Futuristic &nbsp; Within Tormented Space...(IC)

Ramjammer · Feb 17, 2021

She'd expected no luxuries aboard the Travel Runner, naturally. It being a prison transport bound for a prison colony, and she being, well, a prisoner. The Detention Officers weren't going to lay out thousand thread count sheets and mix her a cosmopolitan, Lorette wasn't stupid. She was a criminal, and an unrepentant bastard. But never stupid.

Which was just as well. Lorette considered herself an excellent judge of character, and years spent in the business of convincing people to kill at her behest had taught her a few things.

Namely, that there was nothing more dangerous to her wellbeing than someone that loved their job.

Even if she had the means to bribe the guards, it wouldn't work. People that liked their jobs were in it for something they enjoyed more than money. And there were few things in the former CEO's opinion worth more than a few extra zeros added to the number in her bank account. Power being the first and most obvious of those things. Everyone loved power, even the people that claimed otherwise. The responsible, the righteous, and the trustworthy. A taste, an ounce, and they'd ever crave more. Sure, they could fight the hunger. Some would even do a good job of it. But it was an itch that never faded.

The Detention Officers were quite willing to scratch that itch. There was no greater pleasure than exerting what power they had over their wards. This much had become plainly obvious to Lorette during her time aboard. No sooner than she'd stepped through the airlock she'd be cracked across the back of the skull with either a baton, or the butt of a rifle. It was hard to tell with the pain muddling her senses. Lorette had been quick to assume that she'd killed someone close to her assailant, or ordered someone to kill them. It was sometimes hard to keep track. But her crime had been far less offensive, though the reason for the punishment had been much more insidious.

"You keep your fucking eyes to the floor here." A rough voice had hissed into her still ringing ears.

The message was painfully clear. Dignity had no place where she stood. She, and all the rest, were cargo. A series of numbers and letters sent to be ground to dust out in the middle of nowhere. Well, the ones who weren't up for execution, anyway. All that she was and had ever been, would be stripped away hoping to leave a mere shell of a woman. It wasn't shocking, and certainly it was a good idea. Broken spirits made for docile prisoners, after all. Had Lorette been in the business of transporting Prisoners, she'd have seen the appeal.

Undoubtedly, the guards all wanted to get their fill of blatant abuse before their cargo was dumped and left to rot on Talo-Erbus.

Or maybe their parents didn't hug them enough, and that was manifesting in weird ways. She couldn't be sure.

Lorette's arrogance was such that the idea that she would be put under the heel of someone else was a concept so profoundly disgusting, it almost made her retch. Her stomach roiled constantly during her time on the Travel Runner, and it had little to do with the piss poor excuse for food they were served. She had lived her life assured of her own superiority and wasn't open to having that questioned.

However, her sense of self importance was overridden by her sense of self preservation. A bloodied nose was only worthwhile if she could return the favor, which she sadly could not.

Not that she had a mind to try. The Trovian woman laying into the poor bastard a few yards away wasn't someone Lorette was willing to get into a fistfight with. Having half the number of required fists put her at a severe disadvantage.

Lorette wouldn't pretend to care for the man getting his ass beat nearby, but she took a small bit of offense on his behalf. An opponent bound and gagged wasn't good sport. Give the man a gun, and the means to kill, and he'd have surely put on a show. It was almost a shame she wouldn't get the pleasure of seeing such a thing.

Instead, she was given the privilege of being restrained and silenced. The hallway was uncomfortably cold, and her standard issued jumpsuit did little to alleviate that discomfort. Being called a 'Scum fucker' didn't help her mood either. While the statement was technically correct, given that Lorette had shared a bed with some unsavory individuals, they didn't have to say it.

The woman sighed internally, keeping her eyes down, and shoulders slumped. Things born of practice that she hoped wouldn't become habit. Bad posture didn't get you taken seriously among peers, and Lorette wasn't as young as she used to be. Her back was not a fan.

There wasn't a single part of her body that was a fan of the bullshit she was being put through. And it surely wouldn't be a fan of what would lay ahead once they'd boarded their new transport.

She only hoped it was a bit less cold.

Worthlessplebian · Feb 17, 2021

In this merry line of miscreants, the sight of cyberized inmates is not an uncommon one. However, few can claim to have the title of grotesquely or massively cyberized. One of these people is Rochus Ritter, electronic information hacker who hails from a small, backwater planet. This jovial mongrel with his ways around technology had recently made a monumental blunder, which explains his presence on a ship heading to Talo-Erebus.

The silver and Prussian blue mechanical man was slightly ahead in the column. The finish on his chassis was chipped from rough-housing with authorities pre- and post-capture. It annoyed the punster, but that is life. The plasma cuffs pressed uncomfortably upon his mechanical wrists. More so than the cuffs on other inmates, perhaps because the guards assumed Rochus could not feel as much as other prisoners, however, Rochus has the sneaking suspicion that they purposefully tightened the plasma cuffs like that, a form of soft torture perhaps?

At this moment, Rochus felt the need to grab onto the nearest terminal and do all sorts of shenanigans. Except for the fact that the File Detention Officers would beat him into a scrap heap or worse, put a superfluous hole through his skull. As if he didn't have enough of those already.

Then the abusing started, guards screaming at prisoners, beating them with the butts of their rifles or baton. Thankfully, Rochus had managed to avoid this encroachment of health, at least for now.

Occasionally when the guards' watchful eye would slip, Rochus' eyes would dart around to catch any details that he could. And also to seek a peek at the women present there, if he's gonna be executed or be detained for the rest of his mortal life then he should see something beautiful.

His hapless information gathering did get him the swiftest jab that he has ever experienced in his life. A detention officer in all his short and silver-trimmed glory socked him one. If the short man hadn't grabbed Rochus by his bicep, then he would've tumbled to the side. "Quit your head-turning, inmate! Before I knock your block off!" Quite an angry little fellow, Rochus thought to himself with venom-tipped thoughts. If this annoying gag didn't hinder his partially intact vocal cords, he would return fire with a crack at his height.

Well, point taken. Rochus, now with a scratched cheek, continued forward.

He exercised mental lashings at his perceived incompetence that dropped him in this precarious position. How was he supposed to know that there was a new program that not only tracked his position through multiple reroutes but also put up dummy files that were so legitimate that they might as well be the real thing?

Now he was in a grumbling mood, being called "scum fucker" by the lead pig also did not help the situation. He prayed silently for divine intervention. Release him from this travesty.

archur · Feb 18, 2021

The death-bot had been on standby mode for as long as it's been active, which has been ever since it's stay on the Travel Runner, that being faaar too long. V1 was designed to be dropped into an area of operation, unleash itself upon any hapless targets or witnesses it came across, and then get promptly picked up by a retrieval team to be put back into storage. In and out, only awoken to be given another set of targets, another databank of illicit info to download, and another clean get-away to make. At least, that's how it was supposed to work. After screwing up it's first job, the retrieval team didn't see fit to attempt recovery, and here it stood, standing amidst fleshbags in a motley lineup, waiting to be put into the next cage they belonged in.

If V1 had any real amount of fuel within itself, or hadn't had the glowing pair of wings on it's back shattered and broken, it might've assessed this situation as a possible attempt at escape. Bide time until a prisoner managed to score the attention of a guard, propel itself towards one of the guards on the periphery of the operation and beat them senseless. V1 calculated they had a 73.3% chance to lose a substantial amount of motor function or even a 49% chance to lose one of it's arms, but those odds were with fuel and movement. Presently, it had an arm on the fritz after a futile attempt to refuel, non-functioning wings, and about 3 minutes of-

pop

The machine's cracked lenses came in and out of focus as it maxed out it's memory on the simplest of calculations, a small trail of smoke briefly rising from it's head. The machine had been trying to do it's best to not catch the ire of their captors like some others were, but every time it "thinked" too hard, it was difficult to not blow a fuse.

"Already broken, junkbot?" A guard questioned, mindlessly smashing down hard onto V1's head. The robot didn't move as it was struck, almost as if the guard had struck a statue, but a long thin crack appeared on the side of it's head casing. Apparently pleased with himself, he backed away. Calculations like that would have to be 34% slower to save energy and not gather attention again. Even though unit activity was progressively beginning to slow down, V1 did it's best to calculate anyways, but nagging glitches kept getting in the way, false simulacra of what appeared to be restlessness as the unit watched the lead inmate hit the ground. Though it's logic engines prompted it to go forwards towards the beating, it's lessons on the prison barge stayed it's feet from moving at all. Getting into a fight with guards so trigger happy wouldn't lead to refueling or repairs, only unit termination. Even though it could not feel desperation, V1's reserves began to drive it to what could be classified as "reckless behavior", unheard of for robots. However, considering what it ran on, made sense.

See, V1's fuel was blood. Any blood at all, it's even able to draw repairs for itself with viscera, something that it had none of and was left sluggish and inert because of. It craved blood so desperately, any amount would do. Even whilst on the ship, the automaton stood on the edges of fights just to try and step into the slightest puddle of the scarlet liquid, but this usually amounted to it getting brutalized by prisoners or guards alike.

Each passing second ticked endlessly for the machine, who took it's time attempting to diagnose threat behavior immediately ahead of it, since it's self-learning AI determined that not taking direct orders from guards resulted in irreparable system damage. It seemed that the Trovian was the most physically aggressive of the bunch, though she wasn't the closest to V1. It was the rather short creature that struck out at the cybernetic inmate directly in front of the unit that seemed to be of greatest threat to V1's wellbeing at the moment, with the one referred to as Deck Officer Tazz being the least inclined for battle. V1's target acquisition protocols wildly began putting priorities over each of their heads, but flickered away just as quickly. Fighting was proven to be unsuccessful, but with-

pop

Another thrash from the grinning guard caused some of the blue bulletproof casing to chip off entirely, another part of V1 that would probably stay on this ship forever. The unit deduced that if it didn't run any calculations at all, then perhaps, it wouldn't blow any fuses whatsoever. Face forward, head down, statue still. The robot wasn't going to allow itself any unnecessary further harm, not at this dangerous instance.

GrieveWriter · Feb 18, 2021

And yet despite the bleak scenario that the prisoners found themselves in, one stood seemingly unfettered by the horrid fate set before them.

If Buddy's face wasn't primarily dominated by obscuring implants, one would note how genuine his smile was even as the guards began their harassment routine. It had started with the regular looking lad up ahead, but that had apparently opened the floodgates for several of the other guards to pick out whoever they wanted and get going! Buddy paid them no mind for the most part, occupying himself with some jaunty humming as he flexed his hands in his cuffs.

He wouldn't want to interrupt their fun, after all.

And boy did they look like they were having fun. Just look at those wide smiles! Sure, the prisoners weren't exactly grinning it up from the exchange, but Buddy liked to think positively. After all, not all of them were being marched towards their deaths like he was. He had one hell of an execution to get to, the guards had filled him in on it multiple times over the course of the journey. Buddy figured it was in an attempt to taunt or terrify him, but Buddy actually felt fairly proud of it. Not many could encourage hatred from such vast swathes of the universal population, and the fact that his captors had devised such extensive measures dedicated to eradicating him from the known universe, he almost felt as though he could tear up with pride.

And why wouldn't they want him dead so badly? Buddy had done a lot of killing in his time.

Mothers, fathers, criminals, officials, young and old, warriors and contractors; Buddy had killed what could only be described as a downright ludicrous number of people in the past few decades. After he'd finally been linked to the nigh countless murders and assassinations throughout the universe, the hammer had come down hard... really hard. But despite the pleas for his death, that hatred of the masses and the grinding boot of the judicial system, Buddy had felt that the worst part of his most recent capture was that folks seemed to believe that he was some kind of emotionless monster. That was emphatically not true, as Buddy greatly enjoyed his job.

Every single one of his kills were enjoyable to kill in one way or another, and Buddy had cherished them to such an extent that he could perfectly remember plenty of them. He'd even visited some of their graves after the fact to reminisce about the fun they'd had together. Now if that wasn't the mark of the absolute best kind of killer, he didn't know what was. If they were going to destroy him for his talents, the least they could do was acknowledge how much he enjoyed them. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Buddy muffled a cough, which finally broke his melodious humming. It was a shame, but he wasn't able to breathe through his mouth-mounted apparatus like he was usually able to. A no good murderous varmint like him couldn't be considered safely apprehended when he had a freighter worth of implants, cybernetics and hold-out weaponry literally built into him. Much of these were simply to aid him in his routine day to day activities, which just so happened to mainly be the murdering of whoever it was he was targeting at the moment.

So his captors had taken out what they could, replacing much of his military grade hardware with civilian grade stand ins. Everything that they couldn't remove had been hindered, with technicians toning down a number of his gear's sensory capabilities and deactivating several other things. If not for his more internal hardware, he'd probably be far more incapable of taking in his surroundings as he was now. But it wasn't as though it was very bad, heck he'd turned down his cybernetics himself on several occasions just to help himself sleep at times.

It gave a real muted feeling to things that was oddly soothing in down time. But as he was it didn't really hold back the pain when one of the Guards decided that he'd gone long enough making weird noises to himself and cracked him over the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

"God, least you could do is stay quiet back here you murderous shit." he grunted as Buddy stretched his neck a bit before reaching up and gesturing towards the center back of his skull with his bound arms. It didn't really communicate much, as his limbs were quite secure at the moment. But the Guard seemed to get the memo, and directed his next attack towards the indicated spot instead. The force of the strike this time was more direct, with his mouth apparatus being briefly jammed deeply into his skin from it.

Buddy had tried helping out his captors for large portions of their trip, having noticed that they weren't getting the most out of their abuse. Ever Helpful, he'd very clearly outlined how to cause him far greater pain with much less effort on their part, as certain spots were far more vulnerable. With his aid, he could honestly say that they'd gotten about forty-percent more effective at kicking the hell out of him. He was initially confused about how his current abuser could forget such lessons, but would give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he'd gotten caught up in the moment.

Squee · Feb 18, 2021

At the very front of the line, a slender feminine figure stood as ease with her eyes closed and head dipped to her chest as if asleep. Her shoulders were relaxed, her hands slack and motionless behind her back in not one, but two pairs of energy cuffs that were further secured to a restraining belt tight around her waist. Like the rest of the prisoners, her mouth was gagged by a plasma band. Unlike the others, she had also been equipped with an electronic medical device that encircled her head, secured against her chin, forehead and the base of her skull. Six thin wires connected sensor nodes on her forehead and temples to the main device, small lights blinking here and there and fine-print text displayed on a small monitor at the side of her neck. A darkened visor covered her eyes, and lastly, an IV port was clearly visible inserted in a vein in her right forearm, a tiny green light indicating that all scheduled medication doses had been administered. Despite its utter lack of fashion, the black jumpsuit managed to compliment the curves of her figure against the contrast of her pale blue skin- a fact that most of the detention officers frequently paused to appreciate.

"A lot of fuckin' equipment," one of them said to another as they approached her. "Too much fuckin' equipment. Like I don't got anything better to do than keep up with all of this documentation for an alien freak." He checked the time on his wristpad, and then held up a datapad as he started checking the device settings. Normally they preferred to skip at least half of the safety checks and double up on her sedatives, but with the prisoner handoff about to go down they knew they had to be thorough this time.

Jalena listened to the detention officer passively, her slow rhythmic breathing the only movement she made. It was quiet- much too quiet. She couldn't move. She couldn't feel. Everything was numb and dull, her thoughts trapped and sluggish. After all of her years at the facility, she was well used to being locked up, but this was the first time her own body had been turned into her cage. She had no idea how long it had been, but it felt like an eternity and she was beginning to dread that they would keep her this way for the rest of her life. For the last several minutes she had heard the humming- the same humming she had heard off and on echoing faintly through the ducts of her cell since being put there. Or maybe she had been imagining it- it wouldn't be the first time. Whether it was real or not, she always felt her spirits lift when she heard it and always wanted to cry when it stopped.

"Look up at me," the detention officer ordered, still going through his check list.

Jalena felt her head lift, her pale silver eyes opening and looking up at the officer through the dark visor.

"Blink twice."

Her eyes blinked twice, but the movements were not hers, her body responding as if it was no longer hers to control. Because it wasn't. Back at the facility, she had thought they had taken everything from her. Her freedom, her dignity, her rights, her pride, her sanity... but no. With these drugs rendering her all but catatonic and her telepathic and empathic abilities blocked, she truly had nothing. Nothing but broken thoughts trapped in a bubble.

"Why do they bother with this thing?" the officer asked another, tapping the visor as her watched her pupils. "Why the hell do they care if she goes blind if they're just gonna off her?"

"She's not scheduled for execution," the other answered, "Orders come from high up to keep her alive and intact. I think she's still the first and only dovarian prisoner they got."

Jalena felt another crushing wave of despair hit her. She wanted to die. Execution would be better -anything- would be better than more of this hell. If she could have collapsed and begged to be shot right then and there she would have, but she couldn't. She couldn't even shed a tear.

"Pitty. A few more of her kind compliant on soothers sounds like a good time to me," the officer grinned and took Jalena's face by the jaw in his hand. "Give me a wink, sugar." Jalena's right eye winked, and the officer gave a vulgar gesture to his groin with his other hand as he looked at his co-worker with a chuckle. "Hey- if they don't say no, right?"

Alvaris · Feb 19, 2021

The stale air stunk of sweat. A metallic tang salted her nose, reminding her that Darr-Sapien blood was as distasteful as she could remember. None had yet to penetrate her flesh – it was akin to steel. The scales pressed against one another, hardening at each step she took. The chaffing around her wrist became a mere caress. Though she could do without the contraption on her mouth. It wasn’t as though she had any intention on biting.

Her black eyes focused on those in front, yet she remained acutely aware of those behind her. Sora always listened. She heard the humming, the kind words from the guards, and even the quickened heartbeat of the sweaty hefty man beside her. Without turning her head, her eyes darted to him. Each step thudded against the grated floor. Despite her six foot stature, he still stood taller. His Darr-Sapien hair bounced and his eyes were a deep shade of blue as they looked at her. His forehead creased and his brow lowered.

Disgust? The man watched her a moment longer, his hands tightening around his weapon. None here ever viewed any inmate as more than “things.” They were merely cattle requiring some prodding, which she’d perceived quickly. Other inmates attempted to seduce the men, but to no avail. It perplexed her for a short period. Most men she’d encountered were easily swayed by a smile or a compliment, something to fill their ego. Though she had not tested this task herself and she’d never attempted such a degrading charge. Such things were of the Darr-Sapien.

In a moment of mental abstraction, something crashed against her cheek. The feeling dull, but the force whipped her head to the right, away from the alien beside her. He swore at her then laughed.

“Maybe we should have let this one keep going. She did our dirty work for us,” his deep voice boomed.

His brawny frame filled out the corridor and he couldn’t have been over forty years of age. Sora kept her gait unaltered as she thought of her lab. The large steel room had everything she desired. A sturdy surgical table, pristinely kept tools, perfect lighting and anything else her heart required. As she mentally picked her way through the room, she found herself at the large glass refrigerator. Various vials rested on the shelves. Some remained untested, which was her only regret.

One small vial stuck out and she would love to stick that medicine into the man’s neck. Her eyes peered over to him, noting the vein in which to deliver such an atrophying drug. It took effect in moments, eating away at the muscle and bone. Similar to sarcopenia, yet far more powerful and fast acting. Sarcopenia was the inspiration, but she made it better.

Sora closed her eyes for a moment. However, a man of his stature would be the perfect subject to test one she had yet to. This particular medicine was mixed with her own venom, something she had yet to try. The agony she anticipated from the drug would be far more than any could withstand. The pain would kill him long before the drug had a chance to stop his heart.

Oh, how she longed for the days of medicine. Each tested had a cure – or at least a way to prevent death, however, that didn’t mean their prior state of life would return to the same pattern it always was. She would have enjoyed the brutish man writhing and begging for relief. Sora reveled in that power and she had never met anyone unafraid of meeting such a fate. People sought doctors to save them from the attacks they could not see. Such illnesses were the purest form power. There was something compelling about the carnal nature in which diseases took life. There were many ways beings could die or be killed. Bullets. Knives. Fists. Vehicles. All reeked of creation or relation, such demises were preventable. Yet, one could only hope to decrease the likelihood of developing diseases.

The large man quickened his pace until he stopped beside another guard. The man leaned forward, close to the other guard’s ear. Sora’s eyes didn’t stop on them but lingered on the grey skinned woman. The Trovian. Sora recalled the earlier threats of decapitation and nearly laugh. It made the four-eyed being pleased to spew such facts, but Sora did not fear death. Rather, the thought excited her but she abhorred the method.

Nellis · Feb 21, 2021

Alejandras' eyes scanned the room. He towered over all the accompanying inmates, most of them by a foot or so. Helped that he was at the rear of the line.

Be it a blessing or a curse that this prison would be his last. Alejandras thought about his conundrum. On one hand, he'd no longer be forced the suffer the indignation from the imperious prison staff, of whom had often humiliated Alejandras. On the other, he'd no longer be alive and would lose many of the positives that come with such a state. Quite the paradox indeed.

The natural bulk that would've, in the past, protected him by merit of the potential of physical violence was all but nullified by the heavy electromagnetic restraints put upon his mechanical arms, forcing the lower arm to flex against the upper arm. A pair of electromagnetic fetters were also secured around his legs, preventing him from any sudden movements. In such a state, it's no surprise that he'd be unable to prevent any abuse to himself. One bloke even had the impudence to strike him with the butt of his rifle, which resulted in Alejandras recoiling in a brief moment of anguish.

Alejandras muttered an unintelligible curse in his native tongue, one of the hundreds of splintered languages from southern Bhalaja. Although, with the apparatus secured around his mouth, the speech was heavily slurred.

"Keep your barbaric gob shut, wahlru!" shouted one of the many guards on the escort, an ex-warden at another prison, who was assigned to be sure that Alejandras caused no trouble during the exchange of cargo between the two vessels. The man wasn't of the standard extraterrestrial blood, he was from the Volmnparu, an isolationist people, very few crossing out of their home system. His skin was deep red in color, and his age was clearly defined on his face. He marched towards Alejandras before striking him in the stomach with the back on his own rifle. "That better be an isolated incident, or so help whatever deity your kind believe in."

Alejandras' face contorted with resentment before settling down. It wouldn't be too long before he was relieved of service, so to speak.

Darrian_Gabriel · Feb 24, 2021

The regal looking Darr-Sapien stood with his arms crossed as he blankly stared at the arched hatchway. The prison transport Travel Runner was due to dock with the Schism at any moment. General Commander Fhobian Enrick was tall and exuded a commanding stature, which quite complimented his rank. Alongside him stood a contingent of the Schism's mechanical and robotic crew, aptly named cyber drones. Apart from Enrick himself, The Schism held no other biological crew and was completely "manned" by the cyber drones that were themselves operated by the ships uber sophisticated A.I. central core which Enrick named Meggido. The Commander briefly looks down at the impressive and shiny exo-gauntlet that encased his right forearm.

"Any problems with the interface gauntlet Commander? Too tight perhaps?" said a nearby hovering cyber drone with six mechanical tendrils.

Enrick grins slightly "No the gauntlet is fine Meggido, thank you. Are the temporary holding quarters for our guests primed?" asked Enrick.

"The holding quarters have been primed precisely as you've instructed Commander." says Meggido in a computerized and monotone like voice.

"Good...also I want extra surveillance streams activated all around the ship until we arrive at Talo-Erebus."

"As you wish Commander." says Meggido.

"Alright, get ready to..." suddenly a sharp pain stabs right through Enrick's arm, emanating directly from his gauntlet, which causes him to fall to one knee in agony. The nearby cyber drone than starts to speak in an eerie disembodied voice.

"This isn't wise Fhobian, you risk damaging all the progress we've made aboard this vessel by taking in these ruffians. The delicate balance we've managed to achieve here must not be compromised!" says the voice.

Enrick struggles to speak as the pain intensifies "Father is that you?"

The drone simply lets out an almost demonic laugh...

"I don't have a choice. I must adhere to the Uni-Forces mandates. If they issue an order to transport some prisoners, than I must comply as an officer. It's just temporary transport. Once they've disembarked on Talo-Erebus, we can resume our research." says Enrick fighting to regain control.

"We must not be compromised..." responds the drone, when suddenly the lights begin to flicker all over the ship as the drones cybernetic eyes begin to flash, a tell tale sign that Meggido was gaining control back.

"Protocol gentric 459 X-Terra...Meggido can you hear me? Route all auxiliary power to my gauntlet." says Enrick.

Sparks and power flashes, run through Enrick's gauntlet as he and Meggido slowly re-gain control of the ship until everything returns to normal and the disembodied presence, ceases entirely.

"My apologies Commander, the synapses were bridged by The Other." says Meggido.

"It's alright Megiddo, the balance was temporarily lost and The Other gained full control. We'll just have to try harder at maintaining a succinct cohesion between the A.I. and The Other. We still have much work to do with the Schism."

"Preparing for docking Commander..." says Megiddo as the hatchway slowly opens to reveal the Detention Officers and their prison quarry on the other side.

Lieutenant Sartha is the first one out, her weapon raised "Where's General Commander Enrick? We were told he'd meet us at the docking port."

"Your looking at him, scowl!" fires back Enrick.

Sartha narrows her eyes "But your, a...your a Darr-Sapien."

"Do you have a goddamned problem with Darr-Sapiens Lieutenant?!" yells Enrick.

Sartha breathes deeply as she reluctantly lowers her weapon "No...no sir."

"Good, than I suggest you and the rest of your grunts snap up, suck it in and start showing a superior officer the respect he deserves!"

"Yes sir, forgive me, sir!" says Sartha, having to swallow a large part of humble pie "It's just that..."

"Nevermind! High Command has informed me that your boat has sprung a rather nasty Cesium Fuel leak and you need my vessel to complete your drop off. Is that about the long and short of it Lieutenant?"

Sartha just nods sheepishly, having been firmly put in her place.

"Excellent, listen up than. The cyber drones will escort you to placing your prisoners in the temporary holding cells just above Tier Five near the rear Neural Cluster. As this is primarily a research vessel, we've had to make some concessions, so there will be three prisoners to every cell. Once you reach the holding pens, you and your men will enact Detention Regulation Protocol. I want three guards on duty at all times, this ship has very sensitive data stores and nothing can afford to be damaged. If even one of these detainees is in a blind spot and left unsupervised, I'm gonna personally take it out of your sorry asses...am I understood?" shouts Enrick.

"Sir yes sir..." the Detention Officers all shout in unison.

"Out, fucking, standing. Get out of my sight...Lieutenant Sartha, meet me on the Pilot's Deck, go!"

Both the guards and the prisoners waste no time in stepping it up through the ship, being led by the various cyber drones. Zavier glances around, as he is marched through the various corridors. He is awestruck at the magnificent design of the Schism. Officer Tazz, slightly whistles as he catches a glimpse of Enrick's gauntlet.

"Come again Officer?" belches Enrick.

Tazz snaps to attention "Beggin your pardon Commander, but what's with the fancy arm gizmo. Is that regulation sir?"

Enrick gets right in Tazz's face "It is when you control the entire fucking ship with this fancy arm gizmo." The Commander holds up the gauntlet "Direct neural interface with the ship's A.I. This allows me to control every fine detail of vessel's operation system arrays including navigation, life support, internal vector targeting , propulsion thrust and surveillance...amongst other things. In short Officer, everything that happens on this ship...this gauntlet allows me to detect it. To put it bluntly, you won't be able to pick your fucking nose, without me knowing about it."

Tazz swallows hard "Fascinating".

"Was there anything else?' asks Enrick.

"No sir."

"Excellent...than kindly get your ass moving and get these jumpsuits in their holding cells if you please."

archur · Feb 27, 2021

V1 idly prepared to get marching, just like every other time the guards had set them into a line formation like this, despite of clear circumstantial differences. Though it determined that not "thinking" would provide the most safety measures it could provide itself, it couldn't help but run simple calculations as through one ship's airlock into the other, the stark lights harshly reflecting off the broken lenses of the unit. According to average escort route trouble, it should be able to get a little refueling in before it got to the cell, as long as one of the prisoners got into...

rcc//ccore.cr running

boot sequence initiated...

waiting for boot sequence...

rebooting...

boot complete.

The unit could not help but look up from the ground as the airlock hatches opened with a hiss. Apart from a single cyberized organic, it seemed that there were inferior quality machines manning the other ship. Most of it's calculations for the transit between one cell to the other were based off error from sentients, but with the addition of new, more precise variables, calculations were bound to change. V1 couldn't help but glimpse at the drones, no doubt being controlled by some internal AI to the ship, not that it knew it from experience. Databanks just knew enough to try and infiltrate one of these vessels and what to watch out for, everything else was on the self-learning systems it had.

V1 did it's best not to draw attention to itself as it scanned the Schism and it's autonomous crew, mostly it's autonomous crew, but a curious robot is an obvious robot. As the prisoner cargo reached their new storage chambers, the android found itself harshly shoved into the dark cell, the object stumbling and falling over itself until it finally crashed face first into the ground. Balance was something that the sudden boot seemed to de-prioritize, despite the inherent importance standing straight was, and the randomness of getting an update. Why? Wasn't it supposed to stop receiving those?

Slowly, it pushed itself onto it's hands and knees, sparking wings jittering as it manually recalibrated it's balance procedures. The sound of the futuristic door closing itself behind it was followed by a few other footsteps. Standard procedure for the Travel Runner did not include this many prisoners in a cell. 78% of all interactions with prisoners in an enclosed space usually resulted in the unit suffering irreparable damage, and according to those numbers, V1 was about to sustain damage. Rather than moving, it simply continued calibrations, splintered wings slightly shuddering less and less as they slowly flapped back and forth, inch by inch.

"Calibrating." It announced through a faint speaker embedded on it's chest. Often enough for it to take notice, many arrest procedures would force the arrestee to limit or declare their actions, verbally or non-verbally. The object figured that assuming this behavior would make whatever punishment these sentients prepared for it less damaging to the unit integrity than if it attempted to resist.

Darrian_Gabriel

Worthlessplebian · Feb 27, 2021

They had begun marching the prisoners along with Rochus yet again. It appears that they were being escorted to holding cells for the time being. These damnable manacles were beginning to irritate the cyberized man. He just wishes they'd remove them. The stroll to the cell was particularly long, for whatever reason. This had gotten Rochus curious about the Schism, he's never seen this type of ship, only vaguely read about it or hearsay. Piquing the technician's interest aside, Rochus would not love to spend his remaining years here. . . Well, maybe if he was the cap'n of this fine vessel.

Then as if from out of nowhere, Rochus was struck by the butt-end of some officer's baton, dazing him temporarily. And then the lovable yet highly dubious cyborg was thrown into a holding cell, unsteady from the attack unleashed by the guard. At the moment, he wanted to grumble and mumble but the plasma gag still restricted any audible noise.

Turning around groggily, Rochus peered at the small slit in the cell door, trying to see if that officer who clunked him one was still there. Unfortunately, against the stream of inmates still moving; Rochus didn't even have the faintest chance at deducing who was the culprit.

He took a step back and sighed with his machine-like lungs. Then he heard a faint noise. "Calibrating."

This caused the cyborg to turn sharply towards whatever made that digitized voice. A robot!?! The shocked man gawked at the machine. Now, what the shock was this thing? He thought as he began to slowly approach it. He leaned forward when he got close enough, or rather leaned as well as he could with his hands behind his back. It looks familiar, where have I seen your model before, boy? The technician began to idly run off the list of assassination droids, including potential refurbished war robots.

It seems that it is attempting to fix the mechanical offsets that were caused by the guards. If Rochus had some tools, time, and luck then fixing this bot would be a piece of cake although the absence of a schematic will most likely prolong the repairs. At his present condition, the technologically augmented technician simply propped himself up against the wall, waiting to see what would happen.

Ramjammer · Feb 27, 2021

Lorette was suddenly, and loudly, reminded of why she hated dealing with Military types. And this was despite them being her best, and most frequent customers. For a breed that espoused efficiency, they spent a lot of time posturing and engaging in senseless pageantry. The chain of command was a fixed and obvious thing, at least to her it was. And she couldn't quite settle with the idea of standing there and idly threatening subordinates. Make their nightmares a reality and slap the shit out of them, don't just sit there and warn them about it.

She fought the increasing urge to roll her eyes, knowing that someone would see and consider it a sign of rebellion. Lorette could do with a few less fractures to her skull and so she kept her facial expressions neutral. Not a difficult feat given that she was gagged and, even if she hadn't been the former CEO knew how to keep a resting bitch face going when necessary.

Curiosity wasn't so quick to get the memo, however. Despite her predicament, Lorette couldn't help but to sneak a few curious glances around the ship they'd boarded. It became immediately obvious that it was never intended to be fully staffed by a living crew, though the small army of droids leering at them clued her in to that easily enough. What little she could see of the ship from where she stood was dim and cramped. Scientific types were always the type to desire function over form, and it seemed that all available space that wasn't required for day-to-day life, had been devoted entirely to research. Naturally, the aesthetics of the place were lacking in a lot of ways, but she doubted the Captain of the vessel would be happy to hear that.

If he could be happy about anything at all. Lorette couldn't exactly fault the man, he'd been roped into playing glorified babysitter in the middle of work after all.

A sharp nudge in her back from the muzzle of a rifle had her stumbling forward, and Lorette struggled to keep her balance while shuffling deeper into the ship. Their new warden had said something about them sharing cells, and as far as Lorette was concerned, the Jury was still out on that one. Someone company sounded nice on paper, but they weren't on their way to Talo-Erebus for being pleasant, well-adjusted individuals.

She wasn't herded through the corridors for very long before she was shoved into a makeshift cell with several other individuals. Straightening her back amidst a series of embarrassingly loud pops and cracks, Lorette took a moment to glance at her surroundings.

Save for her new roommates, there wasn't much to see.

"Dim, damp, and dingy." She thought dourly as she brought up her cuffed hands to prod at the drab gray walls of the enclosure. "Quarters fit for only the worst of the worst."

If her cellmates felt the same, she'd never know. They were all still gagged. A shame really, they could have had so much fun complaining about the quality of their quarters. Or, they were supposed to be gagged and silenced, but it seemed like one prisoner didn't care for that rule. Her eyes shot towards the stooped figure some yards away from her and Lorette cocked her head in obvious confusion. The prisoner in question didn't look remotely close to human save for their bipedal stance. Why Uni-Forces were transporting a damn robot along with a bunch of regular people was beyond her. Had she not been stuck in an enclosed cell with the damn thing, Lorette might have gladly followed that thread. But as it was and given her present condition she could only had one thought.

"That thing better not have a self destruct sequence."

Nellis · Feb 27, 2021

Alejandras stood in partial awe as the large ship, the Schism, docked with the rather humble penitentiary vessel. When the captain of said ship emerged from its bowels, along with the autonomous crew, Alejandras was burdened with confusion and fascination. Most vessels Alejandras had seen of comparative size or naval class did indeed harbor autonomous crew members, but they were reduced to simple menial labor. However, this vessel seemed to have but one single sentient being captaining it. Either they themselves experienced the workload that a crew of hundred would've had to manage, or those automatons were something beyond rudimentary thinking machines.

As his fellow convicts were herded off to their cells, Alejandras himself was shepherded into an adjacent cell. The Volmnparu that had accompanied him for most of his journey thus far escorted him forwards with the incessant prodding of a baton, which Alejandras welcomed with characteristic irritation.

As Alejandras arrived at his holding cell, he was ushered in with the blunt strike of a rifle, and he hesitantly stepped into the cubicle, the door behind him zipping shut as soon as he had entered. This was going to be a long and boring voyage. He struck the wall of his cell in vain frustration, leaving a small dent in the said wall and a resonating roar through the surrounding area, rewarding him the perturbed shrieks of a few prison staff.

Alejandras fiddled away at the electromagnetics that restrained his arms, although feebly, as unfortunately, Alejandras didn't have anything to manipulate the electromagnets with, and his legs were restrained by the fetters around them.

Alejandras uttered a curse at his current situation. Maybe he'd be granted another convict to keep in company, or perhaps he'd be simply alone for the proceeding trip until reaching that godforsaken penal colony, to which he'd be put to death at. He pondered for a while, wondering what sort of cruel or unusual execution he'd have.

"Probably a firing squad." He thought to himself. It was the most practical and easy method, and him being a prisoner of war, would send a clear enough message.

Alvaris · Mar 2, 2021

Sora’s eyes devoured the scene before her. The vessel she approached was unlike the previous one and her curiosity was insatiably piqued. Of course, it had the standard ship procedures with the militant treatment – they were ever so kind – but there was something distinctly unique about it. As she crossed the threshold into the next ship, her shoes lightly clicking against the steel, she began counting her steps. The habit formed the moment she was imprisoned. It gave her a semblance of control or, at the very least, the illusion of control.

She scanned the ship, her eyes focused on a closing door. In the small gap, seconds before the door sealed her away from the rest of the vessel, she caught a glimpse of a white coat. The familiar sight surfaced an unwelcome ache in her chest. Her attention lingered longer than what was welcome and a quick jab in her back knocked her forward. Sora moved quicker, her gaze resting on the prisoner in front of her, but her desire to look around could not be quelled. Sora didn’t fear the beatings, rather, she grew bored of them. Her scales provided too much protection to enjoy the sensation of the sting.

It wasn’t long before she was shoved into a cell. Sora stumbled before catching herself. The dank room would have deepened her frown if she could frown in the first place. The mouth contraption increased her sour feelings and, for once, she felt like biting something, but even that thought repulsed her. Sora settled for a sigh before moving farther into the cell. Deep gashes cut into the wall and the lights cast an acidic colour along the room, bathing her cellmates in a mossy shade.

The idea of cellmates intrigued her. To group such criminals together seemed preposterous, but she supposed it didn’t much matter since they were all intended for death. If one didn’t show up for their planned execution, did it truly matter?

The sudden chirp of another made her pause. The noise, made faint through the profanity and beating of the guards, still reached her cell. It seemed as though not all wished to wait for their end, and, from experience, the guards would delight in delivering on their threats.

Squee · Mar 3, 2021

Jalena walked when they told her to walk, she turned when they told her to turn, and she walked into a large cell when they told her to go in. She could see her surroundings, but she couldn't actively examine anything or anyone. There wasn't even really much point in trying, so she didn't. She tried to remember Valtenna and the beautiful night sky, she tried to remember the 'sound' of her people speaking to her in her mind. But it was so long ago...

She caught the shape of a large figure already in the cell that they directed her into, but she didn't pay it much notice.

"Sit down in the corner facing the door," one of the officers instructed her.

She did as she was told, helpless as a puppet on invisible strings.

"This is a bad idea..." another officer said to the first. "They're not planning to take any of her restraints off are they?"

"Fuck if I know; we're not in charge anymore..." Jalena felt a finger tap on the top of her head. "Hey, freak- don't move," he instructed before they headed back out.

Jalena wanted to release a long sigh. She wanted to lay down on the floor of the cell and sleep. She wanted to know who was with her in the cell- or was she just imagining the feeling that someone was there with her?

Darrian_Gabriel · Mar 5, 2021

As the prisoners were being herded into the makeshift cells, Zavier was one of the last to be patted down. Just as he was escorted inside the enclosure, one of the officers started keying in a sequence on the side of his rifle that would release the prisoner's energy gags and shackles.

"Well I guess we can let you pukes at least breath." he said with a laugh as he finished entering the sequence.

Zavier felt his hands go free, and whether it was instinct or suicidal fervor, he immediately attacked the officer that was ushering him into the cell. His time as a Uni-Forces soldier meant that his cycles of rigorous physical conditioning was embedded in him as deeply as the urge to breathe is for an infant. The amount of muscle memory alone that contributed to all sorts of offensive maneuvers, standard for all Uni-Forces recruits, came as almost second nature. Zavier buried his elbow into the side of the officer's left temple, catching him completely off guard. The mutinous prisoner than reaches for the hapless officer's side arm, a double barreled Executioner Gamma pistol, and shoots the officer in the shoulder. The wound was not enough to kill him, but it did leave a smoldering crater, dripping with blood and bodily fluids. In the back of his mind, Zavier was indeed questioning what he was doing, why he was doing it and what possible positive outcome any of this could have. But his dominant reasoning was "I'm going to die in a few days anyway...so fuck it."

With the pistol still in hand, Zavier takes aim at the next officer he sees in his field of vision. None other that Commander Enrick, who was further down the corridor, making his way to the Pilot's Deck. Zavier just fires blindly on instinct, sending a well directed plasma bolt hurdling straight for the esteemed commander of the Schism.

"Commander Enrick. lookout!!!" shouts Tazz.

Even in his older years, Enrick had exceptional reflexes to match his formidable mind. With eye blurring speed, he whirls around and without a micro second to spare, expertly blocks the plasma shot with his Neural Interface Gauntlet. But instead of dissipating, the plasma energy from the projectile seemed to be directly absorbed by the flashy looking device. Waves of plasma energy spiraled over the gauntlet and the contraption started to glow a brilliant shade of neon. Enrick than flails his arm out in front of him, the gauntlet seemingly redirecting the plasma energy back out in the direction from whence it came...and with the all the precision of a well trained marksman, the energy bolt flies back towards Zavier, knocking the pistol out of his hands with a bright flash. The concussive force of the redirected energy causes Zavier to stammer back, and two Detention Officers, including Tazz, tackle him to the ground with all the brutality one would expect by now.

"You fucking scum shitter, your dead!!!" yells Tazz as he jams the business end of his rifle against the back of Zavier's skull.

No sooner is Tazz about to pull the trigger to end Zavier's life right than and there, than Commander Enrick speaks out.

"Enough!" Enrick says as he begins to walk back towards the scene of the melee.

"But sir, Article 20 clearly states that any prisoner trying to escape is authorized to be executed on site!" says Tazz.

"I know what the goddamn Articles say officer...and I'm telling you to let him up!" says Enrick.

For a few moments, now ones moves. Zavier still has the other officer's knee firmly planted in his back, keeping him thoroughly pinned to the ground.

"Do you have a fucking hearing impairment Officer Tazz?" says Enrick.

"No sir..." says Tazz as he gestures for the other officer to release his hold on Zavier.

Enrick than crouches down to look Zavier in the eyes "It's been a while since I've seen an another Darr-Sapien out here. You do realize that what you just pulled means that we're authorized to kill you right now, no questions asked?"

Zavier just smirks as we wipes a trickle of blood running down his face "What's your point?" he asks defiantly.

Sartha indiscriminately knocks Zavier across the face with her boot "I'm gonna pull the trigger on you myself scowl."

Suddenly a shadowy voice whispers into Enrick's ear "Bring him..."

"No...Lieutenant Sartha, bring this one up to Pilot's Deck. I wanna question him further."

"But Commander, I..." Sartha tries to respond.

"Just do it!" says Enrick, cutting her off.

The Trovian mangles Zavier to his feet, and prods him forward with her rifle "While we're dealing with this piss knocker, Tazz, you and the crew get these other low lifes on secure lock down."

"That's a sure thing Lieutenant." says Tazz.

As Zavier walks, he lunges forward and unseen to everyone, jams a small glowing cylinder under the cell door containing V1, Lorrette and Rochus "Help...don't let me go with them!" he yells , trying to sound as convincingly pathetic as he can.

In no time, Sartha yanks him up "Shut the fuck up Zavier and move!"

Pretending to be terrified, Zavier puts his hands up to his face and screams out "I did all I could...use it wisely!" praying that whoever was in the cell would know what to do with the cartridge cylinder and decipher what he meant.

"Just get him up to the Deck, Lieutenant." says Enrick, as both Zavier and Sartha begin to walk ahead.

Commander Enrick stops in front of the cell containing the other three prisoners and knowingly looks in. He gives a telling stare to the three inside, but says nothing and leaves towards Pilot's Deck...

Worthlessplebian · Mar 6, 2021

A new inhabitant wound up in Rochus' presence. A woman, this time. Ritter deduced that—despite her current attire—she's the sophisticated type. The one born in a boardroom, with a tri-dimensional model of stocks and value in hand. The one who manipulates numbers like He who manipulates software to do the deed. He has an appreciation for these people, seeing them as kindred spirits. Shame that they can't do much at all in this current circumstance. He greeted her with a nod of his cyberized head.

The least they could do is remove the gags. Brooding in silence is quite boring. At least a conversation will provide you with entertainment.

Despite his chagrin, Rochus' wish will come to fruition. The link between the shackles disappeared, the tight gag loosened and fell around his neck. A mechanical whizzing immediately became audible as Rochus reared back to inhale. Followed by the sounds of a miniature exhaust vent. "Freeeeeeedom, finally!" He said loudly, his thick accent penetrating the cyberized filter. He turns to his cohorts in the cell. "Ma'am, pleasure. Rochus Ritter, professional offensive cyber-information researcher at your service." A small bow with his hands to the side.

Then before Rochus could say another word, the distinct sound of plasma fire pique his interest. Yelling ensues with all manner of profanity. Then a glowing cylinder was slipped into their cell, with the words to use it wisely. Immediately, Rochus bolted down to the door to grab the cylinder and conceal it. Just in case any guard decides to snoop around.

Once Rochus was assured that no guard would visit. He reveals the canister to the CEO-like woman. Whispering, the man informs the woman. "A plasma pistol cylinder." He says while holding it with three robotic fingers on one end. "We can use this."

archur · Mar 9, 2021

The droid didn't think at all as it was calibrating, nor did it feel the eyes on it as the wing-like protrusions on it's back shifted up and down, back and forth, slightly adjusting itself despite the open circuitry and broken wing-shafts. With a soft click, the cuffs on it's wrists unlocked themselves, finally. There wasn't any real way the staff could shut up the robot, they didn't quite understand how it worked, but that wasn't much of a problem anyways. V1 was incredibly quiet. Assassin droids, unlike their human counterparts, have no reason to bluster or announce their presence, and can instantly transmit any data it collects to it's handlers without any sound at all.

As the calibrations neared to a close, it's sensors picked up a sharp discharge of a plasma gun. Even through it's stupor, it was hard for the machine to not stand itself at attention. It's CQC protocols screamed for V1 to raise it's hands in defense as it's threat scanners swiftly took in the room. A woman stood towards the entrance, prisoner status, unarmed. Her eyes were focused, like lenses, calculating as coldly and as logically as V1 was, with wicked human intuition to boot. V1's databanks quickly recognized this woman as Lorette Lècuyer, despite V1 never having had encountered her. Apparently, she had 49% shareholding status with ████████ Inc., but according to the logs, her status as shareholder had not been updated for some time. The assassin's cracked lens turned it's orange gaze from her to the figure that dove to the floor.

V1 silently watched as the other figure began to stand. At first, it assumed it was another mechanical due to it's metallic form, but as it got up and unveiled what was undoubtedly a plasma cylinder, it's speech patterns were clearly those of a modified sapient, since no standardized model design fit exactly what V1 was scanning, modifications notwithstanding. The plasma cylinder was clearly a danger, and without any information on the sapient's modifications, it couldn't be certain on what he meant to do with it.

It slowly shifted it's feet to a fighting stance and readied itself. "Place down the cylinder and nobody gets hurt." It said, in the same cant as a police officer telling a criminal to put down a gun before worse things would happen.

Ramjammer · Mar 10, 2021

A hiss, a clink, and suddenly she was free.

Well, as free as a woman bound for prison could be, anyway. At the very least, she could breathe and move her hands. Lorette considered that a considerable upgrade, all things considered.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, visibly wincing as her bones popped and cracked audibly. Lorette did not like for her age to show. This was even despite being in better shape than people half her age. Being able to afford good healthcare did that. She glanced around the cell furtively, not wanting to ruminate on her advancing age for too long, and definitely not making a half assed attempt to see if the cell's other inhabitants had noticed.

If the man addressing her had, he had the manners to not say so. In fact, Lorette could say he had the best manners of anyone she'd met during her journey. Though that bar was low enough to be touching the floor. Instead Lorette cocked her head and eyed the stranger, no Rochus, with equal parts bemusement and wariness. Given that he'd wasted no time in introducing himself, she presumed that he was bored out of his mind and was looking for any kind of mental stimulation. Information Brokers were like that. When your job was to know everything and anything, it was easy to develop the kind of mindset that craved knowledge like a man in the desert craved water. She almost smiled at the thought. That was a thirst Lorette knew well, and so in a sense they were kindred spirits.

In more ways than one, if the man's prominent Cyber augmentations were anything to go by. Of that make and quality, they weren't cheap. Especially on a man approaching Borg status. Information Brokers were a Credd a dozen in the corporate sector. Anyone with access to a terminal and elementary hacking abilities called themselves a Broker. But a successful Broker was marked by two distinct things. Having the money to heavily augment themselves as it made jacking in a hell of a lot easier. And more importantly, being completely unheard of. Knowing too much put a target on your back, Lorette knew that firsthand. But not everyone had an army of mooks at their disposal to put between themselves and danger, and so they went into hiding. The harder they were to find, the more they knew.

Lorette, could not recall ever having heard about Rochus in any capacity, and she kept her ear to the ground on all things morally dubious. If she wasn't adding skilled Brokers and Hackers to her own pool of talent, she was muscling in on their territory. That Rochus had avoided her notice spoke volumes of his ability. Or....her own inability to notice him. She was going to assume the first.

So really, it was no wonder the man was being shipped to Talo Erebus.

A hand came up, seeking to adjust a tie that was no longer there and Lorette fought the urge to frown and instead settled her palm on her chest, returning the strange man's bow. She was absolutely not about to turn around and observe the sounds of ongoing violence behind her. Partially, because it was none of her damn business. But mostly because she wasn't looking to get shot. Besides, it wasn't as if she hadn't conducted business in the middle of a shootout before.

"Monsieur Ritter, it is a pleasure. Lorette Lècuyer, though it pains me to say that I cannot be at your service given that we both seem to be unemployed at the moment. I'm glad to meet a fellow Broker here of all places, and ah!" Lorette's speech was cut off when Rochus bolted past her and towards the door like a bat out of hell. If they'd been anywhere else, she'd have found the interruption rude. But they were in prison, and so the normal rules of socializing didn't apply.

That didn't stop her from letting out a small, irritated huff, but she wandered closer to the man to see what had piqued his attention so.

"A little gunplay? I do love a show, a shame there's no dinner to go with it." She said drily, taking more interest in the miniscule canister held in his metal fingers. Lorette hummed mildly. "Yes, they come standard in all small caliber pistols. Actually...." Lorette leaned closer to peer at the cylinder and let out an amused snort. "Yes, I manufactured this. Probably most of the guns on this ship. How poetic then, that I've been getting beat with them." Lorette straightened back up sharpened her gaze, knowing exactly where Rochus' train of thought was headed. The man making his escape wouldn't have risked passing the damn thing to them for no reason. Besides that, she was positive that Rochus was already considering every possibility for mischief afforded to him.

"Well, if this wasn't my business before, it's about to be." She thought dourly. Lorette had intended to keep her head down and do her best to avoid having her brains splattered on the nearest wall, but plans were changing rapidly and she refused to be on the back foot.

"I suppose we can-Are you shitting me?" Her head whipped around and she glared at the Bot she'd all but forgotten about. Given its battered state, she'd assumed that it would focus its energies towards keeping itself functional, but apparently it wasn't so out of it that it couldn't sense danger in its proximity.

"Stupid move, Lècuyer." She chided herself internally. Lorette lifted her hands in a placating manner, not wanting to alarm the....whatever it was. She couldn't make sense of it. It was obviously a Droid of some sort. But why it was in a prison transport was beyond her.

"One thing at a time." She thought. It was a machine. Machines functioned on logic and could not be appealed to in an emotional sense. They felt no pride, no hatred, no greed. The only currency that a machine dealt in, was results and Lorette did not know what the damn thing wanted, but she was willing to take a gamble. It wasn't as if she had any options.

Eyeing the Bot's dented chassis, complete with flaking paint Lorette gazed up at what she hoped was its face. She didn't like being unable to read people. Especially those that could read her in turn. Could it sense her spike in heart rate? The tension in her body? Perhaps. Lorette wasn't a fool. She didn't have the means of fighting off a literal killing machine. And despite his polite demeanor, she wasn't counting on Rochus to save her ass if shit hit the fan. But she was counting on the Bot's sense of self preservation.

Machines didn't ask questions where they could simply get things done, and it didn't take a genius to know the thing was heavily damaged. The guards had been especially rough with it during its time aboard. No doubt, its lack of pain receptors made it an easy and appealing target to vent their frustrations on. Ever the Businesswoman, Lorette could tell it cost a lot and the damages incurred would cost a great deal. An investment ruined for no more than fun rankled her in ways that the working class would never understand.

"Listen." She began evenly, not moving or raising her voice. That she was still breathing implied that she wasn't as much of a threat to the Bot as she could have been. In another time and place she'd have taken offense at the notion. Hell, she was taking offense. But keeping the blood in her body and off of the floor took precedence.

"You're clearly in need of repair, and that's not happening here. And while I don't know much about machines, I know people. After our friend's little stunt, those guards are going to be pissed, so you can expect more beatings down the line. We all can. There's a point to be made, and I'm hoping to miss it." Lorette inhaled evenly, eyes flicking towards Rochus and then back towards the Bot. "If I had the money, I'd bet our associate feels the same way. We can all wait here for our scheduled rifle butt to the face, or we can get the hell out of here. I'd prefer the latter to be honest."

Worthlessplebian · Mar 11, 2021

Oh, great. The only thought that crossed Ritter's mind. As if getting beaten by goons and your pride being wounded wasn't enough, now the kill-droid wants to pick a fight. Rochus stood there frozen with both hands in the air, holding the canister high. His eyes dashed from Mrs/Miss. Lècuyer and to the bot, calculating his chances of beating the wretched thing into a scrapheap. Surprisingly, even his analytical mind held no favouritism towards himself, quickly concluding that he had a 48% chance of an outright victory while the bot in its' current condition had 50% and the remaining 2% resulting in a draw. A multitude of unknown variables blocked the path to victory. Then it dawned on him.

This machine could learn. Rochus steeled himself as he began to theorize. The bot, undoubtedly, detected the existence of the canister. Normally, an assassin machine would categorize that as an unutilized asset. However, Rochus adding himself to the scenario, presenting a font of uncertainties coupled with the ability to learn from experience, it is no wonder the kill-droid had anticipated danger. Mrs/Miss. Lècuyer attempted to reason with it, that would not do. Rochus began to lower himself to the ground. "Easy." He called in a monotonous tone. His knee touched the ground as he bent his torso to get closer. Meticulously moving, he touched the canister to the uncaring floor. Then released it from his grasp. He rose, lowering his hands then breathed.

"Re-evaluate your surroundings and calm your self-preservation protocols, assassin," Rochus spoke, words carefully uttered. "I mean you no harm." His verbiage, uncharacteristic for him. A moment passes while he stared them both down. He inhaled deeply then exhaled. "Alrighty, now that we've avoided a Metal Carnage Match," Noticeably the tension within Rochus had passed, even managing to sneak in a reference to an obscure entertainment program. "Killbot, I've got a suggestion for you."

"Presumably, your tools have been disabled via mechanical and programmable means but if my good ol' expertise has anything to add, I know you got a trick or two stored away in that chassis." His presumption was based upon him taking apart various models of assassination mechanoids, they often had that conniving apparatus hidden away. Most of the times, it had been an incendiary device. Yet sometimes, they had an adjustable gun that can take a variety of ammunition. Rochus' head quickly turned to eye the door down. A mechanical finger pointed to a spot on the door, he suspected that this spot had the cleverly designed interlocking mechanism that held the door shut. "I know you're smart, boy, you know what I'm insinuating with this, don't cha?" In case, Rochus overestimated the machine's societal analysis drive, he was prepared to explain. "An estimated two rounds should be enough to get us out of this cell." He spoke now with a hushed tone, not wishing to alert the potential patrolling patrolmen. He glanced to the former CEO, a wordless exchange to potentially get ready.

archur · Mar 12, 2021

The bot stood as still as stone, unmoved as the two sapients fidgeted in place, the cyborg making very sure to put the offending cylinder down to the ground in a slow and easy manner. Target acquisition and witness identification software painted both their heads in thick red targets, with threat analysis swiftly dropping with the release of the plasma cylinder. [Classification]: Stockholder Lorette Lècuyer began to attempt reasoning first. As it focused it's attention on her face, and the movement of her lips, V1 could intrinsically sense her heartbeat beating approximately 3.75x faster than the average heartrate for a darr-sapien at a resting status. Fight or flight status. It noted how she stood, hands raised, and her behavior. Useful information for sapient behavior. Something inside prompted it to clear her as target and witness, and without any other programming to say no, V1 did just that.

rcc//startup

clear.target 39 "staffmember- handler. off limits"

[Target Lorette Lècuyer lost]

Still, the other target remained. "Re-evaluate your surroundings and calm your self-preservation protocols, assassin," The cyborg said calmly. V1's statistics on this one were a little more limited. No heartbeat that it could sense, but there were brainwaves and a lot of activity was happening on the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that activates during social behavior. V1 took note of this as well. Conversation was a foreign concept to a machine designed for eliminating targets as efficiently as possible, so it did it's very best to attempt to learn as much as it could about it.

"I mean you no harm." The droid went through it's language databanks to fully comprehend what that statement meant. Not to say it didn't know what each of those words meant on their own, harm was quite simple: physical injury, alongside "you" and "no" is what made the sentence a predicament.

I mean you no harm according to it's logs meant "To have no intention of causing harm, offense, or negative effects (to one)." Simple enough. It validated the sentence by connecting the action of putting down the plasma cylinder, and in it's line of thinking, found that valid enough. It rewound it's logs to pick up the conversation earlier between Lorette and the cyborg, and found it addressed itself as "Rochus".

clear.target 40 "armory- handler. off limits"

[Target Rochus lost]

With this, it dropped it's guard and scooped up the plasma canister without hesitation, and then Rochus spoke up. "Killbot, I've got a suggestion for you." He went on to explain his plan to release them from the cell, how V1 most probably had some sort of hidden device within itself to get them out, and exactly where to use said device to destroy the door's locking mechanism. The sapient's words were long and full of classical darr-sapien personality, something that V1 hasn't gotten quite used to yet, for better or for worse.

"This model is identified as CK4214 "Contract Killer" PROTOTYPE V1. This machine has been labeled V1. Killbot does not fit these parameters." It stated as a long, thin slot hissed opened on it's left arm, to which V1 pushed the cylinder in. The slot closed, and the robot made a gun gesture with it's hand. V1 pulled back it's thumb like a hammer and placed it against the spot pointed out to it. Normally, it would just fire and send itself flying into combat, that is what it was meant for, but it felt compelled to turn it's head around and speak softly to the others before it busted them out.

"Do not interfere with this unit while it is in operation. Failure to comply may result in personal injury or death."

With that warning out of the way, it internally mapped out the hallway and predicted potential guard positions, and where they would stand. There would at least be two by this door, another 2-4 in the hallway, and more within 5 minutes of distance from this hallway. It shot twice, the locking mechanism melting under the white hot plasma, the door sliding open with ease. Without even hesitating, the robot flung itself out the door and turned to it's left. A guard, startled by the sound of gunfire and the door opening barely had time to react as a plasma bolt found it's mark in his neck. A second guard attempted to raise his gun but wasn't quick enough. V1 was upon him in three bounding leaps before he was able to turn his safety off, but the robot didn't waste precious ammunition with killing him. The droid knocked him to the ground and began mercilessly bashing their fists into the man's face. Without nerves, V1 didn't feel the need to stop. Without the frailness of bones, each punch broke something when it landed. Without getting tired, each blow came just as fast as the last, and within seconds the man's skull was an afterthought, and the entirety of V1's forearms were coated in viscera. It didn't take the time to look up to it's handlers as it began to exsanguinate the guard from it's neck. Contact refueling was a large part of the robot's autonomy, and soon it found itself nearly topped off on fuel.

It took the time to rifle through the guard's belongings, batting away the rifle with it's bloodsoaked hand. Out of it's search, it found a proper plasma pistol, and the guard's wallet, to which it emptied a few keepsake coins. A slot appeared in the robot's other hand, and the coins were put neatly away.

"Targets neutralized." It stood up from the body and properly armed itself with the plasma pistol. "Hostile presence nearby. Course of action required."