Now one thing Rook knew even better than hiding her trail and acquiring things, it was people. Finding out the price of someone and what their heart desired, their fears and insecurities.. that was a key to success and for an Occestan with tactile telepathy this was a natural ability after all. But when she laid her amber eyes on the gaunt visitor, the woman felt a distinct fear crawling up her spine like a Tarantis spider. His smile worn like a cheap trick or an insane reality only made the grotesque parody of a man who sat before her even more horrifying and unsettling. The prisoner asked almost reflexively with an incredulous "Just who the hell are y-," but she was soon cut off by the feeling of her heavy bonds suddenly giving way and clanging to the floor of the sterile chamber.
The Lorath woman brought her hands in front of her partially in disbelief, looking at them like she had never seen them before, before sliding her gaze upwards to glance at her deathly benefactor who uttered an offer that was as unbelievable as it was serious. "An officer? In the NSN?" Shock soon turned to slyness creeping back in as eyebrows narrowed, trying to read through his mask. "Why do you need me of all people?"
"We have a ship that will need your particular set of skills." The man shrugged, relaxing in his seat in a way that gave Rook an overwhelming sense of wrongess, like she was looking at a snake, or an unshielded atomic reactor bathing her with radiation. "Ingenuity, resourcefulness, the knowledge of how to acquire supplies when they're a bit scarce. Nepleslia is at war for its very survival, and this ship's mission can take us from a second rate power underneath the Ketsurui to, well..." The skull man laughed, a laugh that sounded like bone being grated to meal.
"This ship will end help Nepleslia end the war in a decisive and elegant manner." He shrugged again. "So those are your options. You agree to my offer, and your record is wiped. Or you say no, find that you have principles, and we kill you."
So that was his game after all. Her life as a pawn in a quest for national pride, a glorified gopher for death's head achieving victory. Instincts and wisdom told her to run from the deal with this monster, but Rook was a captive audience in every sense of the word for his plans. Some color seemed to drain from her tanned cheeks when he told her the price of refusal, but at this point she was in too deep to even begin to consider it.
Finally a slow smile began to creep across T'nayja's cheeks. It was nothing like the hollow one worn by the agent -- this one was genuine, as the prospects of where this could lead started filling her head and a gilded selfishness progressively dispelled the gloom of the devil's deal. "I'm flattered. Luckily for you, I don't have many of those left in this line of work. And I've no objection to knocking those cats down a notch as a bonus."
The rogue's tiny black wings opened with a curl as she added with a bit of sass, "Besides, I think clean-slate-blue is definitely more my color. Deal me in, Mr. Skully."
The man's smile widened and he pushed up his glasses. Just enough so that the light in the room glinted off of them, obscuring his eyes.
"Spaseeba, Rook. Now, you'll be implanted with a number of cybernetics- standard stuff, it should work on you. Just enough to keep you healthy. You'll also meet your captain outside this cell. His name is Joe Franks, and I expect the two of you will work well together."
"Another fringe benefit? I suppose you have to get your new toy all dolled up right," the prospective officer commented with a degree of incredulity at the thought of being cybernetically enhanced. Though she did not argue, and soon began to adjust her mussed white locks into something a little more presentable. It also helped her not have to stare too long at her creepy new benefactor, as Rook rose to her feet from the table. "He sounds rather plain, an everyman's soldier? Could still be a fun cruise if there's more than meets the eye."
"I'll remain in contact with you," He smiled, as he turned towards the door, still smiling. "The IPG expects great things from you." With that, he left the room, replaced by the tall form of Joe Franks. Brown haired, dark eyed, with a square jaw, he looked every bit the model of the dashing captain. He also, for what mattered, didn't look like the walking dead, which probably helped.
"It looks like we'll be working together." Joe's displeasure at all of this was clear in his scowling eyes, but he put on a smile nonetheless. "For what its worth, I'm going to do my best to forget that you were recruited out of prison, and use what skills you have. The truth that Kessler didn't tell you is that the admiralty hates the Highlander concept, the idea of a fully mixed ship, and that money was spent on her instead of more full sized battleships. Which means there's a limit to what I can do through official channels."
Rook watched the grinning IPG agent that looked more like a rejected Godskeletons band member depart with a nod and momentarily faked return smile, which was quickly replaced with a sigh of relief when she was alone. But it was an uncomfortable thought he left in his wake that someone like that would always be in contact, watching and waiting somewhere. It was the price to pay for selling herself as an intelligence asset, just to get out of this joint and not die alone on this rock, before she had made her big dreams a reality.
When the captain came in the door, the mood changed markedly -- now this was someone she could work with without having to actively suppress her skin crawling. The Occestan woman returned his mixed smile and scowl with a tilt of her head as she studied his profile features with amber eyes. "That makes two of us then, Captain Franks. Why, if I had my choice I'd be starting this working relationship properly, meeting you over a nice bottle of Lorath wine... which could be arranged once we're out of here." Her voice was calm, filled with a hidden wit, while the baggy prison garb jumpsuit she still had on belied her feminine features underneath that would be more flattered by an evening gown. "So the Highlander is our ship? With a story like that, its no wonder you are hurting in the budget & HR department to need to come all the way here and press-gang this shyster into service. I'm a specialist when it comes to acquiring things... not just Lorath and UMC tech either. Ex-military manpower, too... there's a lot of both out there since the Checkout, if you know where to look."
The prisoner gave a half-smile as she kicked the shackles laying on the floor fully aside, and put a hand on her hip. "So, this 'jailbird' is your hot ticket to fixing those inconvenient problems... and really, aren't I a lot easier on the eyes than some other sketchy associates of yours?"
"Please- if we're going to be working together, call me Joe. Or just Captain Franks, if you're more comfortable." The Captain said, before offering Rook his hand. His scowl seemed to vanish, replaced with the look of a man thinking over things in his head while keeping most of his attention on the outside world.
"That, and our uniforms aren't as flattering as those of the cats- which isn't a problem, with the easiest looking parts of you being your face. I'll be trusting you to watch my back though, and to do your best for the crew and the ship- I don't particularly expect you to be loyal to Nepleslia."
The Occestan gladly took the offer of shaking the Nepleslian captain's hand. Rook's grip was firm and... warm. A warmth that seemed to spread down his arm and tickle at the corners of his mind if he let it. It was well known that Lorath of her caste were accomplished users of tactile empathy and telepathy, most likely another reason she was kept shackled and covered up by the authorities. "I'll take that as a compliment, Capt-.. er, Joe. Got to say you have some pretty big stones to trust a criminal with your vessel and your back. Even if Kessler is brokering this shindig for the good of your country, though, one thing I always do is take care of those who take care of me."
"Trust me on this, Rook. There's a chance that when all of this is done, we're all either going to be heroes, or sons of bitches. Now, let's get out of here."
IPG Blacksite, code name SHEOL
Abjection, Dejection System
Abjection was an intensely shitty world, even before one got to the IPG blacksite sited on the planet. It was cold and wet at the best of times, with carnivorous birds and land creatures accompanied by even worse fauna in its oceanic depths. The average temperature was only a few degrees above freezing, just enough so that the near constant rain didn't freeze until it hit the ground. Light was also at a premium on the planet, resembling twilight on brighter worlds at Abjection's sunniest.
Naturally, the IPG had a prison on such a world. Not just a prison, but a Blacksite code-named Sheol. Sheol was a very special camp, used not only for political prisoners, but as a holding place for hostages used to ensure the loyalty of various civilian interests. Of course, it wasn't that much of a hell: the prisoners weren't tortured much, and the hostages were treated well in gilded cages. Yet the senate of Nepleslia didn't know that Sheol existed, nor the identities of all of those who it held.
One of the people held within Sheol was a Lorath. An Occestan, to be exact: T'nayja "Rook" Occestan. Her cell was in the woman's compound within the Blacksite, and was comfortable enough, if only warm enough to keep her from freezing to death. She had two meals a day, at the bare minimum of caloric intake to keep her alive and functional. And she hadn't been tortured, beyond the sadistic bullying of the guards. Today, though, she had a pair of visitors, which meant that she had been drug from her cell and sat down in a waiting room, hands cuffed behind her back as she waited, staring around a room that was featureless save for a table with another chair behind it.
The one styled Rook shifted in the chair uncomfortably she had been told to sit in to await the arrival of her mysterious guests, wrists chafing in familiar places as the cuffs that bound her rattled a few times. Maybe a mighty Fyunnen would have had better luck with trying to force them... too bad there wasn't one of those musclebound oafs handy right about now. Or a flight-aspected Llmanel, even. No, the tanned-skin Occestan of decidedly human size and strength was now alone and penniless in this Goddess-forsaken place, with all of her fancy clothes long been exchanged for a rough prisoner's jumpsuit.
The darling child of a former United Manufacturing Collective top executive was truly a smooth operator to have gone on as long as she did running an interstellar parts smuggling ring, but when the Matriarchy checked out of the cluster suddenly she knew her days were numbered. Nepleslian authorities were called in when books were found cooked and warehouse stocks not matching up, and the noose finally tightened around the lovely bird's neck as her trusted people squealed when the hush money ran out. Supplying those the DIoN's labeled as pirates and scoundrels was a capital punishment, one that landed her in the IPG's vaunted penal colony, with ill-gotten assets stripped away and interstellar bank accounts frozen in the ongoing investigation that would take a few more years to track down all the manifests Rook forged.
T'nayja sighed, as her white hair draped down the side of her head that was forced to lean forward because of her position, her vestigial black wings sagging to match it. The game she had once played so well was up, and the Occestan was on ice (literally) for a long time. This once proud schemer of a Lorath really couldn't imagine who still cared to see her at this point. Disowned, betrayed, broke and with a rap sheet decades long... what could she offer to them but maybe a chance for one of the people she connived on the way to fortune to come spit in her face and laugh one more time?
The thing with the IPG is that it has use for those who are broke, as long as they can get something out of it. While her other guest stayed outside the room, T'nayja got to see the man who was intent on delivering her from Abjection: a tall, gaunt Nepleslian. Tall enough to make even a Fyunnen look short. Gaunt enough that his face looked like a skull with skin stretched painfully across it. The worst part was the smile on his face, a smile that T'nayja normally saw on people who weren't entirely all that there. Still, he sat down across from her, and with a motion of his hands, the Lorath woman felt the cuffs about her hand unlock and fall to the ground.
"I have a proposition for you, Miss T'nayja." That smile of his was unsettling, his eyes like their gaze passed through her without any effort. "If you accept it- and I trust you will-, You'll be commissioned into the Nepleslian Star Navy as an officer."
Now one thing Rook knew even better than hiding her trail and acquiring things, it was people. Finding out the price of someone and what their heart desired, their fears and insecurities.. that was a key to success and for an Occestan with tactile telepathy this was a natural ability after all. But when she laid her amber eyes on the gaunt visitor, the woman felt a distinct fear crawling up her spine like a Tarantis spider. His smile worn like a cheap trick or an insane reality only made the grotesque parody of a man who sat before her even more horrifying and unsettling. The prisoner asked almost reflexively with an incredulous "Just who the hell are y-," but she was soon cut off by the feeling of her heavy bonds suddenly giving way and clanging to the floor of the sterile chamber.
The Lorath woman brought her hands in front of her partially in disbelief, looking at them like she had never seen them before, before sliding her gaze upwards to glance at her deathly benefactor who uttered an offer that was as unbelievable as it was serious. "An officer? In the NSN?" Shock soon turned to slyness creeping back in as eyebrows narrowed, trying to read through his mask. "Why do you need me of all people?"
"We have a ship that will need your particular set of skills." The man shrugged, relaxing in his seat in a way that gave Rook an overwhelming sense of wrongess, like she was looking at a snake, or an unshielded atomic reactor bathing her with radiation. "Ingenuity, resourcefulness, the knowledge of how to acquire supplies when they're a bit scarce. Nepleslia is at war for its very survival, and this ship's mission can take us from a second rate power underneath the Ketsurui to, well..." The skull man laughed, a laugh that sounded like bone being grated to meal.
"This ship will end help Nepleslia end the war in a decisive and elegant manner." He shrugged again. "So those are your options. You agree to my offer, and your record is wiped. Or you say no, find that you have principles, and we kill you."
So that was his game after all. Her life as a pawn in a quest for national pride, a glorified gopher for death's head achieving victory. Instincts and wisdom told her to run from the deal with this monster, but Rook was a captive audience in every sense of the word for his plans. Some color seemed to drain from her tanned cheeks when he told her the price of refusal, but at this point she was in too deep to even begin to consider it.
Finally a slow smile began to creep across T'nayja's cheeks. It was nothing like the hollow one worn by the agent -- this one was genuine, as the prospects of where this could lead started filling her head and a gilded selfishness progressively dispelled the gloom of the devil's deal. "I'm flattered. Luckily for you, I don't have many of those left in this line of work. And I've no objection to knocking those cats down a notch as a bonus."
The rogue's tiny black wings opened with a curl as she added with a bit of sass, "Besides, I think clean-slate-blue is definitely more my color. Deal me in, Mr. Skully."
The man's smile widened and he pushed up his glasses. Just enough so that the light in the room glinted off of them, obscuring his eyes.
"Spaseeba, Rook. Now, you'll be implanted with a number of cybernetics- standard stuff, it should work on you. Just enough to keep you healthy. You'll also meet your captain outside this cell. His name is Joe Franks, and I expect the two of you will work well together."
"Another fringe benefit? I suppose you have to get your new toy all dolled up right," the prospective officer commented with a degree of incredulity at the thought of being cybernetically enhanced. Though she did not argue, and soon began to adjust her mussed white locks into something a little more presentable. It also helped her not have to stare too long at her creepy new benefactor, as Rook rose to her feet from the table. "He sounds rather plain, an everyman's soldier? Could still be a fun cruise if there's more than meets the eye."
"I'll remain in contact with you," He smiled, as he turned towards the door, still smiling. "The IPG expects great things from you." With that, he left the room, replaced by the tall form of Joe Franks. Brown haired, dark eyed, with a square jaw, he looked every bit the model of the dashing captain. He also, for what mattered, didn't look like the walking dead, which probably helped.
"It looks like we'll be working together." Joe's displeasure at all of this was clear in his scowling eyes, but he put on a smile nonetheless. "For what its worth, I'm going to do my best to forget that you were recruited out of prison, and use what skills you have. The truth that Kessler didn't tell you is that the admiralty hates the Highlander concept, the idea of a fully mixed ship, and that money was spent on her instead of more full sized battleships. Which means there's a limit to what I can do through official channels."
Rook watched the grinning IPG agent that looked more like a rejected Godskeletons band member depart with a nod and momentarily faked return smile, which was quickly replaced with a sigh of relief when she was alone. But it was an uncomfortable thought he left in his wake that someone like that would always be in contact, watching and waiting somewhere. It was the price to pay for selling herself as an intelligence asset, just to get out of this joint and not die alone on this rock, before she had made her big dreams a reality.
When the captain came in the door, the mood changed markedly -- now this was someone she could work with without having to actively suppress her skin crawling. The Occestan woman returned his mixed smile and scowl with a tilt of her head as she studied his profile features with amber eyes. "That makes two of us then, Captain Franks. Why, if I had my choice I'd be starting this working relationship properly, meeting you over a nice bottle of Lorath wine... which could be arranged once we're out of here." Her voice was calm, filled with a hidden wit, while the baggy prison garb jumpsuit she still had on belied her feminine features underneath that would be more flattered by an evening gown. "So the Highlander is our ship? With a story like that, its no wonder you are hurting in the budget & HR department to need to come all the way here and press-gang this shyster into service. I'm a specialist when it comes to acquiring things... not just Lorath and UMC tech either. Ex-military manpower, too... there's a lot of both out there since the Checkout, if you know where to look."
The prisoner gave a half-smile as she kicked the shackles laying on the floor fully aside, and put a hand on her hip. "So, this 'jailbird' is your hot ticket to fixing those inconvenient problems... and really, aren't I a lot easier on the eyes than some other sketchy associates of yours?"
"Please- if we're going to be working together, call me Joe. Or just Captain Franks, if you're more comfortable." The Captain said, before offering Rook his hand. His scowl seemed to vanish, replaced with the look of a man thinking over things in his head while keeping most of his attention on the outside world.
"That, and our uniforms aren't as flattering as those of the cats- which isn't a problem, with the easiest looking parts of you being your face. I'll be trusting you to watch my back though, and to do your best for the crew and the ship- I don't particularly expect you to be loyal to Nepleslia."
The Occestan gladly took the offer of shaking the Nepleslian captain's hand. Rook's grip was firm and... warm. A warmth that seemed to spread down his arm and tickle at the corners of his mind if he let it. It was well known that Lorath of her caste were accomplished users of tactile empathy and telepathy, most likely another reason she was kept shackled and covered up by the authorities. "I'll take that as a compliment, Capt-.. er, Joe. Got to say you have some pretty big stones to trust a criminal with your vessel and your back. Even if Kessler is brokering this shindig for the good of your country, though, one thing I always do is take care of those who take care of me."
"Trust me on this, Rook. There's a chance that when all of this is done, we're all either going to be heroes, or sons of bitches. Now, let's get out of here."
