The Buccaneers Bay

[jammi]

The call had gone out. The capt'n had resurface. The call had gone out. Times had changed, and Sirius was the worse for it. Bretonia had changed the most - or not at all, depending on who you asked. One war had been swapped for another, with enemies becoming allies and allies being swept away by the tides of enmity. Despite this, one variable remained constant; crime. There would always be crime, in Bretonia and further afield. The Buccaneers had perished as a space-bourne enterprise, but... The call had gone out.

The door was pushed open again, and the hulking figure of John Morris shouldered its way through. Largely machine rather than man, Morris had more augmented mechanical parts than biological ones. Added to his towering stature, this gave him a punch like a steam piston and the resilience of a security safe. The man was practically bullet and explosion-proof, and had been known to tear men in half with his bare hands during the execution of the Buccaneers' less savoury planetside duties. It was unsurprising that he had once acted as a bouncer in the 'Bay.

Following him through was 'King - John Crown. The grizzled lieutenant had changed a lot since the Buccaneer's short-lived revival and golden age. He had lost his left arm and eye since the Captain had last seen him, both now replaced with artificial replacements. A tattoo of a crown now adorned his brow. He had retreated to Gran Canaria shortly after the Great Collapse, with Morris acting as a personal bodyguard. From there, they had insidiously infiltrated the planet and the Port Jackson colony, ensuring the gang's influence in the area.

As per usual, Morris had his hand-cannon within easy reach. It wasn't every day a dead man came back to life - both Buccaneers were rightly suspicious of a trap. As the iron giant spotted Morgan, his scarred patchwork of face creased up into what could be roughly described as a smile. "So. You're back," King succinctly summarised.

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