Broken and twisted the Hulk of the ship rode along the forward edge of a gravitic eddy the ships drive module drifted on a parallel course among the debris field left by a collision with the matter reef it had been surveying. Now small schools of N'ght and reef eels clustered around the hull crawling along the surface and investigating the hidden recesses of the open sections of the hull.  the tiny spiked shell crablike creatures searching for any morsel of organic material left among he wreckage.
   As a N'ght crawled around to investigate an open panel trailing the tidbits of scattered foodstuff from the storage bays it simply disappeared as strong spines claws snapped out of the shadows dragging it int a maw the sound of it's shell being crushed muffled by the thin atmosphere of Hyperspace.
  After months adrift the wreck was becoming a part of the natural world of Hyperspace, as the wrecks that littered the sea floor of earths oceans had for thousands of years.

This message was deleted by the player at 19:37, Thu 30 Sept 2010.

Somewhere deep inside the ruined hulk, all is dark and quiet. Unfiltered light from the depths of hyperspace casts a thin edge to worry amongst the twisted metal and warped plasteel. Energy sparks along the shattered remains of the bridge, revealing that a power core is - at least - still active in the debris. A quiet red light beeps a few times, and a click goes unheard.

Emergency lights flare to life first, sharp and blaring white before they dim to a dull orange glow. Deep within what used to be a mess hall, droplets of water cling to every surface like minute jewels. These are suddenly blown loose as vents roar to life, filling the space with life-sustaining oxygen - the water acting as a light rain, pattering against everything, the humidity already gone far out of control. The jury-rigged seals creak against the strain, even as salvaged consoles click and begin to whirr to life. A few sparks flash here and there, showing that not all is well within this 'life pod'.

An ancient recording begins to slowly come to life, blaring a soulful tune into the confines as air replaces void. "..ooooOOOON'T WORRY... ABOUT A THING. 'CAUSE EVERY LIL' THING, IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT.."

Trey Uv'Secks snaps awake, banging his nose on the enclosed helmet of his ship suit. He'd been sleeping in it every cycle, pumping air out of the cabin to keep stress off the internal walls and feeding it directly into his suit via hard line. He closes off the line, making sure to keep any leaks to a minimum - he won't be able to recover any loss. Then watches the pressure meter on the wall climb to safe levels before cracking the seal on his helmet and sliding the face plate up.

"Ah, ja mon. Is gownna be'a -GUDE- day." He begins bobbing his head to the ancient classic music. He'd been listening to the same tune for.. he wasn't really sure anymore. Fingers dance across a broken keyboard, bringing up status on a screen that used to be the entertainment HiVi. While it was hard looking at a two dimensional read-out on a screen designed for three dimensional images, time had made him immune to the headaches caused by the flickering, depthed paper. Another spark makes the man jump, and he quickly pats out the small flame on the wires that lead into the wall. Making sure to wipe as much condensation off of them as possible. A quick check along the ship's one remaining sensor - designed more for detecting the hyperspace reef than other ships - reveals nothing.

"Ah, no companah today." He states cheerfully, before peeling the tin off of a vaccuum sealed ration bar and leaning up against the emergency door that had originally sealed this section off. Wiggling his fingers at the nasty looking bugs that are crawling about, sucking down the miniscule heat and energy that plasteel window leaks. "Hello I bredrens. Havin' a gude tima out dere?" He takes only a moment to stare up at the thin slit of hyperspace he can see with his own eyes through the rip in the bridge, before moving away. Beginning to whistle along as the thirty three second loop of the song repeats itself.

"Don worry! Uh. Abowt a'ting. 'Cause avery lil' ting, she gowna be a'wight. Rised up dis mohrnin', Smilin' wit' de raisin' sun..."

  The ship rolled slowly bringing the window out into line with a distant mass of heated dust and gases that passed for a star in hyperspace. A shattered engine nacelle partial eclipsed the light and revealed a dark shape silhouetted against the background of the nebulae.
  The shape of the not clear but compared to the ragged and irregular shapes of the reef and drifting shards. It seemed likely that the object was man made.

There was always something to do; Something on the verge of collapse, waiting to expose Trey's body to a rapid and forceful decompression. Or a slow death from asphyxiation. Or a slower death from lack of water. Trey had been cannibalizing broken systems across the shattered remains of the Prospector, but he was simply running out of useable materials. There were no wires left, after months of repair. There were no oxygen scrubbers left. There were no filters, no panels, no more food. He was in dire straits..

But one wouldn't know, from the way he cheerfully hums and dips along to Bob Marley. Meticulously cleaning out the make-shift water filter (Once a drink dispenser), he at first doesn't notice the change until the thin shaft of light is suddenly cut out. Glancing over his shoulder, Trey pushes off the wall and floats back to his jury-rigged 'terminal'. A quick run of fingers across the board activates the HiVi even as he's glancing out the door, and a slap upside the terminal gets it to stop jumping around so much.

That was not a natural structure. Grinning from ear to ear, Trey glances back to a crude red painting he'd put on the wall - from when he'd cut his hand. "Ernie! Are yoh seein' dis, m'mon? Ah HA! I knoo dis gowna be'a gude day. I an' I feelin' it in I soul." The crude painting does not respond, nor move it's slightly off-shaped eyes. Trey's attention turns back to the terminal, as he aims the single mass sensor towards the object..

Taking 10 w/ -5 self imposed sensor modifier for jury-rigged sensor. Result: 17
This message was last edited by the player at 03:18, Fri 01 Oct 2010.

  The sensor panel sparks and smokes filling the room with the smell of burning insulation then the screen lights up the image shifting and grainy but in the view finder a Tye 8 heavy hauler begins to become visible. the ship is an old backwater freighter. Rugged, reliable and cheap to operate a favorite in the expanse.
    its course seems to be skiting close to the debris field dashing from one heavy cluster of debris to another it's transponder and high intensity sensors offline. but it is definitely under power and maneuvering on it's own. an d definitely doing it's best to avoid being spotted as it clears the debris field.

For a moment, watching the ship maneuver, Trey's spirits sink. If it's hiding, it's either pirates or something else unclandestine. There's even a moment where he considers shutting down his power signatures, the space monkey idly patting out a few more fires. But a glance over to 'Earnie' confirms his initial thought.

"Not like I an' I be gettin' annie bettah deal, jam'mon? Annie 'ting be bettah dan waitin' foh de locks ta blow." He chuckles, before hitting the emergency broadcast beacon. He'd taken it offline a few months ago to preserve the faltering power core. Now it transmits weakly, a general S.O.S. from a torn apart hunk of metal. Even as he does so, however, he stands up from the 'console' and begins sealing the suit shut. And putting himself on internal resevoirs while he triggers the pumps to remove oxygen..

If it is pirates, they might take potshots. Hate to ruin the last of his oxygen from someone's bored past time. None the less, he continues to bob his head to the music behind his eyes - likely burned there forever.

  The ship turns in response to the signal growing larger by the minute. A single small craft detaches and streaks toward the mangled Hulk. a mining shuttle that looks to have been refitted fr salvage and wreckage handling.
   The shuttle locks onto the remaining airlock and begins to cycle into the main Hull. on the remaining monitors four crewmen stand in the airlock in armored pressure suits. two carrying tool kits and cutters. the other two armed with shotguns and cutter blades keeping their eyes on the hatch as it rolls open allowing them into the area just beyond the area Tres has sealed off for survival.
    The airlocks microphones pick up the sound of breathing as it pressurizes and the men begin to talk as they unseal their helmets

    this things a hulk, nothing worth a crusty credit here. One of the techs grumbles.

    " It has power so the core is still online. that means C-zee. The Lead gunman snorts Find it and rip it

      " corporate boat....On man grumbles </blue> they'll pay for the crew.
     " So will the rippers back on Sertis. go aft and look for the cryo pods... if anyones there we'll see what we can get for them.

Trey grimly surveys the problem, scratching his nose against the piece of brillo he'd long ago taped to the inside of his helmet, under the visor, for just such a purpose. He was in a mess again, and this time it was worse than waiting for the airlocks to blow out.

The thought made him chuckle. "Earnie, I an' I gownna hafta be real smooth, noaw. Ya jus' play coo'." He kills the lights, the oxygen having long ago been depleted and the tiny beads of moisture once again beginning to freeze. He listens through the comm feed in his helmet as the 'privateers' begin discussing what to do with the ship itself. That disturbed him: But he could get over it, if it meant survival for himself and his bredren.

And then they mention sending the brothers to Rippers.

Blowing a breathe out into the stillness of his mask, Trey begins to quickly strap the various tools he's been using to keep the hulk together onto his belt. Line gun clamps over his wrist, plasma torch and sealant sprayer on his hips, flashlight and scanner on his belt. The bolt driver he keeps in his hands, even as he moves to the opposite side of his little shelter - and breaches the bridge emergency door for the first time since the accident. Tiny whiffs of current blow past time, shaking the tools slightly. The rigged pumps were good, but not perfect; He had just lost a little bit of unrecoverable air.  He pushes out into the smashed and twisted area, intending to go over the top of the Hulk and propel himself along to the aft. To get ahead of the lone crewman gone to check on cryo-pods...

Honestly, he wasn't even certain they were still viable, even though he fed most of the fading power into them. He was no doctor, just a clone space head..

 The trip to the rear section is tricky moving across the battered hulk requires a bit of skill. exposed lines ragged metal, loose panels that trail the ship. making his way back to the cryo bay takes him a while longer than expected but he finally arrives at the hatch peering through to see a hand light shining around in the darkness.
   The cryo pods are still powered displays blinking inthe darkness a single pod is open and powered down. When the automatics failed one person had to stay awake to manually activate the systems and wait for pick up.

Trey really was trying to go as fast as he could; This was his environment, after all, the tit on which he cut his teeth. Space was more home to him than any sphere of dirt and water. And yet even he can only go so quickly in what ammounts to a debris cloud, arriving seconds too late - he can see the hand-light moving towards the Cryo chamber. He could try to cycle himself through the hatch, but his only real advantage was that no one knew he was alive and kicking.

Which is when he started thinking about the pods themselves, and his bredren. Heavy, reinforced, pressurized pods that wouldn't be bothered at all in deep space, so long as they had some power. He attaches himself to the hull by hooking a foot under a nearby latch, pulling out his tech scanner and whipping it quickly along the surface of aft sector. He soon finds what he needs in the form of a maintenance port.

The plasma torch is neatly unhooked from his belt, it's neon blue point sparking to life as he quickly cuts through the safety locks; No time to spare. tossing the plating off into the depths of space behind him, Trey begins to dig through the power junction, finally locating one of the lateral conduits for the area. The tech rig comes out, slicing neatly through the safety pinnings as he pulls the futuristic equivalent of a breaker out. Something to kill the power during critical overloads. This is left to float away as well..

Finally, he tears out a secondary junction, and spot welds it between the two conduits, short-circuiting them with a heavy resistor - something designed to build up heat, and do it quickly. Enough to burn flesh. Metal. And fail-safe material..

If he's done it correctly, lights throughout the ship will begin to falter, that particular section drawing more and more power to overcome the resistance, with no breaker to limit its intake. The power core beginning to whine and buck as it's pulled far out of the 'limited run-time' scenario Trey had placed it in to preserve it as long as possible. Trey himself pulling himself away and crawl-tugging along the broken hull towards safety before the junction begins to forcibly ground itself to everything around it. The last step before catastrophic failure - and explosion.

At an 'appropriate' distance, he's going to anchor himself down with the line gun. Despite the fact there'd be no concussive wave from lack of atmosphere, there'll be plenty of momentum and debris from the sudden 'lack of wall'.


01:24, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 25 using 1d20+7 - Demolitions
01:24, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 25 using 1d20+14 - Repair
This message was last edited by the player at 06:52, Sun 03 Oct 2010.

  Te current builds and explodes, arcs of high voltage leap from surface to surface in a blinding display for a second before a dazzling clash of light and a dull solid thump rolls through the hull of the ship and fills the interior. outside the ship there is only silence until the hatchway gives and air rushes out in a hurricane force blast.
   Carried on the explosive out rush of gas papers loose debris and parts of broken machinery hurtles into space.  The Tech inside is caught off guard. his helmet senses the drop in pressure and seals in half a second sparing hi the worst of the decompression. however he is battered and tossed about flailing to catch onto some object to keep from being blown out into space. over the roar his screams of panic are unheard His voice does carry over the radio alerting his crew mates to the fact something was wrong. as he forced through the blown out hatch and out into Hyperspace.
   The ships exterior lights illuminate space around the ship as the crew on board try to track their comrade. Shouts and curses fro the men aboard the wreck are answered by the ship telling them what has happened . as a work pod detaches from the shuttle an streaks off after the lost crewman.

Trey loses hold of the ship as it bucks silently beneath the sudden explosion, but had the fore-sight to tether himself down. Even as he draws himself downwards to the hull, his eyes turn to watch the man float off into dead hyperspace. It's... not a pleasant sight.

But the privateers had done it to themselves. They'd threatened his bredren, and his ship. The ship, he wasn't so concerned about; They could have it, if it got him and his bredren out alive. But family was all he had that was truly his. Turning his attention to slowly removing the advantages of superior numbers against him, Trey begins to pull himself back along the ship again, back towards the bridge itself. And his little 'safety' home. Once inside, he's going to kick start his jury-rigged console, which - Him willing - won't burn out immediatly.

His plan? To pulse the scanner in a wide frequency arc, as if the electrical blow out had affected all sections of the ship. It'll burn out the sensor fairly quickly, but what else can he do? If he does it right, it'll scramble comms and keep the teams from communicating out of line of sight... even though it'll mean he'll no longer be able to eavesdrop until jamming is clear.

It might even make it harder to spot the drifting raider in all the debris, significantly slowing that search.

"Won love! Won hart! Less git tagethah, an' feel al'ight..." He sings softly to himself as he desperately works.

21:11, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+14. Repair.
21:10, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+12. Computer Use.

  The panel flickers and sputters hissing sparks as the electrical systems felt the effects of the blow out in an already crippled system. The panel lit up finally with a series of bleats and growl that made i sound as if the panel was angry with team for blowing out more of the ship.
    The system kicks in the raged status of the transmitters and computers making it a wash of white noise that was worse than Trey hoped for. even if it did draw most of the power out of the system and leave half the computers and cameras off line.
  The chatter between the starship and the work pod becomes fragmented and confused the two men aboard the pod cursing and arguing as they searched for the missing crewman. The third member of the group urged his crew mates to hurry and get him off the hip as he became increasingly nervous.

Trey let loose a long sigh of breath as the static kicks in, cutting off the feed to his suit to keep the worse of the squealing out of his ear. He wasn't a violent man by nature; Quite the opposite, in fact. But he was a competent man, despite his laissez faire attitude, and once he had his mind on something he tended to go after it. In this case, it was saving his family.

He flips the safety off of the bolt driver, hefting the mass in a manner it simply wasn't designed to be held; As a weapon. He breaks open the emergency panel on the door leading to the shattered bridge, and begins to pump the lever to close it off and seal it - before he'll peek through the other door, to see if the one ship mate was still nearby. If not, he'll begin cracking open that door quite slowly, to ease the pressure re-distribution.

Three away, one by hisself. Time to begin evening the odds.

"Oh mon, Earnie. Jah on I sowl, but de Bredren come fahst."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:10, Thu 07 Oct 2010.

20:37, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+3. Sneakity-Sneak-Sneak.

  The hatch creaked slightly as it swung open a sound as loud as a thunder crack to Trey's ears. the pop and groan of deck plates. the ring of loose objects against bulkheads and hull plates seemed loud even when only heard due to sound carrying through the thin air of the ruined areas of the ship.
    Moving through the section was not nearly as dangerous as moving across the hull. pulling himself along in the weightless areas made it easer to be sneaky. crawling along the walls and ceiling giving him more places to hide at times.

   Damn it frank? The Remaining man shouted over his suit com as he began moving toward the area.his helmet light sweeping the room what the hell are you doing we thought you were spaced.... Vigo, Harlin...Frank is here get your ass back here.

Trey Uv'Secks quickly slipped under the half opened door as soon as he had room to do so, not bothering to open it all the way. He thendisengaged his magnetic boots - there was no artificial gravity where there was no power to spare - and pushed off, intending to go hunting the last privateer..

Which is when he hears his suit-comm crackle the Privateer's words, and the swinging light approaching his position. With a quick flip of his feet against the ground, he floats up towards the ceiling, grabbing the overhang and tucking himself in. He maintains himself on mute, facing down, that bolt gun at ready. Most people had problems thinking in three-dimensions; It's why human ships tended to be long and flat rather than cubic or spherical, with instrumentation strung out along sections instead of tucked into the middle. But someone like him? Thinking in Z plane came as natural as walking forward on Y or X plane.

And there came a choice, with that one decision. Is he willing to kill? A man who, despite all else, likely had a mother, father, may even have children or siblings. Trey's face goes grim, but he maintains his own comm on mute even as he murmurs softly to himself, sound blocked by the face shield of his suit and the acrid tingle of recycled air.

"No woman, no cry..."



12:23, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 22 using 1d20+3. Hide!.

   " Your seeing things a voice crackled over the air frank's fifty meters in front of us, there's nothing on that ship.

   " I tell you I saw somebody the Privateer replied as he moved through the room peering under console and shoving debris aside. frank did you check to see i anyone was still aboard?

   " I'm kind of busy trying not to die right now

    " Di you frikking see anyone

    " Just the stiffs in cryo.

   The Privateer Paused and looked up to where trey hid, his light playing across the space as his shotgun came up. for several long seconds the man stood peering into the darkness his weapon coming up slowly as he leaned forward to get a better look.
      knock it off you two a third voice interrupted." Get back to the shi now, we have incoming, damn things huge... We need to get ...Oh Shi.....
   An instant later a squeal of white noise flooded the headsets, then a warbling tone that filled every frequency and overpowered any other signal. From outside the ship flashes of Bright blue white light could be seen like distant lightening reflecting off the ships hull.

    The ship vibrated then bucked violently the muffled sound of an explosion rumbling though the hull, the only way sound could travel ina region of Hyperspace that had little atmosphere was if the explosion itself was massive enough to create a dense shock wave of it's own. the explosion would have to be large, and close by to carry it's own sound to a target.
   The sound of heavy impacts and metal on metal began a moment later debris hitting the hull. the ship began to spin again propelled sideways by the impacts.

   The privateer ran jumped drifted to a view port curing loudly shouting for his crew mates as the flashes continued and more debris struck the ship.

Trey's arms tensed as the light began to approach him, certain now that he was going to have to try and kill this man - to save his life, and the life of his bredren. Even as a gloved hand begins to awkwardly squeeze the handle on the end of the cylindrical bolter, there is a shuddering groan that warps the ship, and his head jerks back as the warbling white noise pounds down once again. With a quick twist of his arm, he kills the sound to a minimum, and watches the Privateer run to the port window.

Eyes go wide as Trey finally recognizes the sound; Something horrible. The same thing he heard before Prospect 23 ran aground to a reef, wiping out the ship. Grimly, and with a lot more fear than he'd like to admit, Trey drifts down once more, intending to land behind the man - before he'll engage his magnetic boots.

If he's able to take the man by surprise, he'll tap the fellow on the back of the helmet and short-burst a comm transmission. For the privateers ears only.

"Geet yah hands up, mon, an' drop de wahpon." He'll state, breathing hard. "Yah boys got lot moe probleem dan jus' I nao from whut I be earin', so I be saggestin' yah listen gude.."

Jah be on his soul if he killed a man in cold blood. He had to try to keep this mother's son alive, if he could.

Otherwise, if he doesn't take the man by surprise, repeat the same phrase above, only holding action with the riveter leveled.

14:55, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 11 using 1d20+3. Sneak Float?.
OOC> Maybe all that noise and flashy lights will distract him? XD Ah crap.

  The Privateer doesn't even look away from the view port, his weapon floats away with a half hearted toss. His attention fully fixed on the scene outside. His head drops slghtly as he realizes he is in a hopeless situation.

   The scene is brutal. A massive warship nearly a kilometer long hangs in space above the wreckage Blue Black and built to resemble a cross between a starship and some monstrous sea beast it has a streamlined hull with numerous fins and spines along it's flank and spinal ridge.
   The freighter is already cripples, jets of flame and plasma burst from hull breaches in the engine section, the fires short lived fueled by the escaping atmosphere. The bridge itself is open to space a single round from a mass driver intended to damage warships or reduce a city block to rubble making short work of it.
    n the exterior of the freighter several armored forms easily 0 feet tall stand guard around the hatches as two men work the latches to the ship main entrance. For a moment it seems impossible but the two men stand exposed to Hyperspace without any breathing gear or pressure suits.

    " We're dead already. The man mutters as he turns to look at Trey, " We were dead the second we came along side."

Trey reaches up to snag the floating shotgun with a single hand, quietly sliding clipping the riveter to his belt again. It's a bit awkward, but it's better than leaving the weapon in Privateer hands. He then begins to pump the shotgun, ejecting unspent shells to go lazily spinning about the room. When he's got it empty, he'll then take a peek out the port as well..

.. and his dark features pale slightly. Tight lipped, he comm bursts back. "I an' I ain't dedd yet, mon. Can I get yah boys on de El Oh Ess burst? Let yah boys knew ta come in rare smooth?" When the greater enemy had arrived - one that had shattered his ship before - Trey's first instinct was to save everything he could. He begins floating towards the Privateer's ship, calling over his shoulder as he goes. "Yah go keel de powah in de shuttle. All de powah. Pump de air back ta yah store-age, mon. And doan be disconnectin'! I an' I jes' a wreck, but nao we a wreck wit' a workin' shuttle, an' dat makes us anuddah tahget. We jes' be waitin' fo' dem boys ta push tru when dey get done, den we go back ta talkin' 'bout yah'll commin' ta sell I bredren ta Rippahs..."

There is a grimness to the tone quite seperate from the weird and quirky pronounciation of Avandii. As for Trey, he's going to push back towards his little survival pod, under the partially open door and quickly moving to shut the reactor down to 'dead' again. As a floating wreck, they weren't a target; As a fully powered, lights running survival mess, they were meat waiting for a can opener.

   The Privateer pushes off and heads back to the work pod. shutting it down and killing any lights or systems that generated heat. with some fast work te systems of the ship fall silent again. the reactor shutting down into standby mode giving off little heat and EM noise. with the weapons fire and new debris in the area the ship is little more than what it seems a lifeless Hulk in space.

     The freighter is left drifting in space, the unknown warship and it' boarding parties departing as quickly as they arrived. with nothing left behind but crippled hulks drifting in Hyperspace there i little chance of anyone left alive surviving for long in the wreckage, or so most people would believe.