From the Bridge...

[Koolmo]

Brig, RACS-Terra II (fmr. RAFC-Dreadnought)
Siruis Sector
Tau-31

Mcintosh stalked down the central walkway, peering into cells. Most were occupied by former crew members of the Dreadnought, or other loyalist forces from within the SCRA's organization. A cell full of Marines from Major General Idiosius' Personal Guard glared menacingly as he passed, but made no overt moves. Mcintosh's own Marines followed him at an indiscreet distance, weapons ready.

The Major General had attempted a counter-coup, but without fleet support, his troops were slaughtered before they could board, and nearly a third of his force had come over to Mcintosh's side. Out of the entire Marine Corps' twelve battalions, eight had joined in the coup from the beggining, another during the fighting, and the survivors of the remaining two battalions were now ensconsed here. Five thousand marines were avalable for combat duities, another two thousand were deployed on various ships through the Sector, and three hundred were dedicated as his own personal guard.

Those who'd been with him for the last decade knew him, his moods, and his temper as well as he did, and by now they were nearly an extension of his will. His personal guard were denoted by the red piping on thir black dress uniforms, rather than the normal gold of the marines, and silver of the commandos.

As he approached the final cell, a trio of Guards snapped to Attention. The Corporal, a scarred man whom Mcintosh had stormed the final bunker with on Geioon IV. He could never remember this fellow's name but when Mcintosh had needed loyal men, he'd been one of the first selected.

"Sir! He's the same as before, ate a little of the food, drank exactly..."

The Corporal examined the readout beside him.

"... 783 millilitres of water, sir."

"Excellent. Open 'er up."

He stood back as the heavy battlesteel doors ground away on carefully oiled tracks. Several Marines took up position near the door, and the remainder preceeded him into the room, stationing themselves around the walls. The cell's lone occupant rose to meet them, dressed in the rags of his glory.

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OOC: five cookies for the first person to guess who this is gonna be, via PM:D

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<span style="color:#FFFF00">&quot;General Solo, is your strike team assembled?&quot;
&quot;Barely, they're pretty drunk.&quot; </span>
SCRA Recruiting--SCRA Feedback--SCRA Message Dump--SCRA Faction Status

I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.