The Bulk Freighter Calypso dropped from hyperspace with a shudder, her ages-old sublight drives taking a few moments to kick in gear, before failing and then finally boosting back into a slow crawl.

Cody Qel-Droma looked upon the people who’d made it to this point, the people who had committed to their insane new agenda. This was a new direction for his group, and even he didn’t know how it would all play out.

Not the slightest mark of the New Republic could be found upon them, let alone the Rebel Squadrons. They were dressed to the nines as pirates and smugglers now, with loadouts to match.

As the freighter plowed slowly on toward the space station, currently hovering above the night side of a planet whose details had failed to make it into the briefing, Cody walked upon his trusted people.

A few hadn’t made it this far. Some had left the briefing room some months back, taken by NRI and given new assignments, perhaps without the memory of that day and that cold briefing room when they’d been given a choice of paths.

He patted shoulders and reassured his troops, he realized that that briefing on that day had created a distilled form of that original group he’d been charged with forming. These people, these remaining bastards, were Zealots in every definition of the word.

“We’re currently bearing down on a Rebel Squadrons Supply Depot as a merchant vessel bringing in a shipment to help restock the RS after their resent war.”

His smile melted into seriousness.

“When the bulk freighter docks, we have to infiltrate the base and steal any and all supplies possible. We need weapons, ammunition, and anything else that might be of value, including fighters and small ships. Even if you don’t think we can use it, if you think it’s worth money, take it.”

The mood had become ominous, his men finally realizing that the moment was upon them.

“I don’t need to remind you that we shouldn’t be killing people on this mission, although I do realize that accidents happen, I hope to avoid them...”

He paused again to let it sink in, before continuing.

“Although, using stun isn’t going to make things very convincing and will lead to more investigations. We have to make this look real and genuine-like.”

He looked at his assorted pirates and miscreants. It sure didn’t take much to make them look the part, they were already the outcasts of the entire New Republic military.

“And I don’t need to remind you that your face shouldn’t be popping up on security cams unless you damn well don’t look like your normal self, because we don’t need the RS knowing that a bunch of brass are running around, wrecking havoc on RS supply depots.”

He took a deep breath.

“We’re pirates people, act like it…”

With that, the RS Supply Depot opened its communications with the Calypso, as it slowly ambled closer and closer to the depot’s docking ports.

((Ok folks, let’s get it rolling again. If you’re on board, tell me how you’re looking and what you’re armed with and how ya feel about this strangeness))

"Holy hell, I'm surprised this shit still fits."

Salaban Voltin, stood there in the hold of the Calypso, with his fellow Zealots, listening to Cody's quick briefing. Having been a smuggler before and after his time in the Rebellion, he fit right in with the misfits of the RS. He still wore his old set of armor that had served him well during the war, though he had replaced any Rebel markings with that of his own. Enough dead soldiers had been stripped of their armor during the war, so it took very little imagining that a set ended up in the hands of a pirate. Not that it really mattered, because the it was outdated compared to what the RS had equiped its commandos with now. The need to conceal his face for this mission dictated that he wear his helmet, which he hated with a passion, but he put with it regardless.

He was also armed to the teeth, as always. His trusty DE-10 strapped to his right hip, two Caelli-Merced "Dead Bolt" pistols holstered backwards on his utility belt, two DL-44s in shoulder holsters, and an EE-3 with the butt stock removed strapped to his back pack for quick retrieval. In his back pack he carried a disassembled Caelli-Merced "Frag Storm" shotgun and some smoke grenades in case things got too heavy, but he wasn't planning on unleashing that much firepower for this raid.

As heavily armed as he was, his primary goal would be to distract the RS security forces (since all the weapons restricted how fast he could move) while everybody else worked their magic, looting everything in sight. Many of Zealot's members had had the same background as Sal, so he imagined that part of the mission would go a smoothly as could be expected. On Sal's end, he was an magnificent marksman with a pistol, so disabling the security force with a flurry of kneecap shots wasn't out of the question if they got too close to the Zealots.

The white-haired, former smuggler had come onboard with Zealot to beat back the Imperials who were encroaching on his smuggling. He had accomplished that goal already. This was about his fellow Zealots needing help, and his sense of loyalty urged him to be there, so there he was, about to jump into the fray again. Who knows, maybe his help will save a few lives.

((I'm in...again ))

The man who stepped foot into a cargo bay of the remote supply depot bore little resemblance to that of the one who had left with Zealot on their underground mission so many months before.

Gone were the closely cropped cut and clean shaven face favored by the commando ranks, replaced by the kind of shaggy unkempt look that seemed right at home for a run down freighter. Crisp immaculate fatigues had given way to a motley collection of ragged clothing, patched and repatched in places over the course of months of hard use. Completing the effect was a pair of colored contacts, turning distinctively hued silver eyes to a dark blue, rendering a once widely recognizeable Admiral into just another unremarkable face in the unending tide of traders in the galaxy.

Looking around the depot’s bay, it was made abundantly clear to Kaz that it wasn’t just appearances that had changed. The few members of the station’s crew in sight were doing their best to avoid eye contact with the newcomer as he passed, a few even edging closer to the walls as if they might be at risk of catching something. The pair of security personnel on duty in the bay nervously glanced at one another, clearly unsure of what they should be doing. Unfortunately for them, their question would be rendered a moot one in the next minute, courtesy of the small figure immediately behind and to Kaz’s left.

She was a blonde who looked to be in her mid twenties, with the kind of looks that could easily be considered beautiful, unless you happened to notice the thin gnarled band of scar tissue running across the base of her throat or the cold glint of light reflected in her green eyes.

She stepped gracefully out from behind Kaz, smiling warmly at the security guards even as her hands slipped behind her back to the pair of objects secured in her belt.
The guards awkwardly returned the smile as they took a step closer to the girl, who continued to smile even as she brought her arm around in tight arc, cracking the nearest of the pair in the side of the jaw with the brass knuckles she’d been until recently concealing. The guard went over backwards into the wall, sliding down it slowly even as she pivoted towards his stunned partner, catching him under the chin with a vicious uppercut that belied her small frame.

The trio of crewmembers loading crates were stopped in their tracks by the swiftness of the attack. The quickest of them recovered enough to make a move towards the bay’s intercom controls, but was brought up short by the sight of Kaz leveling a heavy blaster squarely at his head.


A few minutes later, with the crew members bound and gagged alongside the unconscious guards, Kaz and his accomplice found themselves freely rummaging through the contents of the assorted cargo.

Shoving aside a useless crate of machine parts, Kaz glanced up to see his partner excitedly flashing a number of hand signals from a few yards away and pointing to the large rectangular container at her feet.

Moving closer, Kaz peered over the blonde’s shoulder for a closer look at the contents of the crate, and then broke into a feral grin.

“Looks like we just hit the jackpot.”

Standing off to one side of Cody, wearing a false eyepatch, and wearing a motley batch of clothing that'd make the likes of one Han Solo cringe as far as smugglers went, was Scott Jensen, the team's resident sniper.

Scott tapped his hand on his side idly, glancing first form Cody, then, to the others.His mind flashed to Kaz, and his new blonde sidekick. He didn't know where the hell she'd come from, exactly, but if Kaz said she was good... well, she was.

His hand slid idly up to one of the matching DL-44s on his hips, as he contemplated the op ahead. He'd decided to forgo the heavy Arctec sniper rifle in favor of the CHG-4 crystal blaster. The heavy shotgun would be ideal for this sort of work, and the DL-44s were useful in their own small part.

Thinking back on all the crazy, wild stuff they'd been through in the past, Scott had decided that his place, was here, after all. The boys and girls of Zealot were his home, now. He cared more for these crazy bastards than he ever did the Swoop gang he grew up in, and certainly moreso than anywhere else he'd been. With a bit of a nod, more to himself than anyone, he moved up alongside Cody, speaking quietly.

"So boss... What do ya think 'bout all this? In an' out fast as ya like? Nothin' too major as far as blastin' the good guys, I figger."

He shrugged a bit, and scratched at the beard he'd been growing of late. To top off the "I'm a bad guy" look, he'd even gone ahead and added a few smudges of dirt. In all, he had affected a fairly disreputable sort of look. His tall, lean form looked the part. After all, he'd grown up as a disreputable sort. He knew what it took to blend in... and well, here he was, doing just that. It was thrilling, in a way, to be back at this sort of work.

...And there were few men better at this sort of work, after all, and they were pretty well all in the same general vicinity as he was.

Yes, life was indeed, good.

((OOC: Sorry for the long absence; I should be back in for good this time.))

I thinks its so awesome that we have writers that are this good in the RS. My writing is seriously mediocre. Well the story so far is awesome thanks guys and keep up the good work

<--- This is my writing

Darik "Deuce" Klivan stepped into the cargo bay dressed, well...more or less like he usually was, given that his status with Zealot was the only thing keeping him out of military prison, but in no way constituted a commission. His large black combat boots thunked dully against the floorplates, Corellian Bloodstriped trouser legs brushing against each other. He tugged at the white T-shirt under his battered brown leather flight jacket before tugging at a stray thread on one of the many flight patches sewn on the sleeve. Clean shirts, and especially new ones always made Deuce more than a little uncomfortable.

Deuce's armament was as unchanged as his wardrobe. One BlasTech DL-44 slung low on his left hip, its barrel just above his knee, and a smaller BlasTech DL-18 in a shoulder holster under his left arm, beneath the flight jacket. The left and right pockets of his flight jacket contained a Merid FF-4 holdout blaster and a high quality vibroblade, a gift from his days in Imperial service, respectively. In his left boot, in a sheath on his ankle rests a military issue boot knife. Finally, in his interior jacket pocket, he carried a silver drinking flask with a reinforced bottom edge that had been used as a blunt object several times before, including a few categorized in police reports as "resulting in severe blunt force trauma to the head".

In recent months, one of his many outstanding warrants had finally caught up with him, and despite a plea arrangement negotiated by an attorney covertly funded by credits funneled down from budgets in RS operational channels, Deuce had still spent a few months in a civilian prison on Corulag. Released early, ostensibly for "good behavior", it was speculated amongst other personnel that Deuce had become a bit of a hassle for the civilian corrections officers to want to deal with on an every day basis for the duration of his sentence.

As he stumbled into the cargo bay, Deuce hiccuped loudly. *Mission?* he thought to himself, in a bit of a confused, drunken haze. *...sithspit.* Deuce, in his usual fashion, merely thought that the maintenance hatchway on the Calypso looked like the most comfortably place in the immediate vicinity to pass out in, and had done so, quite soundly until the ship was underway and he was startled by crewmembers. Luckily, Deuce was far too hungover to do any real damage to any of the Calypso's crew, and he made his way to the Zealot briefing without further incident.

Careening his way off a bulkhead, he bounced into Scott Jensen with a grunt and nodded to the other man. He pulled the flask out of his pocket and took a sip casually as Cody began speaking. "Little hair a' the Nek," he murmered quietly. "I hope I don't need to remind you...real and genuine like.", Cody was saying as Deuce thought about Twi'lek dancing girls. Deuce belched loudly as the end of Cody's speech was punctuated by the words "act like it".

Throwing an awkward arm around Jensen, Deuce growled out in a low, almost perverted sounding tone. "This is gonna be a whole lotta fun..." He then shoved off o the other man and stumbled a few steps to the side, whistling a Corellian dancing tune and thinking about the many ways he could potentially make this mission profit him personally. Scratching his crotch, Deuce noted his own bulge and grinned, with a thought he didn't voice. *Awesome. Hard-on. Let the mission begin.*

On The NR Space Station:

Cody Qel-Droma stepped down the Calypso's ramp in time to see Kaz's team taking out the initial security guards and those that had come with them to unload the crates. Bearded and with his hair in a nappy, braided with various gleaming trinkets and colored threads woven in, all loosely thrown in their for good measure, he looked more like the dirty degenerate they'd pulled from Imperial prison than the somewhat cleaner man who'd been tossed into leading Zealot.

He hoped that the fates of the universe didn't see to somehow place anyone on this station that he'd dealt with in that prison, the chances slim, but never out of the question. He could only hope that the vast array of piercings, a change of eye and skin color, and a deep tan would throw anyone off his track, especially any later holo-cam reviews.

Clad in an assortment of random plunders, shards of armor, clothes from a score of different planets, randomly and stylishly ill-advised placement of stolen treasures, he looked every bit the low end, newly made pirate captain. Cliche would have been a good word, if it wasn't how a majority of his ilk actually dressed, having been reared on a few too many pirate holo-shows.

His feet hit the deck of the New Republic Installation, some kind of metal spurs clinking as they hit the metal below.

As he surveyed the seen, the bodies already laid out at his feet, he gritted his teeth, glaring at Kaz with a look of extreme displeasure.

"I was hoping for a subtle entrance. Couldn't you let me just deal with it and let a few folks sneak off to take out their communications first?"

One of the fallen security guards moved his hand towards his partner's dropped blaster, Cody's boot quickly coming down to pin his arm, while the other boot quickly connecting with the man's head, leaving a bit of tender, clumpy spot of red mixed with hair, but putting him back in dreamland.

Kaz was already half in a crate, digging to the bottom for the good stuff, packing peanuts and low-grade weaponry flying out of the box as he searched.

"Relax Qel-Droma, everything is under control."

Cody silently pointed to his left, about 80 meters down the hangar bay, as the last of a few hangar mechanics scrambled out of view, and to his right as a few feet slowly disappeared through another passage as the blast doors came down. As if on cue, alarms began blaring, Cody angrily grinning as he pointed up to the blaring sirens above him.

"About as on control as it ever is..."

With that, the main entrance to the hangar began closing, threatening to cut off their exit, the hum of powering up hangar defense lasers began to fill the air.

Cody sighed and pulled the two blaster pistols at his side and prepared to dive for cover.

Leaning with one shoulder against the bulkhead, she watched the goings on of the little band as they prepared to disembark. She was asking herself a question she’d asked often over the past two years. What in the name of the gods of all the planets she could think of was she doing here? The petite woman was been nearly unrecognizable even to those who knew her best. Her red hair was longer, darker and frizzy. Sometimes she sported a braid she wore down her back and other times she just let it go wild. On her head she wore a dark green scarf at a jaunty angle which somehow managed to bring out the brilliant green of her eyes.

She normally dressed conservatively as befitted a doctor, but now she wore a typical black outfit that was revealing and somehow made her hips look enticing rather than just large. Her bodice was tight fitting, with green and black stripes, accompanied by the large poofy sleeves the pirates on some planets preferred. She had tight fitting pants that tucked into calf high boots. It didn’t give much protection, but none of their outfits afforded much protection anyway, so she wanted to attempt to maintain some of her femininity. Often she felt she got lost among all these males, like she was one of the boys. This time, she wanted to stand out, just a little bit. To her mind this could provide a little bit of a needed distraction from time to time. She also had a cloak she used when she wanted to cover up even more. It appeared old and sported many repairs. This was her protection, it wasn’t old, but it suited that its appearance gave off that impression.

Actually the cloak wasn’t her only protection. She’d somehow managed to convince Cody to let her bring Rocky with her. The cat stayed by her side, a loyal friend and protector.

The woman was a saver of lives not a taker, but she’d certainly taken her share in the past. She had a reputation as a great gunner when teamed with a good pilots. She tried hard to not think about the lives she’d ended, but rather the lives saved because of her actions. She was a woman of ethics and principles. Yet here she was, with this group of miscreants…

… and she loved them all. They were her family. Even more than some others in her past. She loved Anishor and his cubs. They were in her heart, but these people in Zealot, she just wasn’t ready to be parted from them. Not yet.

She was jolted from her reverie by the sound of claxon’s alerting the place to their presence. This was not a good thing. Rocky tensed up, but she knew he wouldn’t do anything unless she ordered him to, or her own life was directly threatened. Grabbing up her rifle, patting her boots for the smaller weapons stored there, she made her way to the open door. Scott Jensen was the better sniper of the two of them, but she held her own, usually.

“Sithspit, what have they gotten us into this time…”

The droning whine of alarm klaxons made communication aboard the supply base amongst the Zealot crew almost impossible, but then two of their number had little need for words. As Kaz continued unloading the contents of an ammo crate into the bag slung over his shoulder, he paused long enough to glance back and check on the progress of his resourceful sidekick Rie.

Rie wasn’t her real name of course, but then through subtle hints Kaz had discovered the girl’s name was just one of the things she’d likely made up for herself along the way.
He’d met her several months prior on one of the backwater pits the Zealot members had been popping in on since the start of their ill-fated little adventure. Gathering intel by the glassful in a shabby little gaming parlor, Kaz had first noticed the small blonde making her way from table to table. Some would think it her looks that caught his eye, but for Kaz it was more of the fact she was also expertly picking the pocket of every gambler she passed.

He followed her progress for almost an hour, admiring her skill and the fact she was apparently brazen enough to steal from the kind of people who killed over a wrong glance. So impressed was he, that he even went as far as to put down a half finished beer and follow at a safe distance when the girl finally made her exit out a side door.
Kaz casually strolled along in the rain behind the girl for a few blocks, doing a much better job of remaining unobserved than the group of four thugs who’d been tailing her since the last cross street. As she turned off into an alleyway the thugs had followed, hurrying and clearly eager to make their move. For his part, Kaz merely stood within the shadows at the entrance to observe if his initial perception of the girl had been true.

In the end it hadn’t been much of a fight at all, but then the outcome had been decided from the moment it began. The thugs rushed in, thinking their prey to be completely cornered only to find all five feet nothing of her brandishing a pair of knives with a fearful but determined look in her green eyes. The thugs became wary, backing away a few unfortunate paces into the shadows in order to better coordinate their attack.

There was a sound of scuffling and several shouts from the mouth of the alleyway, but a few seconds later all four thugs hit the filthy rain soaked pavement either dead or dying. The girl had stepped forward cautiously, blinking at the figure that silently materialized into the light before her eyes.

Kaz merely stretched, cracked his knuckles and offered her a small grin along with the first in what would be a long line of lessons to come.

“Kid, you got guts....but you keep this up and it’ll be you facedown in a puddle some night.”

During the remainder of the team’s stay, the running joke among members....at least when he was out of earshot.....was about Kaz’s little blonde shadow. She became a fixture around their regular haunts, delivering information and running down leads on new targets for Kaz. In completely non-Kazlike fashion, the gruff commando not only tolerated her, but actually went out of his way to interact with her.

He taught Rie all manner of ways to defend herself both with weapons and without, and how to better avoid trouble in the first place. She proved to be a more than apt pupil, and in return showed an almost fierce loyalty to the veteran, always seeming to be near at hand at even a hint of trouble.

That Rie was adopted as an unofficial member of the Zealot team when the Calypso returned to orbit was of little surprise. The girl had proven her value numerous times, and possibly more importantly no one really felt suicidal enough to try to telling Kaz otherwise.

Little if anything else was known about her past before joining the Zealots, both due to her being nearly as distant as her mentor, and the slightly drastic language barrier. It was widely known that Rie was unable to speak, and the razor thin, gnarled band of scar tissue encircling her throat made it an easy guess as to why.

What wasn’t known, was how she’d gotten the injury, and the only person dumb enough to ask had been put through a pub window courtesy of Kaz. What was known, was that Rie communicated through a combination of written word and a complex system of sign language, which to date only Kaz had been able to pick up enough to be fluent in.

Overall, Rie had proven herself to be a competent, resourceful member of the team, even if she wasn’t yet privy as to the true nature of Zealot’s mission.

Presently, she was also become increasingly agitated at how long it was taking the rest of the team to mobilize, and let Kaz know this by flicking him in the back of the ear and twirling a finger in a “hurry the hell up” gesture when he looked up.

Stuffing the last of the power cells into his duffel Kaz grunted and stood, freeing his sidearm from its holster in the process.

“Yeah, suppose we’ve just about worn out our welcome. Anyone remember where we parked?”

"...for real?" Darik "Deuce" Klivan muttered to himself as the alarm klaxons went off. Pulling his DL-44 and DL-18 from their hip and shoulder holsters respectively, he pushed off of Scott Jansen's left shoulder and ducked behind an unmolested cargo crate. The sound of heavy bootfalls began to echo down the corridor leading to the cargo bay and shouted orders were barely audible over the sound of the klaxons.

"Calypso!", the oft-drunken Corellian bellowed. "Back to the ship and grab...those guys!" As Deuce readied the DL-44 he kept in his left hand and began laying down suppressive fire over his right shoulder, he gestured with his DL-18 at the five bound prisoners Kaz and Rie had left tied up on the deck, hands behind them and gagged.

Scott Jensen dove to the deck and shot a questioning glance up at Deuce, who shrugged at him and mouthed the word "hostages". A flash of recognition glimmered in Scott's eyes and he motioned for Deuce to cover him as he sprang off the deck and sprinted towards the cargo bay's blast doors. A moment later, he seemed to be rigging something to the track along which the blast doors ran, deeply concentrating on his work. Deuce popped up over the crate he'd been leaning behind and began making measured but rapid shots in Scott's general vicinity, coming awfully close to, but not quite hitting his fellow Corellian.

Kaz Falcion, for his part, was either on the same page or an entire chapter ahead of Klivan. He'd already scooped up the two security guards previously knocked out and thrown them over his shoulders most unceremoniously, like farmers on rural worlds carry large sacks of produce.

His associate Rie acted in a similar, if mildly less overtly brutish fashion, instead jabbing the toe of her boot hard into one of the cargo handler's ribs, gesturing for him to stand and helping him by jerking him roughly to his feet, along with his compatriots a moment later. A meaningful wiggle of the barrel of Sarriah's rifle and a growl from Rocky quickly convinced them that following Kaz was indeed, the correct thing to do in this scenario.

Sarriah swung her rifle around as Rie shepherded the remaining prisoners just in time to see Scott scurry away from the blast doors quickly, holding something still in his hand. He dove behind some cargo crates to the opposite of Deuce and threw her a cocky look of "Watch this", before depressing the stud on the triggering mechanism for the block of detonite he'd just planted. With a persecuting sound and a mighty explosion, the detonite went off, causing a few alarmed screams from the assembling RS Security personnel, but causing no actual casualties. It did, however, effectively render the blast doors to the cargo bay worthless.

After Scott detonated the blast door, he fired off a few quick shots at the re-assembling security forces, catching one unlucky trooper directly in the knee. Using some form of commando sign language, he motioned for Sarriah to double back to the ship and for Deuce to follow her while he continued to lay down suppressive fire, his sniper's accuracy causing multiple issues for the security personnel attempting to advance.

Sarriah retreated as directed, keeping her rifle covering the entrance to the cargo hold, just in case Deuce and Scott's fire wasn't causing enough of a hazard. Though her eyes flashed with an uncharacteristic hardness, the rest of the squad knew she was loathe to actually take a life. For that loathness, however, the Corellian combo of Klivan and Jensen seemed to be making up for it. Red killbolts flew back and forth between the RS security forces and the two Zealot's in their makeshift cover. Though directives had been given not to kill if it wasn't necessary, that didn't stop Scott, and to a lesser extent, Deuce, from inflicting painful, if non lethal wounds.

Holding up a hand to indicate to Scott that he'd hold for a moment, Klivan promptly fired three shots from his DL-44 into the ceiling of the cargo bay and began yelling at the security troops. "Arrrrrr! Attention RS Security Personnel! This is the uh...Bloody Fist Pirate Gang!" Scott's eyes went wide as he shot Deuce a confused look. Klivan shrugged, indicating he was making this all up as he went along before continuing. "We've taken hostages...and uh...our first demand is a full cargo manifest of this station in an hour! And if you're thinking of getting cute and calling for help, our slicer's already in your comm channels and our freighter's full of Nergon-14. Make the wrong choice and we're all dead -- us, your hostages and this whole station!"

Deuce shrugged again at Scott as he continued his rant. "You can reach us through the comm-unit on our freighter, the Calypso. If that manifest isn't transmitted in the hour, the first hostage dies! Slowly and painfully! After that, we'll talk! So...don't you all do nothing dumb now, y'hear?" With that, Deuce jerked his head towards the Calypso, indicating he was about to head that way and for Scott to cover him. The return fire from the security personnel had all but petered out as Deuce finished his rant, presumably for the non-commissioned officers to relay the situation to their superiors. Keeping low, Klivan ran quickly back towards the Calypso, taking up a station behind the landing strut and leveling his blaster pistols at the entrance to the cargo bay. With a wave of his hand, he gestured Scott back to join him. The other man fired two quick shots back, perforating the interior cargo bay door control panel to further assure its non-useability before scrambling to join the other Zealots aboard the Calypso.

((Okay, Cody, hopefully I didn't screw up your intent too bad. I think we can just roll from here, guys, and if we're screwed up, maybe Cody can unscrew us when he's back.))

Sarriah dashed back inside the Calypso, as fast as she could dash while running backwards. Thankfully she hadn’t been far from the doorway. She kept sound suppressing ear plugs in as a normal course of business. The Zealots were always getting into trouble and standard practices seemed to be gunfire, blaster fire, and explosions for resolving troubles. She then stood her ground, covering the retreat of her people with their hostages.

At the notion of hostages, she wasn’t too happy, but she did see some sense in it. Plus, it would hopefully keep the RS personnel alive. Her main concern was if their bluff were called, people would start dying. She had little doubt that some of the Zealots would easily be willing to make that happen.

Would she kill to save her team, yes. Had she killed in the past, yes. But this whole operation was wrong. There should have been another way to accomplish their goals.
Shrugging that all off, she needed to ensure the safety of her people now. She was second in command and she wanted her people kept alive and in as much of one piece as possible.

“Okay boys! Stop playing and get in here!”

Cody Qel-Droma stood over the unconscious hostages they’d brought aboard, smoking a cigarette and wondering what might work next. The hangar bay’s guns had fallen silent upon Deuce’s announcement of an escalating hostage crisis. His plan had been to do things somewhat more silently than they’d panned out. He had Kaz and his new ladyfriend to thank for that.

“The Bloody Fists?” He bit his lips at the sound of the name, shaking his head while looking at Deuce. “It’s a damn good thing we’ll have to ditch that name when we’re out of RS space.

Cody looked back at the hostages. “Ok, while we’re sealed up in here, how about we get some of ya’ll that haven’t been seen yet to change into some of these hostages’ uniforms. Then when this shit escalates, as it’s no doubt going to, we can release some of you as hostages. In all this confusion, hopefully you can make it into the base and wreck some havoc, get us those cargo manifests, all that jazz….”

He went over to the tools hanging from the deck walls of the Calypso, rifling around and coming up with a plasma cutter. He tossed it over to Kaz, which he prompted dodged, leaving the cutter to clang across the floor.

Cody ignored the slight insult.

“You and that ladyfriend of yours…” He paused for a moment, looking over at Sarriah, perhaps the only voice of rational thought on this whole outfit. “No, check that, you and your ladyfriends…”

He gave Sarriah a wink. “Kaz, I want you, Rie, and Sarriah to find a way to cut a whole in the deck plates under the ship without being seen, get yourself loose on the lower decks, cause some trouble and distractions, find something to steal better than plasma packs. There are some fighters around here somewhere, R-41s, Y-wings, etc. We need fighters and I need you to toss boxes of whatever the hell else you can dig up inside.”

Sarriah has lost the latter part of the conversation where her name had been thrown into the pot as a saboteur. “At what point did I become a troublemaker?”

Cody silenced her with a finger. “You’re not. You’re the only thing that might keep these two from killing a bunch of RS soldiers. As much as I don’t mind knocking some heads, I’m still supposed to keep from all out massacres. We’re still RSers too apparently…”

Sarriah sighed and picked up the cutter, motioning for Kaz and Rie to follow.

Cody turned back to Deuce. “Well, since you’re Mr. Bloody Fists now, and I’m guessing it might not even be the first time, you’re the voice of pirate radio. Whenever these fuckers need to interact with us, you’re that guy.”

He looked at the others, still standing around. “Well, what the fuck? Pick a hostage whose got the same damn pants size and get to changing!”

It was then that the depot’s comm systems relayed a new message to the Calypso.

“Bloody Fists Pirates, this is the Comm Operator of New Republic Station CF-1773-B. We’re currently mobilizing forces of the Rebel Squadrons to respond to our distress beacon. In the next few hours, RS forces should be pouring into the space around our station. Should you seek to escape with the hostages, the punishment shall be severe. We advise you to think about other options. Perhaps there is still a rational way we might end this?”

((OOC: Right now we're a bit short on people, so I don't mind the NPC characters like Rie....I'll try to update as much as I can people....working on another "beyond the mission post" that I hope to get out today (Von-Sek, Lars stuff). Shake any members you know and get them back in the swing of things, the more you put out, the more I put out....))

((This all relates, so I'd recommend reading....it'll all dovetail eventually....))

Location: Homely City, capital city of planet Caelum, Senate Chamber

Warlord Lars stood in the middle of the senate chamber, closing his eyes and tuning out the senators as the argued back and forth over their useless politics. It was all pompous posturing, this ‘Most August Senate House,” as they’d insisted it be called.

He’d never seen such a backwater planet with such delusions of wealth and grandeur. It made him sick.

He’d left his dieing faction of Imperials to fight it out and destroy one another and was now on his own with his men. They’d accepted the role as Mercenaries, far trusting the decisions of their old general to that of beaurocrats, politicians, and navy admirals to misuse them and get them all killed.

Lars opened his eyes as the voices shifted toward him once again, ending their quarreling in order to ask him a question.

“Warlord Lars, I wonder why you came here and thought your bloodthirsty mercs would be a good fit for such a planet as ours?” The senator looks at his brethren, nodding his head.

Lars looked at all the men gathered, staring them all in the eyes as he looked about the room.

“I came here because you seem to lack in defense, having broken away from the New Republic and the Rebel Squadrons forces that had previously lorded over you.”

The Senator attempted to speak over Lars. “We’re not exactly lacking in…”

Lars continued as if the petty man had never even bothered to open his mouth. “I came here because I’ve fought against the forces that you so callously decided to shrug off. They’re bound to return and attempt to restore their ‘democratic’ rule over you. As such, my men and I are willing to protect you. We will take 15% of your planetary income as payment for our services.”

With that, an audible gasp rippled through the senate chamber. Another one of the Senators rose to address Lars.

“Warlord Lars, I’m not sure you realize what you ask of us.”

Lars smiled and turned t respond. “Oh, I very much realize what I ask. If seems you find yourself between a Sarlacc and a Space Slug. On one hand you could try to defend yourselves against the New Republic and no doubt lose your current status as a free world. On the other, you could employ the services of my men and I, hoping to fend off that eventuality for a small fee.”

The Senator looked Lars over and responded. “Why don’t you just take us yourselves and lord over us as a despot?” The sentence was sarcastic, but Lars did not take it as such.

“Do not think it wasn’t something to cross my mind. You’re correct. With the proper nod you’d all be laying here dead and I would, in fact, be the new leader of this pitiful planet you call home.”

He paused just long enough to let it sink in among the Senate.

“But in the end, I have little love of politics, which means I have little love for lording over this pitiful shithole. I’ll be happy to take 15% to support and reinforce my men throughout the duration of our arrangement.”

The Senate stood in shock. It took some time for a member to stand and add anything further to the dialogue. What was said next solidified Lar’s position in Caelum’s state of affairs.

“Since you’re so concerned with money, what is there to make us believe you won’t betray us at the first sign of more money from elsewhere?”

Lars laughed. “This is the one area where perhaps you have an advantage over me. When the Rebel Squadrons fleets appear over your system, I will stop at nothing to destroy them. Your money will be good to me, but the thought of destroying those who have wronged both you and I…it drives me far more.”

The senate leader looked at Lars knowing he had little other option. “So be it…We shall vote, but it appears you have us trapped in a corner….”

Lars smiled again, looking at the assembled masses. “I might also add that I will be assuming control of your current planetary defense forces. I wish to train them up to my standards.”

The Senate, now used to surprises beyond their control, was hard pressed to venture anywhere near anything resembling a ‘No’ by this point. Lars had the politicians in his pocket now.

He’d fled the Rogue Imperial holdings with his men, watching the Navy he’d once supported retreat far from this sector. He’d set out with his men toward this end of the galaxy hoping to find work. It was by chance he’d found Caelum and it’s current plight, but it was a problem that would give him another crack at the Rebel Squadrons, and with them, Zealot Operations Unit.

((Again, this all will dovetail...although you have a huge amount of leeway in how it all does....))

Location: Strike Cruiser Vindictive, parts unknown

Newly christened Admiral Von-Sek stood upon the bridge of the Strike Cruiser Vindictive surveying the status of his support fleet. His men had accepted his quest for revenge, somehow fueled by the abomination of a man that he now was.

His second in command came to him wishing to speak.

“Admiral…”

Von-Sek had lost his pompous ideas with the loss of his skin. The whole thing had taught him a lot about how to treat his men. He was not about to scold or lord over them as he might have in the past.

“Yes?”

His second in command nodded his head and continued. “Our scouts and spies have reported back. It appears that the former General Lars has landed on Caelum. Although we do not know his exact intentions, we do believe he’s working out some kind of merc contract.”

Von-Sek nodded. “What’s the planet’s current defense system?”

“It’s quite primitive, Sir, but in our current configuration, and if Lars has joined them, it could be of some trouble.”

“Indeed…” Von-Sek pondered tempered his feelings for revenge with realism, the one thing that Lars had taught him, having torn him down from lofty ideals. “Give me a rundown of nearby systems and planets. We’ll find a good location from which to better scout the Caelum defense grid and study exactly what Lars is up to. We’ve plenty of time to destroy the man…”

“Yes Sir…”

“Well, what the fuck? Pick a hostage whose got the same damn pants size and get to changing!”

Salaban gave Cody a nod and moved over to one of the hostages who looked to be about the same size as he was. Without any advance warning, Sal started stripping the security guard of his uniform, must to the discomfort of the new hostage. The guard squirmed as his clothes were systematically taken off. Sal chuckled a bit and looked down at the RSer who was now in his boxers, "Don't worry, if we were gonna fuck you in the ass Cody would've done it already."

This comment drew a few glances as well as a few laughs from the other Zealots who were also stripping down the other hostages, as well as their fearless leader. Sal kept going about the business of getting changed into his new uniform, which was a little loose, but as far as he was concerned that was better than too tight. He was a little disheartened that he would have to leave his armor and the majority of his weapons behind. Such was the nature of being in disguise though. With his long white hair tucked up into the helmet, he checked himself over once before turning to Cody and giving him a thumbs up. "Ready to go boss."

((Been underway a lot since the middle of March. I'll hit up the post as best I can while I'm in port. Looking forward to seeing where this goes.))

“You and that ladyfriend of yours…” Cody paused for a moment, looking over at her, “No, check that, you and your ladyfriends…”

He gave her a wink. “Kaz, I want you, Rie, and Sarriah…”

The little female winced as she knew large part of the wink was due to a little drunken indiscretion she’d had with Kaz. She also knew it was Cody telling her to provide a little balance to the situation.

Sashaying over to pick up the plasma cutter Kaz had dodged, she eyed him and his shadow. “C’mon y’all, let’s get to crawling.” Turning on her heal, the feisty dark haired woman swung her hips from side to side in what she hoped was a decent female version of a swagger.

She didn’t look back to see if she was being followed, but did hear the pair scuffing along behind her. Hopping down off the ramp, she quickly ducked down looking to see if she could detect a likely spot. Rocky followed them out, stretching and lazily meandering about, never leaving the vicinity.

Growling softly Sarriah muttered, “Dammit, I’m an animal doctor, not a mechanic. Kaz, where do ya think we should start?”

The silver-eyed male shrugged slightly, then snatched the plasma cutter from her small hands, shaking his head, “You women. Lemme do that, just stand back and be ready to shoot anything that might be down there.”

Kaz started cutting, while the two women prepared to cover him in case there were surprises awaiting them.

People without the ability to speak often find themselves more observant of those around them, and Rie was no exception. Years of lacking the ability to directly communicate with most she came in contact with had often pushed her into the background, where she’d learned to pick up on subtle non verbal cues to get a better feel of situations.

Cody’s emphasis on the word “ladyfriends” hadn’t been lost on her, a fact she’d be willing to make an issue of if not for the eminent firefight they seemed to be heading towards.

The wink in Sarriah’s direction though was another matter altogether. It went a long way towards explaining why it was that Kaz, her normally unflappable cohort seemed to always find something urgent in another section of the Calypso anytime the dark haired woman entered the room. Rie grinned to herself as she took up posistion behind a corner, fully intending to make an issue of this little fact, impending bloody death or not.

Kaz, who had caught both the wink and the reactions of his “ladyfriends”, was muttering a number of things about former holovid actors and questionable relations with their mothers under his breath as he set to work with the plasma cutter.

"...An' that should do 'er."

Scott Jensen quickly peeled away from the blast door, and pressed the button on the remote detonator in hand. The blast door erupted in a brilliant geyser of orange and red flame, peeling away... even as Scott began backing up, and firing. His shooting wasn't... as precise as usual, but it wasn't that bad, either. A quickly aimed bolt snapped the knee of one of the security personnel, and forced the others to take cover, as he gave the signal for Sarriah and Deuce to start falling back to the vessel. After dropping a number of the guards with quick precision fire, that on the outside seemed.... sloppy, though he held his ground, still covering them. When Deuce gave the hold order, he slipped back up into the hold proper... and took a moment to reload.

"Arrrrrr! Attention RS Security Personnel! This is the uh...Bloody Fist Pirate Gang!"

Scott blinked. He looked at Klivan incredulously... ...The kriff is Deuce thinkin'...

"We've taken hostages...and uh...our first demand is a full cargo manifest of this station in an hour! And if you're thinking of getting cute and calling for help, our slicer's already in your comm channels and our freighter's full of Nergon-14. Make the wrong choice and we're all dead -- us, your hostages and this whole station!"

...Aw hell.

With Deuce's shrug at him, he shook his head again. Bloody Fist Pirate Gang? Of all the crazy things he'd heard, this had to take the cake. But then, this was Zealot... and crazy was their M.O.

"You can reach us through the comm-unit on our freighter, the Calypso. If that manifest isn't transmitted in the hour, the first hostage dies! Slowly and painfully! After that, we'll talk! So...don't you all do nothing dumb now, y'hear?"

With a final jerk of his head, Deuce opened up with a few potshots, and zipped off. The moment he indicated he was okay.. he opened fire, blasting the control panel with a pair of quick pistol bolts...

And in the proceeding moments, he listened to Cody, and sorted the man's plan out. He had been seen... so he shrugged slightly, and began making himself ready for the next wave. With a nod to the other Zealots, Scott smirked, and settled up against the interior of the cargo hold. "...'Spect I'm as ready as I'm like ta get, folks." One final check of his weapons' charges... and he settled into place... waiting for all hell to break loose.

One thing Kaz, Sarriah, and apparently even Rie had in common is they were oft times pragmatists. The current situation Deuce and the RS ad placed them in certainly called for the practical as this was far from an ideal turn of events.

Sarriah chose to ignore Kaz’s sullenness and Rie’s brief flash of amusement. Once Kaz had an entry way for them, he captured the weapon Rie tossed to him and disappeared down the hole. Rie gave a brief glance at Sarriah and before she could wave the tiny woman to precede her, Rie had gone down the hole. Sarriah, herself, immediately dropped down, planning to take a quick assessment of their surroundings.

It had happened so quickly Sarriah had missed the sounds of pain coming from below her until she landed rather awkwardly on some bodies. Kaz and Rie’s. It seemed they were in a maintenance closet of some sort, a really small one. It wasn’t pretty or elegant, and she was rather glad no one else was following them down.

The group was a tangle of limbs and weapons; they attempted to sort themselves out as fast as possible. Hands were being placed in inappropriate places as they tried to stand to regain their feet and composure in the cramped space. Rocky peered down from the newly vented ceiling, mewling. A sense of dread filled the medic turned pirate.

“Rocky, no! Stay!”

The cat didn’t stay; the narglatch determined he was going with them. He’d become a little unsettled with all the shootings. It instantly clear to Sarriah he wasn’t going to be left behind. With a thud, the trio was a quartet.

With effort they finally sorted themselves out. If they got a chance to look back on this later it might be amusing.

For now, it was not.

((yeah people, feel free to do more than just react to me...this is fairly open ended....So far it's been like "Cody says this" and then "Other character makes facial expression."

Really, just let lose. You're on an RS supply depot to try and steal some starfighters and supplies so we can get to pirating. You should try not to kill your own people, but since they have guns on you this may be difficult.

Feel free to branch out a bit, I'll let you know if you take things a bad route ;-P

Just know that the gear we can steal will be somewhat limited to like Ywing, Zs, R-41s, etc, although the guns and such can be of a bit better quality...still, prefer we don't steal NR guns if possible, but after the recent RS wars, there's bound to be a bit of lesser grade weapons to fill the RS's massive gaps in supplies...

So get out there a bit, I'll throw your characters into situations as they arise. If you don't get your asses moving toward stealing some shit and getting out of here, I'm just gonna kill you ;-P ))