Swift Slayer Arms co. (backstory)

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Swift Slayer Arms co. (backstory)

Post by Switchsaw »

OOC: Okay before we go any further here's the deal...

A lil' while after I faded off of these forums my computer broke and since all tech people are apparently f*cking pieces of incompetent horsesh*t they haven't been able to fix it yet. So I've been going around without my daily digital fix and thus becoming very bitter. I finally had too much and "encouraged" a friend of mine to let me borrow his computer. This thing doesn't have any of my games on it, so at first I was very bummed, but it does have the internet, so I figured I'd come back here.

Just so y know: the latest stuff my doc put me on is helping me manage my anger a bit better, so yall don't have to think of me as a proximity mine anymore (I've gotten enough self-control to be called "pressure detonation"). Since I managed a weapons company (somewhat) successfully once before, that being pretty much the only successful roleplaying I did, I'm gonna try that now, and if it goes well, maybe Ill branch out to other things.

Now Ive noticed that a lot of companies are for sh*t because either they start with nothing and thus never make any money or they GM stuff into existance and lose all legitness. This thread is the history, in (painful) detail, of what my company will be. Oh and, dont worryabout the writing, unlike in ooc I actually bother with the writing in my ICs, at least as much as my (limited) patience will allow.

IC coming soon.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

*warning*: possible mature content from this point forwards

Post by Switchsaw »

It was a black night, so dark that he couldn't see his nose. The glow of the dim red lights was so absorbed by the rain and the mist that it seemed as if the entire world had been washed away, leaving nothing but blackness, the steady roar of the falling droplets, and a faint smell of cheap, filthy sex. Far, far below him, the feet that would have ordinarily connected him to the world had long since faded into cold, soggy numbness. Breathing in the heavy-laden air was like drowning but slower, far slower, slow enough that the soul could be rotted away from the suffocated corpse that fell in the gutter during a consuming, stormy night.

Sieraf Drennan was not the first to go after this particular target. It was a dangerous mission, and Sieraf was afraid. His father, his father's father, and his father's father's father had all been in the weapons business; when Sieraf's older brother Valdir inherited the family business, it was only a small step for Sieraf into bounty hunting. Valdir, that pathetic drunk, had naturally driven the company out of business with his neglect. Shortly after, the family's speeder had crashed due to poor maintainence, leaving only Valdir and Sieraf alive. Sieraf's success on this mission would determine if he ate or if he starved.

Sieraf had become a shadow, embarrassed out of sight by the disgrace of his brother's conduct. In the past few months, he had lost fourty pounds, leaving him as etherial as the most furtive wraiths of cursed night.

His penis itched. When he used to be human, he would come to this area sometimes. Back then, the rain was thin enough to make out the glow of the red lights. Force knew the name of the disease that he had contracted. It hardly mattered now, though. Sieraf had lost all feeling; he was numb.

Moving through the gloom, he silently approached the brother that his target was patronizing. In a corner of his mind, he already knew that it was a trap. Whoring was out of character for the assassin who was his target. Sieraf silenced the internal warning klaxon with a wave of apathy. It didn't matter now. He was going to go in, kill the target, and then leave; then he could eat. Whether he died in the process was irrelevant.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

*warning*: possible mature content from this point forwards

Post by Switchsaw »

It was a black night, so dark that he couldn't see his nose. The glow of the dim red lights was so absorbed by the rain and the mist that it seemed as if the entire world had been washed away, leaving nothing but blackness, the steady roar of the falling droplets, and a faint smell of cheap, filthy sex. Far, far below him, the feet that would have ordinarily connected him to the world had long since faded into cold, soggy numbness. Breathing in the heavy-laden air was like drowning but slower, far slower, slow enough that the soul could be rotted away from the suffocated corpse that fell in the gutter during a consuming, stormy night.

Sieraf Drennan was not the first to go after this particular target. It was a dangerous mission, and Sieraf was afraid. His father, his father's father, and his father's father's father had all been in the weapons business; when Sieraf's older brother Valdir inherited the family business, it was only a small step for Sieraf into bounty hunting. Valdir, that pathetic drunk, had naturally driven the company out of business with his neglect. Shortly after, the family's speeder had crashed due to poor maintainence, leaving only Valdir and Sieraf alive. Sieraf's success on this mission would determine if he ate or if he starved.

Sieraf had become a shadow, embarrassed out of sight by the disgrace of his brother's conduct. In the past few months, he had lost fourty pounds, leaving him as etherial as the most furtive wraiths of cursed night.

His penis itched. When he used to be human, he would come to this area sometimes. Back then, the rain was thin enough to make out the glow of the red lights. Force knew the name of the disease that he had contracted. It hardly mattered now, though. Sieraf had lost all feeling; he was numb.

Moving through the gloom, he silently approached the brother that his target was patronizing. In a corner of his mind, he already knew that it was a trap. Whoring was out of character for the assassin who was his target. Sieraf silenced the internal warning klaxon with a wave of apathy. It didn't matter now. He was going to go in, kill the target, and then leave; then he could eat. Whether he died in the process was irrelevant.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

Post by Switchsaw »

The inside of the whorehouse Cat's Cradle was warm and moist, ill-lit by flickering off-white lights. Slowly, Sieraf woke up, as adrenaline began to run through his blood.

"Hey there!" one of the girls called to him from the shadows. "I'm free tonight, and if you pay me, you can have me..."

He knew that voice: it was Lucy, whom he used to frequent in that bygone age that was his past. By the sound of her voice and her failure to recognize him, she'd already smoked herself blind for the night with deathsticks. Sieraf ignored her.

From a professional viewpoint, this mission was all wrong. The employer was mysterious, the target, cunning and acting out of character. The potential collateral victims were not all strangers. The whorehouse also employed four low-grade mercs as "peacekeepers"; they could be a critical threat.

He arrived at the room with a crescent moon on the door. It belonged to a whore named Rae, who was dirty even by whore standards and starting to pass her prime. By now, she and the target should have been getting well along the way. Sieraf flattened himself against the door, drew his neural whip, setting it to stun, and pushed.

The door collapsed inwards. There was a silent flash of motion from the corner and the whip flickered out and caught an immoble form, pushing it out of the shadows. There was no sound.

It was Rae, or at least, what was left of her. Her head and hands had been removed from her naked corpse. There was no sign of the target. Eyes wild, Sieraf spun around. There was nobody else in the room. Sieraf's coldness had been completely thrown off by the sight of the mutilated body. Suddenly a hand clamped itself around his mouth and something cold and metallic pressed itself against the back of his neck. "Don't move," commanded a voice from the darkness behind him, a voice that sent a chill through his spine. Sieraf panicked.

"Alright man, I give up! You got me! You win!"

"No. You really think you're the other player in this game. You're just a pawn, Sieraf Drennan, a diversion. You were paid to come in and fight me so that when the charges that your employer set went off, you would be seen as their placer. I could kill you right now, Drennan, but I won't. I need you so that I can set you up for the killing of your employer; you will help me do this, because if you don't, you'll end up like that bitch in the corner. Now, we're going to walk into the corridor. Move." The pressure against his neck increase, and Sieraf walked.

At the end of the corridor was the pimp and two of the mercs. Sieraf felt the pressure shift, as if the man holding the weapon had turned to look at the pimp and his group, all of whom began to draw weapons. Sieraf took the opportunity to twist to the side. A knee caught him in a martial arts point on his abdomen and he doubled over. The man balanced his weapon upon Sieraf's back and there were three sharp reports, like thunder; it took Sieraf a moment to realize that the other man was using a projectile weapon, a large, thick-framed heavy-calibur pistol by the sound and feel from it. He planted his hands on the ground and kicked backwards with both legs, and felt them make contact. Only too late did he realize that it was the hands, suddenly empty, of his opponent, that he had hit. The man flipped Sieraf over and pried his legs apart. Sieraf looked up in horrified anticipation; the man lifted a knee, then dropped it with all of his weight into Sieraf's crotch. The pain was incredible. Instinctively Sieraf curled up into a fetal position, clutching his genitalia and moaning in agony.

Another merc entered the hallway. All of the whores who were not otherwise engaged were shrieking now. Sieraf made out, through the pain, another report, seeming very far away through the bloody haze that had come over all of his senses, then a faint click as the gun's wielder ejected the old magazine and slammed in a fresh one. Sieraf opened his eyes in time to see the fourth merc take a round to the face; the stricken man's skull exploded as if smacked with a sledgehammer and the decapitated corpse fell to the floor. Somewhere in the gloom, a whore was screaming, "Get up, get up!" Sieraf got up, and the gun once again pointed right between his eyes.

The man with the gun was Sieraf's target. 5'11", with fair hair and uncanny blue eyes, he was of average build, but some intangible aspect of his person radiated deadliness. This was the assassin known only by the alias of Veryx Carver.

The muzzle of Veryx's gun was painfully hot against Sieraf's forehead. Veryx moved Sieraf down the corridor.

As the unseen whore continued to scream from the shadows, another voice sounded, quiet, sexy, and dark. It was Lucy, who could probably only see vague outlines, and was definitely too out of it to care what was going on. "Hey there," she vocally emitted, "Why don't you stop all the noise and come to bed?"

Veryx's skin, Sieraf noted, had started to get goosebumps; a trickle of sweat flowed down the assassin's all-too-young-looking face. "Shut up!" he screamed at Lucy. The other whore shrieked again. "Damn it, shut the fuck up now, fucking quit your fucking screaming!"

There was a scream as a sniper rifle bolt blasted through a boarded-up window. Veryx twirled at the last moment, putting Sieraf in the way of the bolt. Sieraf took it in his shoulder and roared with pain. "Stop it!" the shrieking whore yelled. Veryx instinctively spun around and squeezed off a round in the direction of the shot. The gun spat fire with a crash; the shrieking was abruptly turned into a gurgle and the whore stumbled out of the shadows, shot through the throat, and died, spilling blood. Seeing her go down, Sieraf gave in and sank to the floor; Veryx, too, got down, for cover.

Lucy came dancing up to them. "Oh...so that's how you want it." She extended herself to her full height of 5'3" and began to strip. A bolt took her in the back, but as out of it as she was, she took it for a rough grab at her. "I knew you wanted me, baby." She bent down and embraced the crouching form of the assassin.

"Get off of me!" shouted Veryx.

"Don't you like me?" asked Lucy. She had smoked enough that even through his pain, Sieraf could easily detect it on her breath.

"Get off, now!"

Another bolt whizzed by overhead.

"Aww, come on. Relax..."

Sieraf saw Veryx's gun come up. "Lucy, no!"

Lucy pulled back. Veryx rolled away from her. "Sieraf? What are you rolling away for? Don't you like me anymore?" She threw herself at what she thought was Sieraf: the retreating form of Veryx. Time slowed down as, seeing her coming at him, the assassin squeezed the trigger. Then time sped up again as, like an invisible giant hand, the bullet whacked Lucy into the air; a sniper bolt smacked her back down, tossing her into the wall like a rag doll. The impact held her still for an instant before Veryx put another bullet into her, sending her skidding down the hall on her back. Lucy's body came to a halt and lay still, gushing blood.

Sieraf screamed, threw himself to his feet, and charged. But Veryx was infinitely faster than he was; twirling gracefully, the assassin put a bullet through the middle of his chest and he fell, unable to feel his body from the point of impact down. Just then two things happened: a bolt took out Veryx's gun, and one of the mercenaries, wounded but still alive, snatched up Sieraf's fallen neural whip and ran at the assassin. Veryx danced to the side; the merc's downward slash hit Sieraf instead.

Sieraf's spine had been severed by Veryx's bullet; now, the neural whip, which the mercenary had thumbed to full power, hit the exposed part of the spinal cord at the top of the gap. Sieraf blacked out.

He came to an unknown time later. The entire floor was covered by a pool of blood. A cloaked figure lay nearby, which Sieraf recognized as his employer. Then Sieraf raised his head a little more.

The brothel had been turned into a slaughterhouse. Veryx had ensured that nobody would live to tell of what happened by methodically butchering everyone in the building. There was also a briefcase lying near Sieref. The fallen hunter dragged himself over to it and turned it around.

It was opened, to reveal a timer connected to a large explosive. Veryx was going to use the charge planted by Sieraf's employer to erase the scene from existance. All of the original countermeasures had been restored; Sieraf knew at once that he couldn't disarm it.

Not knowing why, he turned and started to drag himself towards Lucy's body. Partway there, he collapsed; at the sound of his fall, she opened her eyes. The drug had leaked out of her; while she was "deathed", her eyes had been continually rolling back in her head; now, they were calm and focused.

"Sieraf, you're hurt," she said weakly. "I'll...help you. Just...stay...right there." Her breath came in gasps. Slowly, she started to drag herself towards where he lay.

But her midsection had been horribly mauled, and her lower half was hanging only by a thread of flesh. As she dragged herself, the friction parted that thread. She continued to move even as her intestines began unraveling, delineating her path along the floor. About halfway to Sieraf, her strength gave out and she fell with a quiet splash, her eyes rolling back in her head. Sieraf raised himself back up.

"I shoudn't have done any of what led me here. None of it. None of it!" He screamed the final phrase over and over, sobbing, as he dragged himself the rest of the way to her body. With a feeble wave of his hand, he closed her eyes. The charge went off.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

Post by Switchsaw »

Three Years Later

Valdir Drennan blinked. Everything was bright, so bright...his eyes had not had to adjust to the brighness of real sunlight for years now. The prison that he had just gotten out of had been completely underground, to save city space. He had been in there for what happened the night that Drennan Arsenal, inc. closed its doors for the last time, the night when he went out and got even drunker than usual, and started a barfight that got way out of hand. It had taken the local lawpeople several months of trial to put him away, but they had done so.

There had never been any hope for Valdir's case; it had simply been a delaying action. The jury found Valdir loathsome, and his crime more so. After all, who could have sympathy for a man who, needing a weapon in the barfight, had broken the bar's front window, reached out, grabbed a little girl who was walking past with her family, covered her hair in alcohol, and then set it, and by extension her face, on fire, so that he could swing her by the feet to use against his opponents? He had begged the jury to have pity on him, to understand that at the time, he had no idea what he was doing, but they had no sympathy for a man who had snatched and painfully killed a small child.

Now Valdir was out, and he had nothing that he could truly call his. His parents had been killed in a speeder accident during his trial; his brother had died a few years after he got into prison and almost exactly three years ago today. His business was gone, his possessions, drunk into nothingness. His friends...well, that wasn't even applicable, since he'd never had friends in the first place.

Slowly regaining his vision, Valdir made his way to the apartment that the justice department had provided for him on a temporary basis. In prison, he had had to work when the lights were bright ("day") and sleep when the lights were dim ("night"). Now he decided to exercise his new freedom by sleeping in the day.

The rusted old cot in the apartment was far more comfortable than the "character building" stone slabs in the prison. Valdir was asleep almost immidiately.

Valdir had not checked the bedside chrono when he entered the apartment, so he did not know how long it had been when he was awakened by the sound of a throat clearing. He sat up quickly.

There was a black cloak hovering by the bedside. Valdir could not tell who was inside, since the hood was drawn, though by its shape it must have been a human or near-human male. In a normal-pitched voice that nonetheless sent a shiver down Valdir's spine, the other spoke.

"These belonged to your brother, Mr. Drennan. He fought back to the end. It is the galaxy's loss that I had to kill him."

The man withdrew a bag and a neural whip from the folds of his cloak and dropped them on the bed.

My brother...

Valdir snatched up the neural whip, activated it, and jumped out of bed. While he was in mid-flight, a leg shot out from under the cloak and caught him in the midsection with such force that he flew backwards the length of the apartment, his back hitting the wall with a thud. He blacked out for a second and when he came to, the man was gone.

Lifting himself out of the corner, Valdir opened the bag. Inside, there was a set of lockpicks, his brother's wallet, and a pendant. The wallet held nothing but ID. The pendant opened to reveal a picture of Sieref, Valdir, and their parents. Involuntarily, Valdir began to cry.

My brother became a hunter because I, not he, was the one to inherit the business. Because of this, it is he who is dead. I owe it to HIM to rebuild what I destroyed...
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

Post by Switchsaw »

"Valdir! Where ya been at my man?"

Ald Guern had been Valdir's fellow delinquent in high school. Where Valdir had been forced to take over the family business, Ald continued into real crime: drug dealing, money laundering, loan sharking...the dark-skinned man had his fingers in many small-time industries and some not-so-small-time ones.

"Just got out of the joint. Bad times, man, real fucking bad."

"The joint? I thought ya were legit!"

"I was. When my deal went under I went out and got mad wasted; I dun' got a clue what happened next, but they told me afterwards I snapped some kid."

"Shit! That so sucks rancor ass! Damn..."

"Yeah."

"So, you getting back on your feet? How's the family?"

"Dead. My parents died during my trial; Sieraf went a few years ago, apparently, from what I've been able to figure, in a bad fight down at some whorehouse."

"No fucking way! The Cat's Cradle?"

"Some shit like that, yeah."

"Whoah. My main "black business" boss bit it when the Cradle fight went down."

"Damn. Crazy shit, man, crazy fucking shit."

"Yeah. So what snaps a man to catch up with an old friend after all this time?"

"I'm gonna start over. I need some cash."

"For you? I'll give it for the bank interest rate, instead of my usual thirty up. How much does a friend in trouble need?"

"Enough for a factory with a basic weapons lab, firing range, and tools."

"Ah, man, depends on where you're gonna get it. I can't cover you for 100% clean stuff; is it all right if the factory is a little hot?"

"How hot? I'd snap myself before going back in the joint."

"Not hot enough for the cops to feel; it's just got some business connections."

"How strong?"

"You'll get to know some people."

"Works for me. What do I have to do?"

"Talk to Borolossk. He's at Martin's Club. Tell him I sent you."

Later that day

"Martin's Club" was a downtown cantina. It was known for trying to maintain a significant level of order within. 95% of those who came there saw that as simple business sense. The other 5% knew that it was for the sake of others like them: criminals who used the Club as a meeting place and hideout, criminals too high on the food chain to tolerate the bother of simple barfights.

The bouncer at the door held a pair of nightsticks with built-in blasters. He gave Valdir a look. "You here for the cantina?"

"I'm here for Borolossk. Mr. Guern sent me."

"Enter."

The bouncer opened the door. Valdir stepped through.

He found himself in a red-carpeted room, with the door behind him leading to outside, and one in front of him leading to the cantina. They were both mostly glass.

The glass of the doors suddenly turned an opaque black. As an arm wrapped itself around Valdir's neck, he wondered what Ald had gotten him into. He hadn't even gotten into business yet and he was already being terminated...everything went dark as Valdir went unconscious.

He came to an unknown time later. He was in a blank, white room, seated in a wooden chair. When he tried to get up, he realized that he was bound.

"I'm sorry for the discomfort, Mr. Drennan, but it is necessary. I am Borolossk. Do not turn around." The voice spoke from behind him; it was low and had a reptilian hissing sound. "Now, tell me why you are here."

"Mr. Guern told me to contact you about my desire to acquire a factory with a loan from him."

"Yes, yes, the factory...I am afraid that it is in something of a slum, and has been gathering dust since I was unfortunately forced to dismember its owner. Friends of the previous owner may come by if the factory is reopened, but I see no reason why they cannot be dealt with. Legally, you will have the rights to the place, since the deed was transferred to me by the previous owner after we resolved our difference of opinion. It was a pity that he died from what I inflicted upon him during our conflict; he was an interesting man. Needless to say, however, since I have no use for a factory and nobody else seems to want this particular one, I am in a position to offer you an exceptional deal." Something in Borolossk's description of the situation made Valdir uncomfortable, but he pushed the feeling aside and decided to go for it.

"It appears, Mr. Borolossk, that I shall be able to take the factory off of your hands."

"Excellent. I am sure you will find the factory most satisfactory. In the morning, you will find the deed signed over to you and your debt with Mr. Guern in place. Is there any other business?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you brace yourself for loss of consciousness." But before he had time to do so, a stun bolt hit Valdir in the back of the head.

He came to to the feel of someone shaking him: a cantina waitress. Startled, he looked around.

He was sitting in a dirty corner of the cantina, hidden in the shadows. As his brain turned on he realized that the waitress was trying to rouse him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he said. "What the fuck...?"

"You passed out. If you want, I'll get one of the muscles to carry you out."

"No, that's quite all right." Valdir helped himself to his feet, and made his way out of the cantina and back to his apartment, where he promptly fell asleep.

The next day, he awoke to the sound of mail entering through the slot. It was a single envelope. Inside was the deed for the factory, a notice tallying and describing his debt with Ald, and a letter. It read:

"Dear Mr. Drennan,

While you rested, two of my employees cleaned out the factory for you. It is ready for immidiate use. The associates of the previous owner have been informed that, as a customer of mine, you are under my protection until your factory becomes self-defending.

Best Wishes,
B.

P.S. If you indeed plan to produce weaponry, I may send some of my associates to you. In the business, security and policy enforcement often play vital roles in success."

Suppressing a twitch of nervousness in his gut, Valdir prepared for the day. If he was going to produce a company, he would need employees.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

Post by Switchsaw »

There was a crowd gathered in the warehouse connected to the factory. Lacking a true pedestal, Valdir climbed on top of a couple of boxes and began to speak.

"Ladies, gentlebeings, and others...you're here because you need work. I am sure the majority of you are poor but with potential; the hard part, for me, is sorting the three categories among you: those who do not belong to that majority, those who do but who would not be suitable members of the company, and those who will be starting work here a few weeks from now.

"I am going to ask you all a few questions. If the answer to any question is no, you should leave the building. Answer truthfully; if you lie, I will find out and there will be serious consequences. Those who remain at the end will become part of my new company: Swift Slayer arms!"

There were cheers of varying enthusiasm from the crowd.

"Question one: I said a 'part' of the new company since I will not actually be hiring employees. Rather, I will be accepting individuals as partial owners of the company; 25% of the profit shall be distributed among you. Those who do become partial owners do so under the condition that if they do not work, their ownership will be revoked. But when you work, you work for yourselves; the profit, sentients, that you bring in, the profit winds up in the hands of those who produced it! Are you willing to become a part of this operation?"

Again there were some cheers, but for the most part of less enthusiasm; they were mixed with murmurs to the tune of "This is nerfshit," and about 55% of the people left.

"Question two: We are producing equipment for combat. You may be called upon to produce devices that kill, maim, or agonize; I have no intention of focusing on 'humane' weapons solely for the sake of being humane. Are you prepared to do so?"

No cheers, but not many people left.

"Finally, question three: Are you prepared to defend, in any situation, the honor and safety of what will be your company?"

Some of the people didn't like the sound of that and left. Still, a good few remained.

"Remaining sentients: as of this day, Swift Slayer Arms co. is officially founded, with the intention of opening for business in three weeks. You may go now, with the knowledge that in a few weeks you will work not for crime, not for an overarching, distant corporation, and not for a lower class den of failure, but for your own company, which by hard work, you, and I, can make into anything."
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
Posts: 15
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 6:25 am
Location: The First Circle

Post by Switchsaw »

A few weeks later...

DeSeren Jklowve was none too happy about having to work for this new company but the reality of the matter was, he had no choice. Not that, in this day and age of overarching and intertwining relationships and organizations, anyone had any choice over anything. In the end, the little bits of chaos in the synapses of all the little interconnections made the decisions.

His office was supposed to be a white cubical room but in the light of the old overhead lamp the color was off. It smelled of dust and mold hidden by too much air freshener. The sounds of his computer whirring were far too easily audible for the machine to be functioning correctly, but it seemed to be all right.

DeSeren had been given a full 1% profit-share in exchange for his services as leader of research and development. At the moment, he was thinking up concepts that he could set his underlings to work on.

Truth be told, the old factory complex gave him the creeps. The air-ducts were doubtless infested with ratbugs and Force knew what else; perhaps the barely audible clicking of carapaced claws on metal was putting him on edge. But no, that wasn't it. Something wasn't quite adding up about the whole place. He wouldn't label it a "black" operation, but it was certainly more than a little bit shady. Judging by the types of beings he saw on the way to work every day, when the dung hit the atmospheric cycler, he wouldn't want to be there. DeSeren would get out, find a job at a better firm, as soon as he could. But for now, he was trapped, as surely as the generations of ratbugs that lived and died in the cells formed by the grills of countless air duct openings.

Last year it was as if all the shining doors of his future had been slammed shut and bolted true. He was about to get his Personal Warfare Equipment Engineering (PWEE) doctoral degree from a great university in the inner rim; in fact, he was going to graduate top in his class. Then everything started to go wrong. After he broke up with his girlfriend Aimii following an argument, she brought rape charges against him. Their relations had been, as far as DeSeren could tell at the time, completely consentual, but it was her word against his where that was concerned. The disciplinary council meeting had been against him before it had even heard the evidence; because, in a debate earlier in his education, he had advocated in favor of eugenics, many of his peers and teachers harbored a considerable loathing of him. Not only was he kicked out of the university but all of his previous achievements were revoked.

But no, that wasn't enough for the bitch. She made public a group of completely fake "confessions" which DeSeren had supposedly told her while gloating about his success over her in the rape. These included that he had cheated in working for his undergraduate degree and made up false bank statements. The undergraduate degree was promptly revoked and the bank froze all of his assets and sent the police after him. Considering the way things were going, DeSeren figured the trial would end horribly, so he fled, stealing a YT-1300. The YT-1300 turned out to have a defensive anti-theft system, and though DeSeren disarmed it, he was wounded in the process. The freighter was actually a smuggling ship, with twin quadlaser turrets, a missile launcher in each mandible, and a concealed Y-Wing ion cannon turret on the outward side of the cockpit. After a furious firefight, he managed to lose the police pursuit craft in an asteroid field.

DeSeren had to get medical aid for his wound, however. He also had to invent a new identity; however, this meant he was starting from nothing. He managed to ditch the ship just before word that it had been stolen reached the planet that he was on; it was, however, his only possession at the time. The medical aid thus left him in debt. Therefore, he had to take whatever he could get in terms of a job.
Fires of chaos, be always my guide
My hellhound companion shall not leave my side.
The world lies in ruin, the elders are dead;
In passion embrace in apocalypse bed.
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