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Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:28 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

Lambert was awoken by a rattling on the barred cell door. Plagued by nightmares, his restless sleep was easily broken, and he rolled over on the slab to see two large Rogues looking in at him.

'Rise n' shine, princess. Got yerself a special appointment this mornin'.'

Lambert's eyes slowly came into focus, and he saw that these two were different men than had escorted him into the cell to begin with. Suddenly he remembered the last words spoken to him, and turned to reach for the makeup bag and folded dress he'd left in the corner.

'Nah boy, leave that crap. Ain't Pita yer seein' today.'

Lambert froze, his hand already grasping the bag. Slowly, he let it fall to the floor and stood up, glancing down at himself. He was still wearing the same flightsuit he'd been captured in... four, five days ago now? It was beginning to show signs of wear already, and was stained in several places.

The door rattled open, and rough hands immediately grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out. Lambert briefly considered a plan to surprise and overwhelm them somewhere along the way to their destination, but then discarded the idea after glancing at the two hulking brutes 'escorting' him. He also admitted to having a certain morbid curiosity at what new torments awaited him today, if it wasn't to be another tea party with the girl, Pita.

They dragged him through a labyrinth of corridors, into what was clearly an older and less frequented part of the base. Signs of age were apparent: worn paint, burn marks, and a thin layer of dust on the floor. Eventually they reached a large door with 'BAY #7B' stenciled on it in big block letters. One guard momentarily detached from his arm to go to a small keypad recessed into the wall and enter a brief code.

The doors hissed open with a squeal, revealing a large docking bay. The bay doors were closed tight, and piles of refuse near the walls indicated a level of disuse. A Lane Hacker gunship was parked in the center docking circle.

The guards pulled him into the bay, and the doors shut noisily behind them.

Before anyone could speak, a voice echoed across the room, likely from an intercom of some sort. 'That will be all, gentlemen. Lock the door on your way out; we wouldn't want our dear guest here to leave before we're done with him.'

The two brutes glanced around in momentary confusion, then shrugged and walked out. The door closed behind them and then all was silent. Lambert waited a moment, and then half-stumbled forward towards the gunship.

Then, he heard a hatch hiss open and the sound of footsteps. He froze, and looked up at the ship as a tall feminine figure emerged from behind the ship. She was dressed in all-black fatigues devoid of any insignia. The only way he could think of to describe the way she moved was 'unnatural'. She walked with bizarrely perfect posture, arms not moving and taking precise and measured steps. With a jolt he realized why it had seemed familiar to him... it was the same way that every robotic mech he'd ever seen had walked.

Her face was finally revealed by the bay's dim lighting and he recoiled from her ghastly visage. Her jet-black hair, cut shoulder-length, seemed normal, and her matching dark eyes also seemed fine. But the rest of her face was a monstrosity. Skin a milky, unnatural white, contrasted with a hideous black mask that covered the entire lower half of her face. The mask had a number of wires and tubes running into it from various points on her body, and some of the tubes pumped a strange blue-purple liquid into her.

She walked up to face him, eyes burning with a deep passion. 'Lambert, at last I have you.' She paused, drinking in his presence with her eyes. Her voice was rich and commanding, with a sensual husk and a hint of something vaguely synthetic. 'Do you remember me?'

Lambert's brow creased as he looked at her. Surely he would've remembered that grim mask and all those wires and tubes. But when he looked into her dark almond-shaped eyes, something from the deep, long forgotten part of his memory poked at him.

His eyes narrowed, furiously trying to remember. Her face contorted itself into what he supposed was a grotesque impersonation of a smile, and she spoke again, this time her voice dripping in irony. 'Help me; they're making me do it.'

Help me; they're making me do it'...

Suddenly she was once again a normal person in his eyes, a scared-looking woman with panic in her eyes. 'Help me; they're making me do it,' she said, voice quavering with fear. Her plain white flightsuit was stained and tattered, and she had a wild, desperate look in those stunning dark eyes.

He remembered the grenade launcher in his hands, a military model liberated from one of her captors. Outcasts, the hated cardamine peddlers. This was one of their ships, yes. A freighter, in the Tau-23 system. And she had been the only cargo.

'Don't move, girl,' he had said, even as she had backed herself against the bulkhead. He'd been wearing full EV combat gear, but had his blast shield up to reveal his face. His loyal men were in the process of clearing the rest of the ship. His gloved fist tightened on the trigger of the grenade launcher. 'Wouldn't want to lose any of that valuable knowledge in your head.'

A sound abruptly echoed through the ship over the intercom, a malevolent Outcast's voice. 'Kill him. We'll reward you richly. Do it. Now!'

The woman shook her head violently. 'No, no, no, no, NO!' But then her eyes glazed over, a vacant look in her eyes. He was baffled and was about to say something when she abruptly shook herself. His only warning was a flash of rage in her eyes before she launched herself at him, howling like a feral animal.

He reacted quickly, his years of tortuous 'training' and experience kicking in. He dove backwards, the enhanced exoskeleton of his armor propelling him, and he squeezed the trigger of the grenade launcher. It coughed loudly, sending its offering not at the woman, but past her. The bulkhead behind her exploded into red-hot shards of metal, and the air in the room immediately began rushing through the hole into the vacuum of space.

Her animal howl turned into a shriek of terror as an invisible hand grabbed her from behind and yanked her out of the jagged hole into open space. That was the last he'd seen of her...

...until now. He immediately snapped out of the vivid memory as recognition dawned in his eyes. It had been years but it was her, after all. What the hell had happened to her?

'Yes, I see you finally remember me. The intervening years haven't been kind, as you can see. And this is only the tip of the iceberg, after all. I have you to thank for this, you know. Now that our roles are reversed, I intend to find a measure of'¦ justice.'

She paused, again staring at him with a passionate focus.

The moment was interrupted as the door behind him hissed open. He saw the surprise and then rash of anger in her eyes, and then turned to see Pita standing in the open doorway.

'What is the meaning of this? I left specific instructions not to be disturbed!' the woman behind him yelled.

Pita's eyes never left him. 'There you are, Brenna. I've been looking for you all morning!' Abruptly her eyes narrowed in anger. 'WHY aren't you dressed? You look like an ugly man again!'

Her hand moved to the collar around her neck, where it gently pressed the horrible button.

Lambert's world exploded in pain, and he collapsed to the floor, fighting not to scream. Every nerve was afire as powerful currents of electricity rippled through his body. He was only vaguely aware of the woman behind him crossing the room to confront Pita. He heard, rather than saw, the ringing slap as Pita was struck.

'You will NOT do that again girl, do you understand me? Right now, he is MINE to do with as I please. Do you understand me, you pathetic little base-rat?'

Pita, bent over and clutching her stinging cheek, looked up at the woman in anger. 'No Banshee! He's my Brenna, and Moka said he could be my new doll! I want him back!'

The pain had finally subsided, and Lambert raised his head from the floor to watch the encounter between his two captors. He was actually impressed that Pita was willing to stand up to the ghastly woman confronting her.

'Moka promised the little base-rat she could play with the Navy pilot, huh?' the woman, Banshee, said, voice dripping with obvious sarcasm. 'I bet you two had all kinds of fun together, but now it's time for the grown-up to have her turn. Tell you what, little base-rat: I won't kill him. And you know what? I'll even let you watch what I do to him. Maybe you'll learn something, hmm?'

Pita looked up at her warily, but then abruptly brightened and nodded, straightening up.

'Good girl. Now go sit over there quietly and watch,' Banshee said, gesturing towards her gunship. Pita skipped over to the ship's fuselage and sat up against it, watching Lambert intently.

'Good. Now that that's settled, it's time to move on to the show.' Banshee walked back towards the ship, and Lambert stood and turned to face her again. She closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again and refocused on him. A pair of robotic service mechs emerged from behind the ship, carrying a large cylindrical tank.

'Ignore them. They're simply setting up the props I'll need for my first trick,' she said, even as the mechs set the tank down next to her and turned to go fetch more supplies from the ship. 'I call it 'The Disappearing Man'.' She laughed, a horrible squeal of pure delight.

'I've done a lot of research on you while you've been playing at being a naval officer. In fact, I'd say that I know more about you than anyone else alive in Sirius today.'

Two things happened at the same time, and a rock dropped into the pit of Lambert's stomach as a feeling of unspeakable horror paralyzed him. The first was her next sentence:

'I know the truth about you... ALL of it.'

And the second was when one of the mechs returned bearing a large metal canister with the word CARDAMINE emblazoned on the side.

Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:31 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

Before the shock had worn off, Lambert was already in the tank, and it was too late. Before he'd been able to recover, the mech had set the cardamine canister down, and had come to drag him into the tank. He hadn't actively resisted, but then again he hadn't been of a mind to walk straight to his doom, either.

All the while, the second mech had busied itself with some large tubes, which he used to connect the cardamine to the glass tank.

Lambert knew only one thing could be coming, and his chest heaved with the desperate gasps of terror that consumed him. After he was dragged into the tank, the mech left the open hatch as it was, and Lambert managed to straighten himself. He was a tall man, and his head was less than an inch from the top of the tank. There were mere inches to either side, creating a very enclosed space that reminded him too much of a coffin.

Banshee stepped forward, a strange syringe now in her hands. It was filled with an odd greenish fluid. He raised his hands to ward her off, but she casually pushed his hand aside and sank the syringe into his side. There was a momentary prick of pain, and then numbness as the drug flowed into his body.

'This should take effect momentarily. Our friends at Cryer are to thank for this one, part of their failed research on a cure for cardamine. This drug merely enhances the effects of the drug. All of the effects.' She laughed like that had been the most hilarious thing in the universe.

The drug began to take hold, with a tingling sensation throughout his body and a spinning sensation in his head. Banshee stepped back and shut the tank's hatch herself. He noticed a small intercom unit set into the glass hatch, allowing him to hear and be heard through the tank.

Thus, he clearly heard Banshee's next words: 'And now, watch him disappear!'

A deluge of orange gas descended from the top of the tank, immolating him and blocking out any vision of the outside world. Lambert held his breath, eyes shut but still reddened and tear-streaked by their momentary exposure. He fell to his knees, forehead cracking against the front of the tank, as he struggled not to breath in the gas. Yet it was already doing its work as soon as it touched his skin and entered his nose and ears.

Finally, after long minutes that seemed like hours, he could hold on no longer, and succumbed to the inevitable. His lungs sucked in the poisoned air with an unconscious desperation, and he could taste the vile substance on his tongue and lips. As soon as it entered his lungs, his body was wracked with a fit of coughs that went on and on, as it desperately tried to expel the gas from his body.

Yet the drug already in his bloodstream had other intentions. Already it was at work, and Lambert's coughing began to subside as he felt a deep, euphoric sense of relaxation. Now he slumped backwards, back against the tank's rear, and slid into a relaxed sitting position. As he began to finally breathe deeply of the drugged air, the true effects of the combined assault on his body began to take hold.

Lambert began to feel much energized and actually... happy, for the first time in as long as he could remember. This overwhelming sense of joy caused him to leap to his feet and begin rocking back and forth onto his heels, all the while humming a song to himself. Yet the sense of euphoria did not stay at a constant level, for every breath he took propelled him to higher plateaus. Eventually he stopped moving intentionally, his body convulsing. His arms flailed about, smacking into the glass of the tank. Then, with a bit of drool emerging from the corner of his mouth, he collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.

His slumber was not restful, as the drugs induced a number of vivid visions. Everything moved very fast from his perspective, but the emotions attached to them were intense and not easily forgettable.

Darkness, and then a glowing pair of purple eyes, angular and malicious. Screaming, curses. A monumental hatred directed at him, for reasons he couldn't comprehend.

A civilian transport ship, floating in a system far away. He held it in his hands, and hundreds of frightened eyes stared out at him through dark portholes. With a laugh, he smashed the ship, until all that remained was the blood that stained his hands. Abruptly, he felt a sharp, stinging regret.

A young man, in his early twenties, facing him in a Bounty Hunter's jacket. A knife was in his hands and he abruptly slashed the man's neck, as innocent eyes stared into his dark soul. He felt emptiness, as if a part of him, too, had died.

Dark eyes staring at him, accusingly, as they floated out into the emptiness of space. He felt a vague sense of disappointment.

And finally, a pair of green eyes glowing with mischief staring out at him from the darkest corner of Sirius. He felt, momentarily, a sense of soaring hope that was soon consumed by despair and a profound sense of loss.

He awoke to the greatest pain he had ever experienced in his life. It was deeper than mere physical pain, a soul-wrenching feeling that felt as if the most important part of him had been ripped away. The orange mist was gone, and he looked up into Banshee's delighted eyes.

He screamed then, an endless raw sound that was the only expression of the pain he felt. He screamed and screamed, tears streaming from blue eyes that pleaded with her to just make it stop. She merely stared at him, savoring his pain as his screams grew to a fevered pitch as the pain continued to increase towards an inevitable crescendo of agony.

Banshee's eyes drank in the entire experience, his screams music in her ears, while she appreciated the man literally dying in front of her like the rare masterpiece of a celebrated artist. Lambert's skin turned to the clammy white of a corpse, and his lips turned blue to match the blue eyes that were slowly beginning to droop despite the continued screaming. Yet even the strength of those screams began to fade now, as important bodily systems began to shut down. His breathing and heartbeat began to slow to an erratic trickle as the death of the shrunken thing that had once been a man neared completion.

Reluctantly, she finally tore herself away from the scene, a scene that was horrifically familiar to her, and nodded to the mech standing by the tank. A button was pressed, and a small amount of the same orange gas was released into the tank. It floated down to the body at the bottom of the tank, and he miraculously began to return to life. Breathing returned to normal, and his eyes began to flutter open. The more of the drug that was consumed, the more life seemed to return to his body, until moments later, he was awake and sitting up, silently breathing it in.

'Welcome back, Mr. Lambert,' she said in a mocking tone. 'I'll keep the gas flowing for now, so you can focus on what I'm going to tell you. Do you understand?'

She waited until he wearily nodded, then continued.

'Good. I must say that I'm very impressed by this little drug,' she said, holding up the empty syringe she still clutched. 'It does the job so well, and I believe we still have a fair amount of time to use here. You see, normally the withdrawal effects won't be quite so... immediate. Yet they will happen in time. I'm afraid, my friend, that you will be taking doses of cardamine for the rest of your natural life.'

She laughed at the ashen look that came over him.

'You're fortunate, though, that I don't have more time to work with you. You see, the same was done to me by the Outcasts, but without this handy little drug. The process took months of agony before they were finally satisfied. But, now that I've been able to confirm that this works, let's get down to the real business at hand. You see, as I said, my dear prisoner, I know many things about you.'

He looked up at her with dread, like a condemned man waiting for the axe to fall.

'For example, I know that James Lambert is dead.'

Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:34 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

''¦I know that James Lambert is dead.'

The words smashed into Lambert's shattered consciousness like a rampant thunderbolt. It simply wasn't possible that she knew the entire truth; he had covered his tracks so well. The old days, the man he'd used to be, had faded even from his memory as he had truly moved on from that life.

But that was now irrelevant, he realized. The years of work he'd put in now might as well never have happened.

He managed to choke out a word. 'What...?' A desperate gambit, really, was all it could ever be. Yet he still clung to the faint hope that perhaps she didn't really know everything about what she implied.

Her response was merely another cackle of glee. 'Playing the denial game still, are we? As you wish, but I can see it in your eyes, my dear.

'But yes, James Lambert the lad born on Curacao who joined the Bounty Hunters to follow in his father's footsteps is, indeed, dead. Long dead, in fact. And I think you know something about his death, don't you... Herr Jaeger?'

He looked into her eyes through the falling orange mist and saw his undoing. He slowly lowered his head to the floor, acknowledging defeat.

'No more denials for me? But I was so looking forward to continuing that little game! No matter, as I notice you refuse to acknowledge who you really are, Erwin Jaeger. Perhaps you need some reminding, though I doubt such an intelligent man requires a reminder of his own life...

'Let's see how much I can remember. Erwin Jaeger, born on Curacao to Rheinland expats. Returned to Rheinland after death of said parents sometime around 799 AS. Took in with the Unioners, in fact a particularly nasty bunch of them in the Munich system, after which there are no records for a time. Then, in 807, there was the Augsburg Massacre, where an entire transport full of refugees was destroyed with all hands by a gunboat under the command of a certain Erwin Jaeger. The Federal Police reports even indicated that the ship made a point of blowing away every life pod from the vessel before making its escape. Jaeger and his crew spent quite some time atop the police's Most Wanted list, but managed to kill or elude every single sting op the government sent after them. But the last sighting of Jaeger or his ship, the Nachtkrappe, was in 808 and it was assumed that they had suffered some other fate.'

He still stared at the floor, tears streaming down his face as the walls came down and his old wounds were ripped open once again. Banshee's words washed over him, each new detail further battering at his wounded soul.

'Now here's where the story gets interesting,' she said, continuing on more for the benefit of the girl in the corner than for the man in the tank. 'James Lambert, the hotshot kid Bounty Hunter who was also, incidentally, born on Curacao, mysteriously left Sheffield around this same time and completely disappeared for a few weeks. He resurfaced later in the Taus, but with a few strange differences that anyone but an astute observer wouldn't have noticed. That's because Erwin Jaeger killed James Lambert and assumed his identity, and has been pretending to be James Lambert ever since.

'It was a clever ruse, but did you really expect to keep it up forever? Clearly you benefited from being born in the same place as Lambert, but you're at least five years older than you claim to be. And don't think your little outburst in German during the recent New Berlin raid didn't raise some eyebrows in the Navy. And what will happen when those harebrained fools at Naval High Command find out that the Butcher of Munich himself is hiding among their ranks? War or no war, I'd imagine you would wind up in a cell for a very long time.'

Eyes downcast, he could only slowly shake his head, muttering 'No, no, no, no, no...' to himself.

'Oh, but yes. Still, you did manage a good job covering yourself, and so I'm going to need you to confirm this all for me.' She nodded to the mech waiting by the tank's control panel. As the orange mist disappeared and the pain began to build again, she said, 'So... would you kindly tell me your name, sir?'

He lifted his head to stare into her eyes, a bit of defiance rising in him along with the pain. 'James Lambert, Lieutenant Junior Grade, Liberty Navy. Service number 891-15778.'

'Wrong answer!' Banshee cackled with glee once again. 'Let's try this again. What is your name?'

As the pain threatened to explode out of him, he gritted his teeth and responded once again with the same answer. His blue eyes glowed with a newly rekindled fire as he stood to face Banshee and deny her the confirmation she sought.

Inside, he was a broken man, but one thing still managed to hold him together. He knew he would die soon, whether it be today, tomorrow, or a few days afterwards. Yet, he believed with every fiber of his being that a man could change who he was. Yes, he had done horrible things in his past life, but Erwin Jaeger was long dead, regardless of what Banshee said. He was James Lambert now, and, damn it all, he would die as James Lambert.

The screams continued endlessly in that docking bay, but Banshee's frustration continued to rise as the cardamine's best efforts failed repeatedly. Again and again she brought the man to death's doorstep and then back, but he continued to refuse to admit his true identity, denying her the proof she required for the next part of her plan. In her frustration, she eventually let him linger a moment too long in agony, and his body gave out under the pressures of the continuous pain and shock. He entered dark recesses of unconsciousness that could not be reversed by the tools she had on hand, so she was forced to send for Rogues to haul the unconscious body down to sickbay.

Sighing with irritation, she sent Pita home and retired to her ship. The fun would have to wait but perhaps it was for the best. She began to devise new torments to crack her subject's unexpected burst of defiance.

Haphestus · 08-28-2012, 11:21 AM,

Clark leaned back in the co pilot's seat, quietly annoyed that they still didn't find the person they where after. He put his feet up and on the console and looked around.
"it all looks like the same disgusting soup out here" he murmured to himself.
"Clark, can i say, you look like hell" Ohms said to Clark from the pilots seat. Clark took out a piece of gum and held it for a moment before replying
"As compared to what, your ugly mug?"
"Touche" Ohms replied watching Clark starting to chew on the piece of gum.
Mando who had been sitting in the back rubbed his tired eyes, they had all had to refuel at least 15 times by now and emotions where being strained. Mando looked around the cockpit. M.R.E wrappers and zero-g drink bottles littered the area, suspended by little more than the lack of gravity in the cockpit.
Suddenly a small stray rock hit the lower-port area of the Grizzly knocking the tail section of the ship out and sent Mando and Clark flying into the wall and out of their seats.
"Hang on I'll bring us back on course" Ohms yelled loudly.
Clark freed himself of the contortionist position he had been left in on the wall.
"Ow, now i know why they say you should wear your helmet at all times, Mando you okay?"
"Yeah I'm up, Although my god damned wrist is killing me" Mando replied
The collision with the wall sent Mando's mind over edge he suddenly got very tense and angry.
"This is just bloody typical, of course i get stuck on S-A-R duty because some dumb ass flying squid got whacked" he yelled
"Marine! you will control yourself!" Clark shouted.
"No you control yourself, Screw this I'm leaving. I cant take it anymore. Screw you, Screw the Navy, Screw the Marines, I'm going." Mando continued, Walking towards the airlock without his helmet on.
"MANDO!" Ohms yelled as Clark ran over and tried to pull away the crazed Marine. Clark threw Mando against the opposing wall.
"MARINE! Get a god damned hold of yourself!" Clark shouted.
Mando continued to scramble for the airlock, Clark braced his left arm in front of him and pushed Mando back against the wall. Suddenly things got quiet as Clark punched him with his free right arm. Mando's face reeled when the punch connected. Clark punched Mando again to knock him out.
"Damn"

Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:35 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

He woke slowly, consciousness slowly sliding from the darkness of coma to the light of reality.

He breathed, for what felt like the first time. Slowly, he savored every ounce of air.

His eyes blinked open slowly, drawing in the blinding white light and slowly adjusting. He kept them open just a crack, for something in the back of his mind warned him of a potential danger.

He remembered now, recalling the horrific events of the interrogation. He shut his eyes again and just breathed slowly, as his mind struggled to process everything that had happened.

Was he still the man he'd been born as, even after everything that had happened? Or was he the man he chose to be, the new man who'd committed to fitting into this new life he'd built for himself? He'd made his choice almost without thinking when the pain had risen and that strange power deep within him had risen. It had been spawned from desperation, the kind of thing that only a man who was literally staring death in the face could possibly feel. Did that mean something too?

And yet, he knew that on a deeper level he still remained the man he'd been born as. He still felt nothing compelling him towards any sort of morality, still felt a perverse thrill in bloodletting, and still had a strong desire to rationalize all of his actions and lie whenever necessary. These were all sociopathic tendencies that he recognized intellectually, and had gone to great lengths to conceal from the Navy's psychologists. Would it be possible to keep his secrets if he ever managed to escape and get back? That was such a distant possibility that it hardly bore...

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the rustling of clothing and heavy footfalls, growing louder. He instinctively relaxed all his muscles, attempting to give the impression that he was inert and still unconscious. The man drew close and stopped, probably right next to his cot.

It took all his focus and effort not to flinch visibly as a breathing mask was abruptly shoved onto his face. He continued to breathe normally, and felt the shock of something foreign entering his body through his mouth and nose. He felt the effects before he realized what it was. More cardamine.

He felt himself rise into a high, drifting on drug-induced currents of air. The feeling was wonderful, but even more wonderful was the fact that he didn't immediately crash this time. It wasn't nearly the high he'd felt in the tank that first time, but now it actually persisted. He felt pure energy rushing through his veins, and this sudden feeling of empowerment convinced him of his next course of action.

The footfalls sounded again, moving away from him. A rough voice spoke abruptly. 'Looks like he's still out cold. Should be coming 'round soon though. I'll stay 'ere and keep an eye on 'im, you can 'ead home.'

Another man grunted his assent from somewhere far off. A heavy door shut, and Lambert knew he was alone with the one Rogue. The footfalls came back towards him. There was a loud rattling noise, and then he sensed through lidded eyes that someone was standing over him.

He took a breath and held it. 3... 2... 1.

His eyes snapped open but his hands were already moving. He saw the man, a rough-looking Rogue in a simple white smock, looking down at him. He watched the surprise and hesitation blossom in the Rogue's eyes as his arms leapt forward in a quick maneuver. It was extremely difficult to incapacitate someone from the kind of position he was in, but his hand-to-hand training took over as his torso followed his arms off the cot he'd been lying on. Before the Rogue could react, he'd slammed a fist into his stomach with cardamine-infused power, while bringing his other hand all the way around the man's head to assist his lurch forward and guide his forehead into the side of the cot. The Rogue's face connected with the metal bar that ran lengthwise along the cot, and blood fountained from his shattered nose.

Lambert continued his motion upwards, pushing himself off the cot and onto his feet. With a practiced motion that appeared almost casual, he reached down and twisted the Rogue's neck sharply, snapping it loudly. The body slumped to the floor.

Lambert was in motion immediately. He ripped off the white smock the man had been wearing and put it on over the plain grey jumpsuit he was wearing. Otherwise, the man possessed nothing else that could be useful. He slid the body under the cot, hiding it from obvious sight, and glanced at his surroundings clearly for the first time.

It was a fairly small medical ward, with four cots aligned side-by-side, of which his was the one closest to the wall. There were a few pieces of medical equipment in the room, and an open door led to what he assumed was an office while a larger closed door led to what was probably one of the base's main corridors. He moved into the office and shut the door.

Inside, there was a desk and a small set of lockers. One was open, containing a set of clothes and, fortunately, a small handgun in a holster. Lambert quickly changed out of his jumpsuit into what he presumed was the dead Rogue's clothes. This would be enough to get him around the base without attracting too much attention. A small mirror was mounted on the inside of the locker's door, and he looked at himself through it. He had begun to grow in a beard, and his face bore even deeper and more noticeable lines than he'd remembered. In short, he looked like hell. He would fit right in among the Rogues.

He considered his next move. Now that he was free, at least for the moment, there was no point in dallying around aboard the base. He needed to get into space, and the best way to accomplish that was simply to take a ship out of one of the docking bays. He figured he could pull it off if he paid a little visit to the docking bay's control room first, so he could clear a ship for launch ahead of time. Then would be the small matter of actually stealing the ship and making it away from the base before anyone was the wiser.

It could work, he figured. And at least if they catch me now, I'll get to go down fighting. He smiled darkly as he pulled the pistol from the holster, smoothly racked a new round into the chamber, and replaced it.

He left the office, opened the door, and vanished like a ghost into the bowels of the base.

Widow · 09-03-2012, 01:13 PM,

Pita skipped down the corridor to where Lambert was waiting. She began giggling as she thought about what she had planned for him today. The silly Hacker had disrupted a days worth of tea parties, so she had to think of something extra special to make up for it. She came around the corner to his cell and stopped. She screamed when she saw his cell empty apart from the guard on the ground. "WHO THE **** HAS BRENNA!" she turned and ran towards the office, pulling out the radio transmitter from the draw. She set it to a station transmission and pushed the button to talk. "Someone here has my Brenna. The stupid navy man. Lock down the station, no one leaves until I get him back.... ALIVE." She stopped and looked over to where his gun should be. "The Moron is armed. He has a gun."

With this Pita threw the radio transmitter onto the table and ran out the way she came, through the second door into the main corridor. Something had changed in her eyes, someone was going to die today. "I'm going to kill the idiot who let him out, the bloody moron should know better then to have been in there on his own.... he's a damn fool and WILL pay for this...." Pita ran to her room and pulled out a small handgun, it looked out of place in her hands. She held it awkwardly in front of her, safety off. She pulled out the devise from under her dress, pushing the button. She hoped he would still be on the station so it would work. But depending on how far he was would affect the strength. Pita glared at the Rogues racing around trying to lock the station down, muttering something about them all being useless.

Pita began stalking around the base, down the corridors, one at a time. She would find him eventually. It would be up to him as to whether he went alive with her or not. She kept calling out down the corridors in a sing song voice, checking the rooms as she went past. "Come here, Brenna.... I wont hurt you as much as the boys will... If you come with me now, you might even survive another day..." The boys would kill him, without a second thought, too much of a chance of him finding intel they didn't want him to know. She wasn't going to loose her doll, and would kill anyone who tried to take him from her. Rogue or not.

Haphestus · 09-03-2012, 01:54 PM,

Clark and Josephine "Josie" Alibrandi stood in the Holography room on board the Naval Heavy Transport Arleigh Burke, One of the Search and Rescue Grizzlies had found Lambert's fighter. They stood there watching the black box footage from varying perspectives. Any way you looked at it, Lieutenant Junior Grade James Lambert was in hell. Brought to a den of pirates, pirates that hated the Liberty Navy with such a passion that if that passion could fly it would block out the sun with its wings.
"This is troubling." Josie said pausing the recording
"Tell me about it Jose" Clark replied putting his left hand over his face
"Hes been in there for days, what are the odds hes still there?" Josie asked cocking her head at Clark
"Define 'there' as in hes still there there or the Lambert we knew isn't there anymore?" he responded
"Both" Josie answered, now raising an eyebrow.
"Thought you would say that." Clark said putting his hand down revealing a troubled face
"Should we pull back the S-A-R?" Josie asked.
"The people out there, yes. We have only competes the 'S' in that Jose, lets do the 'R' next?" Clark answered wiping away his troubled face, even if it did show in way he spoke
"I'll put in a request to Norfolk then." said Josie pulling out a small holo-tablet.
"Good, tell the Grizzly crews they can return to Norfolk after they have refueled here and lets give them each a few rounds at the bar." Clark said turning off the Holographic projectors in the room
"Done and done" Josie replied without bringing her head up as she tapped buttons on the holo-tablet.
Clark turned on his earpiece and with his neural interface he activated the intercom in Marine Barack 1-C on board the ship
"This is Clark. Palette, get your grunts to grab their gear, full armored EVA. Get Doc Benedict as well. we may have to perform and combat rescue. I want those Marines ready to go at a moments notice. weapon restrictions are the big bores and heavy weapons. Get those Marines into the Fun Fields." Clark spoke into his comm before turning it off again.
"You sure a squad of Marines can do the trick?" Josie questioned.
"I hope so. Palettes men are good men. They know their stuff." Clark replied.
"Okay. A fighter wing of five guardians and two Cupholders are en route to our position as well as the gunship Blue Ridge" Josie told Clark as he started to head towards the door
"Okay good, start trying to locate Lambert's position. co-ordinate with the other ships to triangulate. Now that we have a general idea on where he is we may now be able to find him." Clark responded, his troubled face returning.
"I hope so, for his sake." Josie said as Clark reached for the door control.
"Me too"

Nano Machines, Son.

Altejago · 09-03-2012, 02:21 PM,

"Lord Moka, Buffalo has gone into lock down.... It seems that kid of you allow here is causing trouble." the messenger, bowed before the Rogues Warlord himself, described in a tone not too hasty but enough to warrant Mokas undivided attention.

Lord Moka was just getting into his massage when the weedy little messenger boy came in, and he thought to himself he'd ignore what ever he came to bother him about this time. "Lock down, eh? That's not surprising. She having a cry because there is no pink tutu's for her dolls? Piss of and bother me with a real problem next time" Lord Moka beckoned him to leave but the messenger insisted "But m'lord, the naval pilot has escaped, and she's throwing a fit. I'm afraid someone's gunna bust a nut and it ain't gunna be her." the messenger blurted out in fear. He knew full well what he said was going to ruin Mokas day. There was a moments silence, the atmosphere was one of high tension. Moka sat up and looked at the messenger who was trembling in fear before him, spoke to him softly "Look, kid... no need to piss your pants. Did you screw up? No. Now go and get my ship ready."

The messenger looked stunned a moment, then realized he was still alive and required to do something, got up in a hurry and made for the hangers. Moka motioned with his head for the masseuses to leave, and proceeded to get dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror, and asked himself "Why did you have to go and listen to the bloody Hussy? That kid is nothing but trouble." Moka looks down on his vanity and notices his blaster. "A pilot of the Liberty Navy's Primary Fleet has escaped, and we have a crazed 12 year old thinking she can play cowboy and lock down MY base? No, not at all! I'll bloody shoot her myself"

The messenger returned with news that Mokas favourite combat ship was ready for launch. He makes his way to the hangar and notices Sam in a corridor "Hey kid, you're coming with me! Get your ship ready, we're leaving in five!"

Moka climbs into the cockpit of Suicidal and sets his co-ords for Buffalo. He'll put a stop to this kids shenanigans permanently.

Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:38 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

Perhaps an hour passed as Lambert wandered the seemingly endless maze of corridors that honeycombed the inside of the asteroid known as Buffalo Base. He finally knew for certain that he was, in fact, on the infamous base within the Badlands.

Had he been able to operate with impunity, he likely would already have been off this God-forsaken rock. As it was, he was hindered by two disadvantages: the need to blend in limited his speed to a brisk walk at best, and the fact that he had no idea how to navigate the mess of corridors and couldn't ask for directions without a risk of blowing his cover. So he had been forced to slowly wander the halls of Buffalo in search of the ultimate prize: an independent docking bay. This was even harder because he had quickly learned that the vast majority of docking bays on the base were restricted to the use of Rogue pilots and had restricted access. Yet there were definitely a handful of docking bays which permitted Rogue allies such as the occasional Outcast or unlawful freelancer to dock, and that would be where Lambert would find his ride out of here.

He rounded another turn, walking with the kind of brisk confidence that indicated a busy man who shouldn't be bothered. His eyes lit up as he saw a hatch ahead of him standing wide open with the words DOCKING BAY stenciled above. He passed another man headed the other way and slipped through the open hatch into the bay. He immediately side-stepped two paces to the left, and pressed his back to the wall as he slid into an area of shadow.

There were only three ships currently in the bay: a Sabre painted in Maltese colors, an Arrow light fighter painted in what looked to be Rogue colors, and a Wasupu devoid of any distinguishing markings. The choice was easy: the Wasupu not only almost certainly belonged to a freelancer, but Lambert also owned one himself for off-duty use.

He took a step towards the ship and then froze as he noticed something else. High above him, near the roof of the bay, was a long and narrow window set into the back wall. It was difficult to see through it, but he could make out two figured sitting behind what looked like a pair of control consoles.

Getting ahead of myself, he thought. Those damned bay controllers will need to be dealt with first.

He turned and slipped back out through the hatch. There! A narrow stairway set into the wall about twenty paces back down the hall. That would have to be the one to lead up to that control room.

He started up the stairs, and his hand reflexively went for the gun at his waist. He smoothly pulled it free and clicked off the safety. He took two steps up the last flight of stairs and then abruptly stopped, a sudden realization halting him in his steps.

Those were innocent men up there in that control room. Innocent men that he had been prepared to slaughter without even a single thought. James Lambert wouldn't have been so callous about such a thing...

Yet his very survival could depend on his actions in the next few minutes. A single hesitation could cost him his life, or even worse, put him back into the hell he'd just escaped.

His thoughts were interrupted as the station's general intercom system clicked on, a shrill female voice echoing through every corner of the base. He instantly recognized it as Pita's voice.

"Someone here has my Brenna. The stupid navy man. Lock down the station, no one leaves until I get him back... ALIVE! The moron is armed. He has a gun."

Something very much like panic swelled up within the man now known as James Lambert, and subconsciously a decision was made. The monster within the man was turned loose.

Face devoid of all emotion, he took the final few steps up to the door, and blasted through it with a single kick. Inside he saw a standard control room, laid out in front of the window down to the docking bay. The man closest to him was already out of his seat, and whirled around just in time for a surgically-aimed bullet to smash directly into his forehead. The man's brains splattered onto the window, and he fell, but the second round was already away, and it collided with the head of the man seated at the next console over a few milliseconds later.

A door on the back wall blasted open with a loud sound, and two more targets emerged for the man who the Liberty Navy had seen fit to award with the High Expert rating in handgun marksmanship after only a year at the Academy. Both Rogues fell to the deck with equally gruesome fatal head wounds.

After a moment to ensure that the room was cleared, Lambert moved to the first man's console and spent a brief moment clearing the Wasapu in the hanger below for a priority launch. He allowed himself a small, cold smile of satisfaction as the inner bay doors began to open. He turned back to the door he'd entered from and raced down the stairs.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and quickly poked his head into the hallway to check the path to the docking bay. His only warning was the low phrrm from behind him.

Reflex took over, and he jerked his head back into the alcove as a stun blast sizzled right through the space his head had just been occupying. He took a breath and then quickly stuck an eye out again to assess the danger.

Banshee was striding confidently down the hall, a pair of handguns of her own raised to a firing position. Lambert jerked back into the safety of the small wall that sheltered him from her approach as two more shots sailed by. He poked his weapon around the corner, firing off a few wild shots of his own to halt her approach.

'Oh goodie, I'm so glad I guessed the right docking bay!' she exclaimed, her voice echoing down the hallway. 'Now just to get you back to...'

He reacted, sensing that the time was right. He dove out into the hall low, gun in his right hand. He drew a bead right on her surprised face and his finger tightened on the trigger. Suddenly, a burst of pain blossomed in both of his wrists, causing a smooth, deadly pull of the trigger to turn into an ugly spastic motion. The gun roared, and the bullet intended for her forehead ended up slamming into her mask instead.

She lurched forward, dropping her weapons, as he hit the floor, and dark blue fluid exploded from the shattered mask. The bullet hadn't seemed to pierce the mask completely and wound Banshee, for it hadn't been an armor-piercing round. Yet she screamed as she ripped the useless mask from her face and sucked in a breath of raw, non-drugged air for the first time in a very long time. Her agony was powerful and immediate, and the sudden screams took Lambert with surprise enough to give her time to turn and flee. Blue fluid splattered on the steel floor in her wake as she turned the corner and his last-minute, useless shot missed wide.

Lambert spent a moment checking himself over for any injuries. The brief pain he'd felt must've been from Pita, and if Banshee had found him already, Pita wouldn't be far behind. He slowly pulled himself up, and moved briskly to the door to the docking bay.

The Wasapu was waiting, on the far side of the bay. He crossed the bay, and attempted to open the pilot's hatch. It was locked, but that wasn't entirely unexpected. However, this wouldn't be his first time stealing a ship, and he knew how to go about it. As expected, the cargo hatch was unlocked, since most pilots preferred for the station's service mechs to restock their supply automatically while they attended to their business on the station.

Lambert saw the perfect tool for the job ahead on a nearby repair trolley: a chem-welder. It was a small handheld device designed to cut through even tough battle-grade steel to make repairs, and thus it would be perfect for cutting through the hatch separating the Wasupu's small cargo hold and its cockpit.

He snatched the chem-welder and went back to the Wasupu, pulling himself into the cargo hold. He was midway into lifting himself into the hold when his body exploded in pain, and he lost his grip, falling to the hard steel floor beside the ship. He writhed in pain there for what felt like an eternity before Pita's face appeared above, a wicked gleam in her eye and her finger firmly pressing the button at her neck.

His last thought before he blacked out was of just how close he'd been to freedom.

Widow · 09-05-2012, 09:40 AM,

Pita had made her way through the corridors, they seemed endless. She hadn't found Lambert yet and she was getting more and more frustrated. Word had spread Moka was on his way over, and he wasn't happy. "I have to find this moron soon... Otherwise some other fool will kill him...." She muttered and stopped dead in her tracks. A gunshot was heard, another followed soon after. Pita broke into a sprint, gun drawn ready to fire. She entered the docking bay slowing to a walk when she saw Banshee on the floor. She lost track of what she was meant to be doing as she raced over to her, falling to her knees next to the woman.

"Hey... Hey, listen" Pita was speaking quick. "I'm getting help alright... You're going to be ok. The guys will fix you up in no time..." The woman didn't respond to Pita's reassurances, so she stood up and ran to the wall, picking up a small radio receiver that had been mounted there for emergencies. She punched in a few numbers, ringing the medical ward, she knew making a station wide announcement would draw too much attention. "I.... I need help... The ladies been shot.... Looks like her mask stopped most of it... he got her in the face" Pita got a quick response in the form of a swear word, heard the receiver get dropped and the medics yelling at each other getting stuff organised to get down there.

Pita knew she only had a few minutes, the medics would be here, and the place would be in full lock-down. Most of the Rogues didn't listen, so the base would still be mostly open and traffic would still be allowed in and out of the main bays. The green light above the doors told her this would be the case here too. She smirked, That meant Lambert would still be here too. She looked around, noticing movement at Ruby's Wasupu. The lack of markings was Ruby's choice, she liked the clean-ness of the ship as it was. She reached to her neck and pushed the button, holding it down walking towards the ship. "Bingo...." She stood above him as she spoke. "I told you what happened to the last one...... You're going to be a prime example of what not to do when you're a prisoner here...." Pita took her finger off the button as he lost conciousness. She looked at him for a moment, something switched in her mind and she sighed, whispering under her breath "I'm sorry... but I have to...".

Pita struggled to get him into the cargo bay, he was a lot heavier then he looked for a girl, but she managed. She thought for a second "Ruby will kill me for this...." Deciding as that was where she was heading, she wouldn't be in as much trouble and would do it anyway. This had gotten out of hand, she had begun to like Lambert, never having many male role models in her life she had become intrigued him, he reminded her of her father when he was around. She realised that she needed someone to help her dispose of him, and that person wasn't here. Once he was securely in the cargo bay, Pita took her own receiver out of her pocket, sending a message to Ruby. This has got way out of hand, I.... I can't kill him. I need your help... he reminds me too much of Dad....'

With that, she jumped into the ship and powered it up, the docking bay opened and she glanced at the receiver. Pita left the station, ignoring the messages Ruby was trying to get through to her, she obviously knew Moka was on her way. Pita played with the controls to get use to the ship and adjusting a few settings, primarily allowing oxygen to get into the cargo hold before she would make her way to Alcatraz.

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