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The Dark Armada - Profiles and Lore
- Thread starter White Shark
- Start date
CMDR White Shark - Meeting with the Mafia of Scythians
View attachment Mafia Lore PDF.pdf
29 OCT 3302
Brom Base
Scythians 1A, Scythians
"This meeting is not advisable sir. This individual, this Shadow Captain from The Dark Armada is not to be trusted. My men tell me he's a dangerous, violent individual. He attacked Harding Bastion today, killing 5 of our people, and wounding 17 others. We..."
The muscular man was silenced mid-sentence by a wave of the hand from the important looking individual who was seated in a large office, with panoramic views of Scythians 1A’s landscape stretching off into the horizon.
"Yes, yes, I know all about this CMDR White Shark. Unfortunately for him when this meeting ends, he won't be leaving in one piece. Relax. His arrogance will be his un-doing."
The important looking man straightened his tie, and reached for his glass of whiskey. He watched the door across the room from him which was flanked either side by two more bodyguards, heavily armed. He knew full well the danger his visitor presented. But he needed to neutralise this threat quick. And quick it will be. His criminal syndicate has flourished in recent weeks. Thanks to external support from a Communist faction, his personal network was booming. He cared not who the support came from. Politics was never his interest. Only money, and power was all that mattered to Capo Hansor. But then, isn’t that what politics is about?
The Mafia of Scythians was now a major player in the system, equalling its influence with the dreaded Dark Armada. But of course, no support is ever free. The Communists backed his syndicate on the condition that when the time comes, he would play his part in a war with The Dark Armada. And he would. After all, it wouldn’t be him having to sit in the cockpit of a combat ship, and fly into a war zone. Others will take on that “honour”.
Hansor looked out of the window from his upper floor office, situated on Scythians 1A, Brom Base and heard the rumble of an approaching vessel. It was a Keelback. His guest had arrived. He was surprised. He would’ve assumed something more powerful than a Keelback. Hansor took a swig of his whiskey, and slouched back into his leather chair. He pressed a button on his desk, which immediately displayed a hologram in front of him displaying local news. A reporter spoke frantically, from the cockpit of an Asp Scout, looking down on the damaged and burning structures of Harding Bastion. The report suggested this was possibly the result of a feud down to criminal elements. They had no real idea, as usual with the media. He waved his hand in front of the screen, swiping it across to his personal stock market figures. Commodities the Mafia of Scythians had invested in had dropped. The Dark Armada will pay for this, starting with this Shadow Captain…
The door to the office slid open, and in came a figure, dressed in heavy duty combat clothing, boots, with a hood covering his head, and some sort of gas mask covering his face. Theatrics. Hansor had no time for it. CMDR White Shark was followed in by a 4th body guard. The door slid shut.
“Ah, CMDR White Shark, a pleasure to meet you”. He gestured for him to sit.
“Spare me your pleasantries. The only reason I agreed to this meeting, is that I hope you are going to discuss the terms of your surrender.” White Shark said harshly, with a deep, muffled voice.
“Now now, there is no need for that, CMDR. You’re lucky we even asked to meet with you, considering you have carried out an unprovoked attack on our base, killing my men. Who do you think you are?” Hansor said angrily.
White Shark tilted his head slightly.
“Unprovoked? Let me explain something to you. Your criminal gang allies itself with elements from one of our most hated enemies. Then, your ships, piloted by thugs begin to attack Imperial trade ships, and you expect not to face a retaliation?!”
“Our business ventures are no concern of the Empire. We are free to do what we want and...”
White Shark leaned forward, and pointed across the desk, directly at Hansor, cutting him off.
“Oh no you’re not. You are operating within an Imperial system, under direct leadership from The Dark Armada. Know your place, you stupid little man. Lord Mysteron is seething with rage at your actions. You’re lucky we’re currently fighting a war deep within our enemy’s systems. Otherwise, the Shadow Wing would have obliterated every single one of you gangsters, and turned your precious bases into piles of rubble.”
White Shark clenched his fist, as he finished his sentence.
The man sat for a brief moment, opened mouthed, surprised that this fool had the audacity to speak to him in such a way, in his own office, surrounded by 4 bodyguards, who were getting increasingly agitated.
“Considering your current situation, I don’t think you are in any position to raise your voice, and make threats, CMDR. You’re a fool to come here. I’m a reasonable man, and I thought we could discuss this like sensible men, but I guess not.” He said through gritted teeth.
He looked to his bodyguards who pulled out their automatic compact weapons, and moved around White Shark.
“You’re now a prisoner of the Mafia of Scythians, and if your Armada does not back off, we will be forced to send you back to them in pieces. Guards, take him away.”
White Shark leaned back in his chair, not fazed by the threatening situation he was in.
“Before you consider doing something so idiotic, it would interest you to know that in my Keelback’s cargo hold, there is over 30 tons of explosives, rigged to a detonator. Plenty to take out this base, and you with it. If I’m not allowed to leave this base in my ship, it will blow. Only I can disable it. And don’t think about trying to coerce me. I have a fellow CMDR, keeping an eye on the situation, who is under strict orders to pull the trigger, should I fail to emerge.”
Hansor sat still for a moment, thinking hard, absorbing what he had just been told. Surely not. He knew this Shadow Captain was dangerous, but suicidal? Or just plain psychotic?
“You’re bluffing. You would be killing yourself too.”
White Shark stared back at the man, through the lifeless expression of his mask.
“Death and glory in the void, my insignificant friend. We willingly give our lives to the Empire and The Dark Armada.”
The bodyguards by this point had taken a step back, without realising, and were looking to their boss for an order, or reassurance, they weren’t too sure which one. Capo Hansor leaned back in his chair, and let out a deep sigh.
“My men told me you were dangerous, but not insane. You leave me with little choice. Ok, fine, you are free to go, but I want an assurance from you that you will cease attacking my organisation?!”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” White Shark snapped, as he stood.
“Look, I promise you, and The Dark Armada, that we have no intention of going to war with you. We are simply business men.” Hansor stated reassuringly.
White Shark stared back, motionless. He despised the disgusting lies dribbling from this suited scumbag’s lips. He played along.
“I will report back to Lord Mysteron. He will be pleased to learn this.”
“Ah, excellent, excellent. Why don’t we celebrate and have a drink before you go?” Hansor said as he pulled out a second glass.
“No, that’s ok. I have to go and report in. I have no time to share a drink. You enjoy it, and saviour it, every last drop.”
“Suit yourself, CMDR. Goodbye.” The man said as he took a gulp of whiskey.
The door slid open, and White Shark stomped out. Hansor got up and walked to the window, to watch him board his ship, still with glass in hand.
The muscular guard moved to the window alongside his boss.
“What shall we do with him sir?”
Hansor stood for a moment, and continued to drink.
“Wait until he leaves our atmosphere, then order our ships to give chase, and wipe him out. I doubt he will be able to fend off 2 Cobras and a Vulture. Then get our friend from that Communist group on the feed. I need to inform her what has happened here.”
“Yes sir.”
They watched as the Keelback took off, and began to leave the base. It would be the last thing they would ever see.
As White Shark sat in the cockpit, he pulled up a display, with a detonation trigger. Those morons should never have allowed him into their office. Whilst he was sitting across the desk, during one of the exchanges, he had fixed a mine to the underside of the desk with enough explosive to destroy the entire floor. As he circled around the tower block from a safe distance, he pressed the detonator, and watched as an angry plume of flame ripped through the windows to the office he had just been sitting in minutes ago.
He engaged his hyper drive to a nearby system he had pre-programmed into the ship’s FSD before landing and safely jumped away. As he watched the beauty of the hyper drive space phenomenon float by the windows of his cockpit, he pulled up a display and a list of contacts. This would be a blow to the Mafia, and to the Communists. But this was just a single strike. He began to type out a coded message.
- Meeting has taken place with Mafia of Scythians representative. Meeting over. Non-cooperative individuals. Targets: Brom Base and Harding Bastion. Destroy everything. Kill everyone. -
More devastation was yet to come…
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View attachment Mafia Lore PDF.pdf
29 OCT 3302
Brom Base
Scythians 1A, Scythians
View attachment 112938
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
"This meeting is not advisable sir. This individual, this Shadow Captain from The Dark Armada is not to be trusted. My men tell me he's a dangerous, violent individual. He attacked Harding Bastion today, killing 5 of our people, and wounding 17 others. We..."
The muscular man was silenced mid-sentence by a wave of the hand from the important looking individual who was seated in a large office, with panoramic views of Scythians 1A’s landscape stretching off into the horizon.
"Yes, yes, I know all about this CMDR White Shark. Unfortunately for him when this meeting ends, he won't be leaving in one piece. Relax. His arrogance will be his un-doing."
The important looking man straightened his tie, and reached for his glass of whiskey. He watched the door across the room from him which was flanked either side by two more bodyguards, heavily armed. He knew full well the danger his visitor presented. But he needed to neutralise this threat quick. And quick it will be. His criminal syndicate has flourished in recent weeks. Thanks to external support from a Communist faction, his personal network was booming. He cared not who the support came from. Politics was never his interest. Only money, and power was all that mattered to Capo Hansor. But then, isn’t that what politics is about?
The Mafia of Scythians was now a major player in the system, equalling its influence with the dreaded Dark Armada. But of course, no support is ever free. The Communists backed his syndicate on the condition that when the time comes, he would play his part in a war with The Dark Armada. And he would. After all, it wouldn’t be him having to sit in the cockpit of a combat ship, and fly into a war zone. Others will take on that “honour”.
Hansor looked out of the window from his upper floor office, situated on Scythians 1A, Brom Base and heard the rumble of an approaching vessel. It was a Keelback. His guest had arrived. He was surprised. He would’ve assumed something more powerful than a Keelback. Hansor took a swig of his whiskey, and slouched back into his leather chair. He pressed a button on his desk, which immediately displayed a hologram in front of him displaying local news. A reporter spoke frantically, from the cockpit of an Asp Scout, looking down on the damaged and burning structures of Harding Bastion. The report suggested this was possibly the result of a feud down to criminal elements. They had no real idea, as usual with the media. He waved his hand in front of the screen, swiping it across to his personal stock market figures. Commodities the Mafia of Scythians had invested in had dropped. The Dark Armada will pay for this, starting with this Shadow Captain…
The door to the office slid open, and in came a figure, dressed in heavy duty combat clothing, boots, with a hood covering his head, and some sort of gas mask covering his face. Theatrics. Hansor had no time for it. CMDR White Shark was followed in by a 4th body guard. The door slid shut.
“Ah, CMDR White Shark, a pleasure to meet you”. He gestured for him to sit.
“Spare me your pleasantries. The only reason I agreed to this meeting, is that I hope you are going to discuss the terms of your surrender.” White Shark said harshly, with a deep, muffled voice.
“Now now, there is no need for that, CMDR. You’re lucky we even asked to meet with you, considering you have carried out an unprovoked attack on our base, killing my men. Who do you think you are?” Hansor said angrily.
White Shark tilted his head slightly.
“Unprovoked? Let me explain something to you. Your criminal gang allies itself with elements from one of our most hated enemies. Then, your ships, piloted by thugs begin to attack Imperial trade ships, and you expect not to face a retaliation?!”
“Our business ventures are no concern of the Empire. We are free to do what we want and...”
White Shark leaned forward, and pointed across the desk, directly at Hansor, cutting him off.
“Oh no you’re not. You are operating within an Imperial system, under direct leadership from The Dark Armada. Know your place, you stupid little man. Lord Mysteron is seething with rage at your actions. You’re lucky we’re currently fighting a war deep within our enemy’s systems. Otherwise, the Shadow Wing would have obliterated every single one of you gangsters, and turned your precious bases into piles of rubble.”
White Shark clenched his fist, as he finished his sentence.
The man sat for a brief moment, opened mouthed, surprised that this fool had the audacity to speak to him in such a way, in his own office, surrounded by 4 bodyguards, who were getting increasingly agitated.
“Considering your current situation, I don’t think you are in any position to raise your voice, and make threats, CMDR. You’re a fool to come here. I’m a reasonable man, and I thought we could discuss this like sensible men, but I guess not.” He said through gritted teeth.
He looked to his bodyguards who pulled out their automatic compact weapons, and moved around White Shark.
“You’re now a prisoner of the Mafia of Scythians, and if your Armada does not back off, we will be forced to send you back to them in pieces. Guards, take him away.”
White Shark leaned back in his chair, not fazed by the threatening situation he was in.
“Before you consider doing something so idiotic, it would interest you to know that in my Keelback’s cargo hold, there is over 30 tons of explosives, rigged to a detonator. Plenty to take out this base, and you with it. If I’m not allowed to leave this base in my ship, it will blow. Only I can disable it. And don’t think about trying to coerce me. I have a fellow CMDR, keeping an eye on the situation, who is under strict orders to pull the trigger, should I fail to emerge.”
Hansor sat still for a moment, thinking hard, absorbing what he had just been told. Surely not. He knew this Shadow Captain was dangerous, but suicidal? Or just plain psychotic?
“You’re bluffing. You would be killing yourself too.”
White Shark stared back at the man, through the lifeless expression of his mask.
“Death and glory in the void, my insignificant friend. We willingly give our lives to the Empire and The Dark Armada.”
The bodyguards by this point had taken a step back, without realising, and were looking to their boss for an order, or reassurance, they weren’t too sure which one. Capo Hansor leaned back in his chair, and let out a deep sigh.
“My men told me you were dangerous, but not insane. You leave me with little choice. Ok, fine, you are free to go, but I want an assurance from you that you will cease attacking my organisation?!”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” White Shark snapped, as he stood.
“Look, I promise you, and The Dark Armada, that we have no intention of going to war with you. We are simply business men.” Hansor stated reassuringly.
White Shark stared back, motionless. He despised the disgusting lies dribbling from this suited scumbag’s lips. He played along.
“I will report back to Lord Mysteron. He will be pleased to learn this.”
“Ah, excellent, excellent. Why don’t we celebrate and have a drink before you go?” Hansor said as he pulled out a second glass.
“No, that’s ok. I have to go and report in. I have no time to share a drink. You enjoy it, and saviour it, every last drop.”
“Suit yourself, CMDR. Goodbye.” The man said as he took a gulp of whiskey.
The door slid open, and White Shark stomped out. Hansor got up and walked to the window, to watch him board his ship, still with glass in hand.
The muscular guard moved to the window alongside his boss.
“What shall we do with him sir?”
Hansor stood for a moment, and continued to drink.
“Wait until he leaves our atmosphere, then order our ships to give chase, and wipe him out. I doubt he will be able to fend off 2 Cobras and a Vulture. Then get our friend from that Communist group on the feed. I need to inform her what has happened here.”
“Yes sir.”
They watched as the Keelback took off, and began to leave the base. It would be the last thing they would ever see.
As White Shark sat in the cockpit, he pulled up a display, with a detonation trigger. Those morons should never have allowed him into their office. Whilst he was sitting across the desk, during one of the exchanges, he had fixed a mine to the underside of the desk with enough explosive to destroy the entire floor. As he circled around the tower block from a safe distance, he pressed the detonator, and watched as an angry plume of flame ripped through the windows to the office he had just been sitting in minutes ago.
He engaged his hyper drive to a nearby system he had pre-programmed into the ship’s FSD before landing and safely jumped away. As he watched the beauty of the hyper drive space phenomenon float by the windows of his cockpit, he pulled up a display and a list of contacts. This would be a blow to the Mafia, and to the Communists. But this was just a single strike. He began to type out a coded message.
- Meeting has taken place with Mafia of Scythians representative. Meeting over. Non-cooperative individuals. Targets: Brom Base and Harding Bastion. Destroy everything. Kill everyone. -
More devastation was yet to come…
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CMDR White Shark - Parja Prisoners
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kg8Q5di7jMcTlUbE9LMExxbTQ
Parja Prisoners
04 DEC 3302
A Lakon Type-9, Deep Space
Parja
“What the hell is going on?!” CMDR Jeffson yelled at the pilot, as he stormed into the cockpit.
“We’ve been pulled out of super cruise sir. Target ship is a Vulture, which appears to have two more vessels in wing. We haven’t identified them yet, sir.” The pilot muttered frantically, as he tried to gain control of the Type-9.
CMDR Jeffson had been asleep before his rude awakening. He looked through the cockpit window, craning his head to try and get a look at the target. This mission was supposed to be simple enough. Transport the data and the passengers he had collected from Fraknoi Holdings in Parja, and deliver to the Manite system. He was now wondering what he had got himself into.
“Oh …” The pilot mumbled.
“What is it?” CMDR Jeffson asked, although he wasn’t too keen to hear the answer.
“The Vulture’s CMDR is White Shark -” Before the pilot could finish his sentence, Jeffson cut in.
“Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“… White Shark of The Dark Armada. Sir.”
The colour from Jeffson’s cheeks began to drain. He knew only too well what The Dark Armada was. Some of the stories he had heard were quite troubling. His thoughts were interrupted by the “drop” noise of two more vessels. One was a jet-black Imperial Courier, the other an Asp Explorer. All three vessels had deployed hard points and were targeting Jeffson’s Type-9. He became distracted by the door sliding open behind him. One of the passenger’s had entered the cockpit.
“What’s happening, why have we stopped?” She asked, concern, and a trace of fear in her voice.
“We’ve got it under control, return to your cabin at once Miss Thompson!” Jeffson snapped at her. All three of them were now interrupted by a chime from the cockpit terminal. They had an incoming live transmission from CMDR White Shark. The pilot pressed the receive button. Jeffson stepped forward to speak.
“This is CMDR Jeffson of this Type-9, please identify your intentions immediately.” He said sternly and authoritatively. There was a pause. Had the transmission gone through? He stared at the terminal waiting for a response. Suddenly they heard the rumble of an engine, and the Vulture came into view, staring straight at him through the cockpit window.
“… You have something that I want, CMDR…” the deep muffled voice of White Shark came booming through. “Turn off your engines now, and prepare to be boarded.”
Jeffson looked towards his pilot with a puzzled look. The pilot was also bemused. The passenger looked on, but had her hand over her mouth, primal fear in her eyes which were beginning to tear up. Jeffson caught the look in her eyes, and strided towards her. He grabbed her by the arms, and looked at her with anger.
“What the hell is going on?! What do you know about this?! Who are your fellow passengers?! I’m assuming our in-flight interruption is because of them?! … Or you?!” Jeffson’s lips closed tightly, eyes squinted as he waited for an answer.
The crew member held back, and composed herself. She realised there was little use of lying at this point. “We have to get our group to Manite. We have important intel on Imperial movements. Communism Interstellar need this info for its own military movements. We… we…” She began to stutter, trying to form the words.
There was panic in CMDR Jeffson’s eyes. He knew the enormity of the situation he was now facing. He knew the two factions involved in this mess were bitter enemies. And his ship and all aboard are going to be nothing more than collateral.
“Who are you and your fellow passengers exactly, Miss Thompson?” Jeffson sighed loudly.
“I’m with military intelligence for the Workers of Manite. I’m in company with Mr Crynson who is a special agent, along with Reginald Matthers who is a Workers of Manite politician, his two bodyguards, his secretary, and six defectors who are trying to reach Manite to claim asylum.” She said glumly.
CMDR Jeffson squeezed his temple and closed his eyes tight. “…what a up.” He grimaced.
“Turn off your engines NOW. I’m not a patient man.” The booming voice of White Shark startled Jeffson, Miss Thompson and the pilot.
Jeffson looked towards Miss Thompson who now had a tear rolling down her cheek. She smiled meekly at him.
“They will kill us all.” She said solemnly.
Jeffson nodded, and turned to his pilot. “Get us out of here, now.”
The pilot drew a deep breath. He knew this was going to be pointless. But the alternative appeared to be death. What choice was there? He turned to his terminal, put all pips to the engines, and hit the boost. The Type-9 jolted forward and began to pick up speed.
“Fools. You cannot escape The Dark Armada.” White Shark’s voice announced darkly, before communication was cut. He swung his ship around and aimed his laser at the fleeing Type-9. Pathetic. Do these morons think they’ll actually escape? The Courier which was already right above and pointing downward to its target had already started unleashing a needle of beam right at the Type-9, stripping it’s shields down. White Shark began to fire his own burst laser at the ever decreasing shield. Sure enough, the shield faded and was down to two percent…
“Shields offline! Taking Damage!” The onboard voice chimed in on the Type-9. By now Mr Crynson had entered the cockpit, along with the politician’s bodyguards. Miss Thompson frantically explained to them what was going on, as one of the bodyguards drew his weapon and rushed back towards the cabin.
White Shark pulled up a display and selected the Type-9’s drives. His cannon aimed and thundered a shot towards the back of the Type-9…
The pilot lurched forward, whilst those standing were thrown to the floor as the engines were torn apart from incoming fire. The remaining bodyguard was slammed against the back of the pilots chair before dropping. A large cut was now seeping blood from his forehead. Mr Crynson picked himself up and rushed over to the bodyguard. Jeffson got to his feet.
“Return to your cabins NOW!” He yelled, as he rushed to a seat behind the pilot and fastened himself in. “Mack, damage report?!”
“Drives down to 43%.” The pilot responded.
They both knew fleeing was pointless now. “Deploy hard points.” Jeffson knew this was futile, but they had no other option now. The gimballed multi-cannon’s deployed, and began to fire a hail of bullets towards the Vulture. Mr Crynson had heaved the unconscious bodyguard over his shoulder, and exited the cockpit with Miss Thompson to return to the cabin. Suddenly warning messages indicated an incoming missile. The Courier had fired one, now two, which struck the drives, wiping them out, and causing the Type-9 to jitter and slow until it came to a halt. They were sitting ducks. The Courier swung above and fired another missile, this time towards one of the multi-cannons. It broke apart as if it was made of matchsticks. The remaining multi-cannons followed with the last one being melted to the hull by the Courier’s powerful beam laser. The Pilot, Mack, slumped back into his chair, and breathed out deeply. Their brief moment of quiet was interrupted by an incoming voice transmission.
“Thank you for your co-operation. You will now be boarded.” CMDR White Shark’s voice cut through the silence like a scalpel through flesh. It was not a voice of smugness or victory. It was a lifeless, soulless voice. One of no emotion. And it disturbed Jeffson to his core.
Mack turned back towards Jeffson. “How the hell do they expect to board us?!” He asked in dismay and bewilderment.
The Asp Explorer which had been a quiet observer during this time came close to the Vulture, and appeared to connect to the underside of it. Jeffson got up and came close to the cockpit window, straining to see what was going on. It appeared to have clamped to it. After a minute or two, the Asp disconnected, and then headed towards them. Dread flooded into Jeffson’s eyes.
“Cut power to the Cargo Hatch. Disable the damn thing!” He barked at the pilot. Mack did it quickly.
“So what do we do now, sir?” Mack sighed.
Jeffson thought for a moment, and got to his feet. “Get the weapons from the locker. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get the passengers here.” And with that, Jeffson walked out.
***
“Calm down, ok? Calm down!” Miss Thompson was trying to plead with the politician who had got himself into a panic. The secretary looked on, numb to the situation. The defectors watched the scene play out. All those present were visibly startled as the door slid open. To their relief, it was CMDR Jeffson. Mr Crynson rushed over.
“What’s going on CMDR? What’s the situation?” He asked grimly
“I need you all in the cockpit now. It’s more secure than these cabins, and we can better defend it. We need to go now. We are about to be boarded and I have no idea how many of them there are going to be.”
Crynson nodded, and turned to the two bodyguards. The injured one had come round, and had a nasty wound to his head, blood staining his clothes, but he was up, gun drawn, a true professional. They all made their way out, down the corridor and into the cockpit. As they entered, Mack was standing with an automatic rifle in one hand, and another in his other hand which he handed to Jeffson.
“We only have two rifles sir.” Mack stated. Jeffson nodded, and shrugged. He turned to the unarmed passengers.
“All of you get over there and stay out of sight.” He pointed off to the side, whilst he took position facing the door which was now sealed shut. He was joined on either side by the bodyguards, Mack and Crynson. They stood poised. The ship was jolted, presumably by the Asp which had now fixed itself to the underside, just like it had done with the Vulture.
“Warning! Hull breach!” The cockpit system blurted out loudly. The floor rumbled and rattled. Then it stopped and there was brief moment of quiet. Then, they heard low rumbles and booms which sent shudders through the ship. Mack leaned towards Jeffson.
“They’re blasting through the doors.” Mack whispered. Jeffson kept his gaze forward, and soon enough, they heard the stomping of boots drawing closer which immediately halted, just on the other side of the door. He was hoping this would hold them back. The door is blast proof and resistant to most explosives. His hopes were soon dashed as he heard the unmistakable noise of a heavy duty laser cutter. The noise grew louder, and then, as sparks and liquid metal began to seep through, it became deafening. The cockpit began to fill with smoke, and angry flames flicked through the newly created gap. Visibility was becoming worse. Warning alarms and red lights were flashing throughout the cockpit, further overwhelming their senses. As the laser finished its work, the charred, melted and burning door fell forward with a slam, fanning smoke further into the cockpit. Jeffson and his armed accomplices strained their eyes to see through the smoke. He could see nothing. As he was about to whisper something to Mack, there was a blinding flash, an ear piercing thud, and then everything went black…
***
Slowly, sound, and sight began to filter back into Jeffson’s world. He soon realised he was down on his knees, his arms behind his back, wrists secured. To the left and right of him, was Mack and the rest of the passengers, all on their knees, and cuffed. He turned his head slightly to see several heavily armoured troops standing behind them in black clothing with full-faced helmets covering their heads and faces. One of them swiftly slammed the butt of his rifle against Jeffson’s back, sending a searing jolt of pain up his spine.
“Eyes forward, scum!” A harsh, aggressive voice shouted.
Jeffson groaned in pain, and did as he was told. He could hear some of the passengers sobbing. He wasn’t sure who though. Probably the politician and a couple of the defectors. His hearing was still muffled. Their unwanted guests had used some sort of stun grenade on them. Maybe The Dark Armada wanted them alive after all? His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of heavy stomping. One of the troops marched forward to greet the new arrival, who was also heavily armoured, but had a hood and what looked like a gas mask covering his face. The troop saluted.
“CMDR White Shark, sir! Prisoners are secured and all in order. No fatalities.”
“Good work Sgt. You and your men will be commended for this.” White Shark’s deep muffled voice responded. He turned to the prisoners. This was well worth the effort. Dark Lord Mysteron would be pleased with his actions today. And the Empire will be able to extract a ton of intelligence on enemy movements and tactics. The Sgt stood to the side, and watched on as White Shark walked towards the prisoners. He knelt down opposite Jeffson.
“Your actions today were pointless, despite how noble they may have been. You have assisted our enemy, thus making you and your fellow crew member enemies of The Dark Armada and the Empire.” White Shark told him bluntly. He stood, and walked over to the politician. “Mr Matthers. Far from home I see? Interfering in Imperial Systems, poisoning the people.”
With that, he grabbed the politician by the shoulders, heaved him to his feet, and grasped him tightly around the throat with one hand. Reginald Matthers gasped, and tried to grip hold of White Shark’s hand.
“I would crush your throat right now if you didn’t have other uses for us.” White Shark hissed through his mask. He then turned with him still in his grip, and threw him towards two other troops to the side by the newly opened door, who forced him to the ground again. White Shark moved towards Miss Thompson. He looked at the troops standing behind.
“This one.” He said simply. The troops gripped her under the arms, and dragged her towards where the politician now was and dropped her by his side. Anger filled her.
“You Imperial scum! How dare you carry out this illegal act!” She screamed towards White Shark. He stared impassively at her.
“Your thoughts and opinions on this situation are not relevant to me.” He replied, without any emotion. He walked over to Crynson. “You have been an irritation to our operations, Mr Crynson. Sadly for you, this one is going to be a mission failure.”
Crynson looked up, and spat at White Shark. He was about to say something, but was stopped short, as one of the troops thrust the heel of his boot into the back of his head, slamming his face forward onto the ground, with a hideous crunch as his teeth cracked, and nose broke. White Shark simply bent down, grabbing Crynson by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him towards Miss Thompson and Reginald, leaving a streak of blood in his wake.
“Take these three to the Asp.” White Shark ordered the two troops.
“Yes sir.” One of them responded, and were joined by two more troops, who picked up the now unconscious Crynson, and marched the other two prisoners off down the corridor to their uncertain fates.
White Shark faced the Sgt. “Ensure the ship’s data is downloaded, and have your men search the cabin for any evidence that may prove useful.”
“Yes sir. And what about the remaining passengers?” The Sgt said as he motioned towards the kneeling prisoners.
White Shark stood, staring directly at the Sgt. “There were no remaining passengers, Sgt.” He said without turning his head, and without feeling.
“Yes sir.” The Sgt said. He knew what needed to be done. The rest of the troops had now moved away from the prisoners and moved alongside White Shark and the Sgt. They lifted their weapons. “On my command.” The Sgt ordered.
Jeffson knew what was coming, as did Mack. The body guards looked up and stared at their executioners, waiting for the inevitable. The secretary had begun to sob now, and some of the defectors started to beg for their lives and weep. Jeffson turned to face his loyal pilot.
“It was good to fly with you Mack.” He smiled meekly.
“You too Jon.” Mack responded, sadness in his eyes.
“Aim… fire!” The Sgt barked, as White Shark looked on. The troops opened up with steady, controlled automatic fire, and put an end to the sobs, the pleas, and the panic. Silence returned to the cockpit. White Shark turned and made his way back down the corridor with the Sgt alongside.
“The prisoners are to be taken to Vaisala Penal Colony in Wheemehimo. CMDR Kill Joy’s men will want to interrogate them for Dark Lord Mysteron before we hand them over to our Imperial leaders.” White Shark said to the Sgt.
“It will be done sir.”
“You and your men have done excellent work today. The Dark Armada rewards results.” The Sgt bowed his head, proud of his work. White Shark entered the Asp and made his way to the cockpit. CMDR Mythmere was sat, reading through the steady stream of data which was being downloaded from the Type-9.
“Useful, CMDR Mythmere?” White Shark said as he put his hand on Mythmere’s shoulder.
“Very, CMDR White Shark.” He smiled. Mythmere will find this intel highly useful for his strategy planning for The Dark Armada.
White Shark took a seat, and waited for The Dark Armada troops to finish their sweep. Roughly 30 minutes later, they boarded the Asp and returned to their own cabins.
“Nothing further to report sir. Shall we head off now?” The Sgt asked White Shark as he entered the cockpit.
“Very good Sgt. CMDR Mythmere, disengage, and head back to my ship.” White Shark pulled up a display to communicate to the CMDR in the Courier, which had been waiting patiently throughout. “This is CMDR White Shark. Once we are clear, destroy the Type-9.”
“Understood, sir.” The response came back. As the Asp moved away from the Type-9, the Courier wasted no time, and fired its beam, scarring the hull of the motionless vessel with rivets of molten metal. At the same time, missile after missile was fired which slammed into the ship. Plumes of fire and fragments of metal spewed from the stricken vessel as it was torn apart. CMDR Jeffson’s pride and joy was eventually blown apart.
“Target destroyed.” Came the announcement in the cockpit of the Asp. Mythmere piloted his ship back towards the Vulture, to enable White Shark to board.
***
Once seated in his own ship, White Shark pulled up a display. Mysteron appeared on it.
“My Dark Lord,” White Shark began. “I have good news…”
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B8kg8Q5di7jMcTlUbE9LMExxbTQ
Parja Prisoners
04 DEC 3302
A Lakon Type-9, Deep Space
Parja
“What the hell is going on?!” CMDR Jeffson yelled at the pilot, as he stormed into the cockpit.
“We’ve been pulled out of super cruise sir. Target ship is a Vulture, which appears to have two more vessels in wing. We haven’t identified them yet, sir.” The pilot muttered frantically, as he tried to gain control of the Type-9.
CMDR Jeffson had been asleep before his rude awakening. He looked through the cockpit window, craning his head to try and get a look at the target. This mission was supposed to be simple enough. Transport the data and the passengers he had collected from Fraknoi Holdings in Parja, and deliver to the Manite system. He was now wondering what he had got himself into.
“Oh …” The pilot mumbled.
“What is it?” CMDR Jeffson asked, although he wasn’t too keen to hear the answer.
“The Vulture’s CMDR is White Shark -” Before the pilot could finish his sentence, Jeffson cut in.
“Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“… White Shark of The Dark Armada. Sir.”
The colour from Jeffson’s cheeks began to drain. He knew only too well what The Dark Armada was. Some of the stories he had heard were quite troubling. His thoughts were interrupted by the “drop” noise of two more vessels. One was a jet-black Imperial Courier, the other an Asp Explorer. All three vessels had deployed hard points and were targeting Jeffson’s Type-9. He became distracted by the door sliding open behind him. One of the passenger’s had entered the cockpit.
“What’s happening, why have we stopped?” She asked, concern, and a trace of fear in her voice.
“We’ve got it under control, return to your cabin at once Miss Thompson!” Jeffson snapped at her. All three of them were now interrupted by a chime from the cockpit terminal. They had an incoming live transmission from CMDR White Shark. The pilot pressed the receive button. Jeffson stepped forward to speak.
“This is CMDR Jeffson of this Type-9, please identify your intentions immediately.” He said sternly and authoritatively. There was a pause. Had the transmission gone through? He stared at the terminal waiting for a response. Suddenly they heard the rumble of an engine, and the Vulture came into view, staring straight at him through the cockpit window.
“… You have something that I want, CMDR…” the deep muffled voice of White Shark came booming through. “Turn off your engines now, and prepare to be boarded.”
Jeffson looked towards his pilot with a puzzled look. The pilot was also bemused. The passenger looked on, but had her hand over her mouth, primal fear in her eyes which were beginning to tear up. Jeffson caught the look in her eyes, and strided towards her. He grabbed her by the arms, and looked at her with anger.
“What the hell is going on?! What do you know about this?! Who are your fellow passengers?! I’m assuming our in-flight interruption is because of them?! … Or you?!” Jeffson’s lips closed tightly, eyes squinted as he waited for an answer.
The crew member held back, and composed herself. She realised there was little use of lying at this point. “We have to get our group to Manite. We have important intel on Imperial movements. Communism Interstellar need this info for its own military movements. We… we…” She began to stutter, trying to form the words.
There was panic in CMDR Jeffson’s eyes. He knew the enormity of the situation he was now facing. He knew the two factions involved in this mess were bitter enemies. And his ship and all aboard are going to be nothing more than collateral.
“Who are you and your fellow passengers exactly, Miss Thompson?” Jeffson sighed loudly.
“I’m with military intelligence for the Workers of Manite. I’m in company with Mr Crynson who is a special agent, along with Reginald Matthers who is a Workers of Manite politician, his two bodyguards, his secretary, and six defectors who are trying to reach Manite to claim asylum.” She said glumly.
CMDR Jeffson squeezed his temple and closed his eyes tight. “…what a up.” He grimaced.
“Turn off your engines NOW. I’m not a patient man.” The booming voice of White Shark startled Jeffson, Miss Thompson and the pilot.
Jeffson looked towards Miss Thompson who now had a tear rolling down her cheek. She smiled meekly at him.
“They will kill us all.” She said solemnly.
Jeffson nodded, and turned to his pilot. “Get us out of here, now.”
The pilot drew a deep breath. He knew this was going to be pointless. But the alternative appeared to be death. What choice was there? He turned to his terminal, put all pips to the engines, and hit the boost. The Type-9 jolted forward and began to pick up speed.
“Fools. You cannot escape The Dark Armada.” White Shark’s voice announced darkly, before communication was cut. He swung his ship around and aimed his laser at the fleeing Type-9. Pathetic. Do these morons think they’ll actually escape? The Courier which was already right above and pointing downward to its target had already started unleashing a needle of beam right at the Type-9, stripping it’s shields down. White Shark began to fire his own burst laser at the ever decreasing shield. Sure enough, the shield faded and was down to two percent…
“Shields offline! Taking Damage!” The onboard voice chimed in on the Type-9. By now Mr Crynson had entered the cockpit, along with the politician’s bodyguards. Miss Thompson frantically explained to them what was going on, as one of the bodyguards drew his weapon and rushed back towards the cabin.
White Shark pulled up a display and selected the Type-9’s drives. His cannon aimed and thundered a shot towards the back of the Type-9…
The pilot lurched forward, whilst those standing were thrown to the floor as the engines were torn apart from incoming fire. The remaining bodyguard was slammed against the back of the pilots chair before dropping. A large cut was now seeping blood from his forehead. Mr Crynson picked himself up and rushed over to the bodyguard. Jeffson got to his feet.
“Return to your cabins NOW!” He yelled, as he rushed to a seat behind the pilot and fastened himself in. “Mack, damage report?!”
“Drives down to 43%.” The pilot responded.
They both knew fleeing was pointless now. “Deploy hard points.” Jeffson knew this was futile, but they had no other option now. The gimballed multi-cannon’s deployed, and began to fire a hail of bullets towards the Vulture. Mr Crynson had heaved the unconscious bodyguard over his shoulder, and exited the cockpit with Miss Thompson to return to the cabin. Suddenly warning messages indicated an incoming missile. The Courier had fired one, now two, which struck the drives, wiping them out, and causing the Type-9 to jitter and slow until it came to a halt. They were sitting ducks. The Courier swung above and fired another missile, this time towards one of the multi-cannons. It broke apart as if it was made of matchsticks. The remaining multi-cannons followed with the last one being melted to the hull by the Courier’s powerful beam laser. The Pilot, Mack, slumped back into his chair, and breathed out deeply. Their brief moment of quiet was interrupted by an incoming voice transmission.
“Thank you for your co-operation. You will now be boarded.” CMDR White Shark’s voice cut through the silence like a scalpel through flesh. It was not a voice of smugness or victory. It was a lifeless, soulless voice. One of no emotion. And it disturbed Jeffson to his core.
Mack turned back towards Jeffson. “How the hell do they expect to board us?!” He asked in dismay and bewilderment.
The Asp Explorer which had been a quiet observer during this time came close to the Vulture, and appeared to connect to the underside of it. Jeffson got up and came close to the cockpit window, straining to see what was going on. It appeared to have clamped to it. After a minute or two, the Asp disconnected, and then headed towards them. Dread flooded into Jeffson’s eyes.
“Cut power to the Cargo Hatch. Disable the damn thing!” He barked at the pilot. Mack did it quickly.
“So what do we do now, sir?” Mack sighed.
Jeffson thought for a moment, and got to his feet. “Get the weapons from the locker. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get the passengers here.” And with that, Jeffson walked out.
***
“Calm down, ok? Calm down!” Miss Thompson was trying to plead with the politician who had got himself into a panic. The secretary looked on, numb to the situation. The defectors watched the scene play out. All those present were visibly startled as the door slid open. To their relief, it was CMDR Jeffson. Mr Crynson rushed over.
“What’s going on CMDR? What’s the situation?” He asked grimly
“I need you all in the cockpit now. It’s more secure than these cabins, and we can better defend it. We need to go now. We are about to be boarded and I have no idea how many of them there are going to be.”
Crynson nodded, and turned to the two bodyguards. The injured one had come round, and had a nasty wound to his head, blood staining his clothes, but he was up, gun drawn, a true professional. They all made their way out, down the corridor and into the cockpit. As they entered, Mack was standing with an automatic rifle in one hand, and another in his other hand which he handed to Jeffson.
“We only have two rifles sir.” Mack stated. Jeffson nodded, and shrugged. He turned to the unarmed passengers.
“All of you get over there and stay out of sight.” He pointed off to the side, whilst he took position facing the door which was now sealed shut. He was joined on either side by the bodyguards, Mack and Crynson. They stood poised. The ship was jolted, presumably by the Asp which had now fixed itself to the underside, just like it had done with the Vulture.
“Warning! Hull breach!” The cockpit system blurted out loudly. The floor rumbled and rattled. Then it stopped and there was brief moment of quiet. Then, they heard low rumbles and booms which sent shudders through the ship. Mack leaned towards Jeffson.
“They’re blasting through the doors.” Mack whispered. Jeffson kept his gaze forward, and soon enough, they heard the stomping of boots drawing closer which immediately halted, just on the other side of the door. He was hoping this would hold them back. The door is blast proof and resistant to most explosives. His hopes were soon dashed as he heard the unmistakable noise of a heavy duty laser cutter. The noise grew louder, and then, as sparks and liquid metal began to seep through, it became deafening. The cockpit began to fill with smoke, and angry flames flicked through the newly created gap. Visibility was becoming worse. Warning alarms and red lights were flashing throughout the cockpit, further overwhelming their senses. As the laser finished its work, the charred, melted and burning door fell forward with a slam, fanning smoke further into the cockpit. Jeffson and his armed accomplices strained their eyes to see through the smoke. He could see nothing. As he was about to whisper something to Mack, there was a blinding flash, an ear piercing thud, and then everything went black…
***
Slowly, sound, and sight began to filter back into Jeffson’s world. He soon realised he was down on his knees, his arms behind his back, wrists secured. To the left and right of him, was Mack and the rest of the passengers, all on their knees, and cuffed. He turned his head slightly to see several heavily armoured troops standing behind them in black clothing with full-faced helmets covering their heads and faces. One of them swiftly slammed the butt of his rifle against Jeffson’s back, sending a searing jolt of pain up his spine.
“Eyes forward, scum!” A harsh, aggressive voice shouted.
Jeffson groaned in pain, and did as he was told. He could hear some of the passengers sobbing. He wasn’t sure who though. Probably the politician and a couple of the defectors. His hearing was still muffled. Their unwanted guests had used some sort of stun grenade on them. Maybe The Dark Armada wanted them alive after all? His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of heavy stomping. One of the troops marched forward to greet the new arrival, who was also heavily armoured, but had a hood and what looked like a gas mask covering his face. The troop saluted.
“CMDR White Shark, sir! Prisoners are secured and all in order. No fatalities.”
“Good work Sgt. You and your men will be commended for this.” White Shark’s deep muffled voice responded. He turned to the prisoners. This was well worth the effort. Dark Lord Mysteron would be pleased with his actions today. And the Empire will be able to extract a ton of intelligence on enemy movements and tactics. The Sgt stood to the side, and watched on as White Shark walked towards the prisoners. He knelt down opposite Jeffson.
“Your actions today were pointless, despite how noble they may have been. You have assisted our enemy, thus making you and your fellow crew member enemies of The Dark Armada and the Empire.” White Shark told him bluntly. He stood, and walked over to the politician. “Mr Matthers. Far from home I see? Interfering in Imperial Systems, poisoning the people.”
With that, he grabbed the politician by the shoulders, heaved him to his feet, and grasped him tightly around the throat with one hand. Reginald Matthers gasped, and tried to grip hold of White Shark’s hand.
“I would crush your throat right now if you didn’t have other uses for us.” White Shark hissed through his mask. He then turned with him still in his grip, and threw him towards two other troops to the side by the newly opened door, who forced him to the ground again. White Shark moved towards Miss Thompson. He looked at the troops standing behind.
“This one.” He said simply. The troops gripped her under the arms, and dragged her towards where the politician now was and dropped her by his side. Anger filled her.
“You Imperial scum! How dare you carry out this illegal act!” She screamed towards White Shark. He stared impassively at her.
“Your thoughts and opinions on this situation are not relevant to me.” He replied, without any emotion. He walked over to Crynson. “You have been an irritation to our operations, Mr Crynson. Sadly for you, this one is going to be a mission failure.”
Crynson looked up, and spat at White Shark. He was about to say something, but was stopped short, as one of the troops thrust the heel of his boot into the back of his head, slamming his face forward onto the ground, with a hideous crunch as his teeth cracked, and nose broke. White Shark simply bent down, grabbing Crynson by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him towards Miss Thompson and Reginald, leaving a streak of blood in his wake.
“Take these three to the Asp.” White Shark ordered the two troops.
“Yes sir.” One of them responded, and were joined by two more troops, who picked up the now unconscious Crynson, and marched the other two prisoners off down the corridor to their uncertain fates.
White Shark faced the Sgt. “Ensure the ship’s data is downloaded, and have your men search the cabin for any evidence that may prove useful.”
“Yes sir. And what about the remaining passengers?” The Sgt said as he motioned towards the kneeling prisoners.
White Shark stood, staring directly at the Sgt. “There were no remaining passengers, Sgt.” He said without turning his head, and without feeling.
“Yes sir.” The Sgt said. He knew what needed to be done. The rest of the troops had now moved away from the prisoners and moved alongside White Shark and the Sgt. They lifted their weapons. “On my command.” The Sgt ordered.
Jeffson knew what was coming, as did Mack. The body guards looked up and stared at their executioners, waiting for the inevitable. The secretary had begun to sob now, and some of the defectors started to beg for their lives and weep. Jeffson turned to face his loyal pilot.
“It was good to fly with you Mack.” He smiled meekly.
“You too Jon.” Mack responded, sadness in his eyes.
“Aim… fire!” The Sgt barked, as White Shark looked on. The troops opened up with steady, controlled automatic fire, and put an end to the sobs, the pleas, and the panic. Silence returned to the cockpit. White Shark turned and made his way back down the corridor with the Sgt alongside.
“The prisoners are to be taken to Vaisala Penal Colony in Wheemehimo. CMDR Kill Joy’s men will want to interrogate them for Dark Lord Mysteron before we hand them over to our Imperial leaders.” White Shark said to the Sgt.
“It will be done sir.”
“You and your men have done excellent work today. The Dark Armada rewards results.” The Sgt bowed his head, proud of his work. White Shark entered the Asp and made his way to the cockpit. CMDR Mythmere was sat, reading through the steady stream of data which was being downloaded from the Type-9.
“Useful, CMDR Mythmere?” White Shark said as he put his hand on Mythmere’s shoulder.
“Very, CMDR White Shark.” He smiled. Mythmere will find this intel highly useful for his strategy planning for The Dark Armada.
White Shark took a seat, and waited for The Dark Armada troops to finish their sweep. Roughly 30 minutes later, they boarded the Asp and returned to their own cabins.
“Nothing further to report sir. Shall we head off now?” The Sgt asked White Shark as he entered the cockpit.
“Very good Sgt. CMDR Mythmere, disengage, and head back to my ship.” White Shark pulled up a display to communicate to the CMDR in the Courier, which had been waiting patiently throughout. “This is CMDR White Shark. Once we are clear, destroy the Type-9.”
“Understood, sir.” The response came back. As the Asp moved away from the Type-9, the Courier wasted no time, and fired its beam, scarring the hull of the motionless vessel with rivets of molten metal. At the same time, missile after missile was fired which slammed into the ship. Plumes of fire and fragments of metal spewed from the stricken vessel as it was torn apart. CMDR Jeffson’s pride and joy was eventually blown apart.
“Target destroyed.” Came the announcement in the cockpit of the Asp. Mythmere piloted his ship back towards the Vulture, to enable White Shark to board.
***
Once seated in his own ship, White Shark pulled up a display. Mysteron appeared on it.
“My Dark Lord,” White Shark began. “I have good news…”
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The art in the first post is awesome. Also THE EDGE IS REAL.
Hey thanks guys! The actual profile pictures in the above profiles are mostly just sourced images from the net which I've edited. Only Mysteron's and Princess Momo's are created from scratch by themselves. The wording in my profile was put together by me, and the wording of the other profiles was put together by those CMDRs. I simply put them all together into a template. The in-game screenshots in the Mafia story are all my screenshots.
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How did you get the exploding building?Hey thanks guys! The actual profile pictures in the above profiles are mostly just sourced images from the net which I've edited. Only Mysteron's and Princess Momo's are created from scratch by themselves. The wording in my profile was put together by me, and the wording of the other profiles was put together by those CMDRs. I simply put them all together into a template. The in-game screenshots in the Mafia story are all my screenshots.
And is the cyan dragon a Silurian?
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Haha, the exploding floor of the building is just a bit of editing by me, using PNG images of explosions.
As for the dragon, I don't think it is a Silurian. I now can't find the original despite searching the same words I did before! :S It kinda looks like Maurgoth Son of Daurgothoth though.
https://dungeonmusings.wordpress.com/tag/host-of-daurgothoth/
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