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Lunar Maximum Security Incarceration Facility sat in its usual position on the barren moon of a gas giant in a forgettable solar system. It was a large facility, though there was very little traffic to and from it outside of prisoner transportation and the like. Even if a prisoner managed to escape their cell they had nowhere to go. It was the perfect place to house some of the most wanted criminals in the galaxy.

The hallways were quiet, the only sounds in them were footsteps of guards moving up and down them as they were tasked with retrieving several prisoners from their cells. Four of them moved down the wing which held some of the most notorious inmates. There they finally found who they were looking for, Callum Bowman, the gang lord that formed the feared Black Stars. He was now just another prisoner, there for almost six Earth years. For the most part he had kept to himself since his incarceration, he caused no problems and rarely spoke to anyone. Yet that didn't mean he was treated any better by those that imprisoned him in the lunar prison. He stood up from his seated position on the bed in his barren cell. It was identical to every other one, a bed, toilet, desk, chair and a sink. All of the furniture was nailed to the floor of course, so none of it could be used as weapons.

"Bowman? They really want this monster?" One of the guards asked, a human male, his head shaven, light stubble on his face. He wore the same uniform as all the others which was more akin to a soldier's armor than anything else. On his belt he had a stun baton, which one of his fellow guards had his hand near as the quartet stood in front of Callum's cell. They looked at him like a caged animal, as Callum stared back from behind the forcefield between them. He wore an identical orange jumpsuit to every other prisoner, his number on the back of it.

"Yep, orders from up top, they want him. Other inmates too, but the other guards have that handled. We just gotta get him and escort himm" One of the other guards confirmed as he clenched a holopad in one of his hands. "Come along nicely now, 2817. Keep your hands where they are and no sudden movements."

Then the forcefield went down on Callum's cell as two of the guards approached him, he offered no resistance as one of them grabbed his hands then handcuffed them tightly. Then with a gentle nudge he walked out of his cell, all four of the guards behind him. He walked past many of the other inmates' cells, several of them watched as he was escorted away. Some spoke out, though their words were stopped by glares from the guards following Callum.

The pirate king briefly wondered if the other prisoners figured he was on his walk of death, that when he finished his escort they'd inject him with all types of chemicals and end his life. That wasn't what was going on here, he would have been told ahead of time. He was their pet prisoner anyway, having him in their fancy lunar prison meant they could capture any criminal. He was no use to them dead, they could parade around the fact that they had successfully caught one of the most wanted men in the galaxy. Still he wondered what exactly this was. One of the guards peeped up as a message was sent to him through the communicator in his ear.

"We have to take a slight detour, they want us to clean him up. Make him look presentable." The guard said to the others, and Callum. His hair had grown long, an unkempt beard on his face. He stopped caring about that, he wondered if it annoyed his captors. A slight act of rebellion that nearly brought a smile to his face. He was turned down another hallway and into a room, there he was stuck on a chair as another man approached him with an electric razor. Callum was silent as he was shaven clean, then his hair trimmed to a short, neat affair. Bundles of brown hair rested on the floor before they were swept away, and he was lead out of the room by the guards.

"We're almost there." One of the guards said as the escort continued, they'd moved him through various hallways that all looked the same to the prisoner. They finally paused in front of another doorway, two guards standing on each side of it. After a brief chat between all of the guards, Callum was handed over to these two. From there he was nudged into the room. Inside was a long table, chairs were placed all around it, at the opposite end of the table sat three men. More guards were around the table, three on each side against the walls, each of them clenched shotguns. Guards in the prison didn't normally carry firearms, it tended to put the prisoners on edge. For whatever this meeting was, they didn't seem to care about that.

He recognized one of the men at the end of the table as the prison warden, Hardying? That was his name. He was a mean looking man, had an unsettling look about him. He'd heard stories about how the warden routinely beat prisoners to a pulp that went out of line for even the smallest offenses. He did not know either of two next to him, both wore business suits and stared at Callum as he was stuck into a chair at the side of the table opposite to the trio.

"Ah, 2817 is here. Now we wait for the others, they should be here shortly." Warden Hardying said with a smile. Callum didn't acknowledge the man with even a glance, he just looked at the floor. Underneath the table one of his fists clenched.

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Scarleth sat in the corner of her cell, idly strumming her fingers on the ground. Her hair was in tatters, having been forcibly cut just a month prior. When she entered LMSIF, her hair had reached only twelve inches in length, growing at what she estimated to be an average rate of six inches each year. She hadn't cut it, planning to take advantage of its length, and use it to strangle any unsuspecting guard who blocked her way. The rest of the plan, she hadn't figured it out yet--it had gone through dozens of variations over her time in the prison. Each day, a different method came into her mind.

The guards only became wise when they noticed Scarleth put her long hair, approximately five feet in length, into a tight braid. Recognizing it for what it could potentially be, they had cut it back down to just a foot long, removing the would-have-been weapon from her possession. For the month that followed, she had contemplated growing her nails out and sharpening them against the tiny desk in her cell, fashioning them into claws.

Unfortunately, it had all just been that--an idea. Nothing ever came of it. She remained secluded, sitting in a corner, and refusing to speak. When she first arrived at the facility, she had been a screamer. Scarleth would shriek at the guards, taunting them, and pulling all sort of threats. That all ended when she caught a glimpse of the Pirate King being taken in--her threats were empty, just words. The Black Stars would not be coming to liberate their assassin after all.

"Get up, 2527!" a guard barked, yet Scarleth didn't move her gaze from the ground. She continued to strum her fingers, over and over and over again. She heard the slight pop as the forcefield was taken down, and felt the handcuffs slap around her wrists. Not making a single movement, the guards groaned, picking Scarleth up like a rag doll. They must have deemed her haircut appropriate, as they dragged her down the hall, constantly reprimanding her for refusing to stand.

Her hair falling forward to mask her face, Scarleth smirked slightly.

The guards carrying her finally stopped, and had she bothered to listen, she would have heard a near identical conversation to the one that occurred moments before. The guards dropped her to the floor, only for the new pair of guards to sigh and shake their head at her. "2527, get up. This is an order."

"My name isn't 2527," Scarleth said underneath her breath. The guards, however, didn't seem to care. "Get up. Now."

Scarleth sighed, cursing a bit under her breath. For them to have dragged her out here, it must have been important. And as much as she despised the guards, her training had taught her when to struggle and when to comply. She rose to her feet, brushing her choppy hair out of her eyes. The guards nodded at her, and brought her inside of the room. She glanced at the warden and the businessmen, already analyzing any weak spots in security, and anything she figured might be a weakness of the men sitting across from where she stood. It wasn't so much an active search for escape as it was a habit.

The guards sat her down in a chair next to a familiar face, the Pirate King. Scarleth raised an eyebrow, as the two guards returned to their posts, with more guards in the room to take care of them. Scarleth glanced over at the Pirate King, and rolled her eyes a bit.

He'd grown weak, as far as she was concerned.

Looking into the cell of Prisoner Number 9666, one might forget they were looking into the cell of notorious gang leader, vigilante, and general nuisance, The One-Armed Bandit. The cell itself had been kept pristine, not a spot to be seen, everything arranged nicely. Well, as nicely as nailed-down furniture could be arranged. The prisoner himself seemed to never move of his own accord, always sitting statuesque at the desk, a soft pencil scribbling almost absently away at a pad of paper. Though common sense and protocol would've forbidden him even having these objects, money trading hands behind the scenes convinced the guards to allow the transgression.

Though The One-Armed Bandit's hair was trimmed to protocol lengths, a lack of product in space-jail left it looking messier than he'd like. A five o-clock shadow accented his features just slightly, making his concerned scowl look that much more intense. His eyebrows danced up and down on his forehead in contemplation as he paused momentarily from his writing, distracted by a steady rhythm beating closer and closer through the hall. When the heavy thudding of a guard's footsteps stopped just at his cell, Jesse looked up from his paper, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

"You know the drill, 9666. Hands out behind you, no sudden movements." Came an unenthusiastic voice, holding out a pair of handcuffs. Jesse complied, and the guard lowered the forcefield to lock the prisoner down.

"You know the drill as well, Davis. My name is Jesse, I'd hope after all this time we're close enough to be on a first name basis." He frowned as the tight metal of the handcuffs clamped down with a loud click. Jesse flexed, testing his range of movement in the handcuffs, before looking the guard in the eyes. "What, no fuzzy handcuffs?" He asked in a deadpan voice, eyes sternly staring at the guard before the facade was broken by a cackle of a laugh.

The guard responded only by rolling his eyes and motioning for the prisoner to get moving. Jesse was lead throughout the winding halls for far longer than he would've liked -the nigh-identical hallways seemed neverending, monochrome paint on the walls only interrupted by the colorful string of curses flung by the wildly different array of prisoners he passed. Some shouted because they supported Jesse, and were afraid he might be taken to the 'chopping block', so to speak. Some because they were against Jesse, and very much wanted what the others feared. Jesse himself had no idea of his fate, but had an overwhelmingly positive feeling.

After the first turn, Jesse began prodding verbally at the lone guard with which he walked.

"Pablo."

"Nope."

"Paco."

"Nope."

"Palmer?"

"Nope."

"Pam?"

"...Nope."

"What? Pam can be a very masculine name."

"We're here." The guard said, a very slightly annoyed tone.

"I'm more than halfway through the alphabet, Davis. I'll get your name one of these days." Jesse said in a mock disgruntled voice before being pushed not-so-gently through a doorway, into a room he hadn't seen before. The table and chairs before him didn't catch his attention quite as much as the guards armed with shotguns lining the walls. His left eye lingered by each guard, special software within the eye marking each guard with a red angry face that hovered just by their head when he looked at them. He then turned to the far end of the table. Though the men in business suits were unknown to him, the man in between the two was all too well known by Jesse, and marked by the same red angry face -this one wearing a crown. The warden, a harsh man by the name of Hardying.

Jesse stretched out, contorting his body in order to maneuver his cuffed hands to the front of his body rather than the back. He looked at the other two already seated before him at the table. One face he recognized very well -Callum Bowman, Pirate King. The head honcho of the gang Jesse had devoted so much sweat, blood, and money to taking down. Fourty-two times, Jesse had attempted assassinations on the man, and each of which was foiled. Next to the pirate king sat a pretty face that rang a bell in Jesse's memory, though far less personally than Callum's. Perhaps a face that had come up when he was combing through the scum of the galaxy for a suitable assassin to hire?

He smiled at the two as he was instructed to sit, his artificial eye marking Callum with the words "Pirate King", and the woman with "Sexy Assassin(?)". Voice low, he leaned in close to Callum. "Huge fan of your work." He said, extending a hand to shake. The motion ruffled the fabric of his sleeve, pulling it back just enough to bare the first few inches of his wrist. Amidst the chaotic sleeve of tattoos apparent on the flesh was the Black Stars emblem with a bright pink cross drawn through it, along with a list of similarly colored tally marks numbering somewhere in the neighborhood of forty.

The Warden and his two friends at the opposite end of the long table watched as several of the prisoners entered the room. The same confident smirk remained on Hardying's face as some of his most impressive prisoners were brought in. As they interacted with each other the smirk remained, the six guards in the room had their eyes on the prisoners, the grip on the shotgun in their hands tight.

Callum meanwhile wasn't too delighted with seeing some of the prisoners that were sat down near him. He recognized Scarleth, though gave her no real acknowledgment. It was odd that someone in his gang was the first one to enter the room. He didn't expect a familiar face. Then One-Arm sat across from him, and Callum clenched both his fists in anger. This man murdered dozens of Stars, his brothers and children. The sight of the man brought back feelings of hate Callum had repressed. If the guards were not here then he would have reached across the table and gouged the man's eyes out. He dared to offer a handshake?

"I find that hard to believe." Callum muttered as he extended a hand, then firmly grasped the man's extended hand. He pressed hard upon it, seemingly trying to break the bones of Jesse's hand. The whole gesture he looked the man right in the eyes, barely noticing the alien girl enter the room in her unique way.

Jesse grit his teeth through the surprising pain of the handshake -perhaps Callum wasn't as soft as rumors around the prison would have one believe. "Well, water under the bridge and all that. I'm sure we've both made... regrettable decisions." He winced, smile betrayed by the rather pained look in his eyes. Making a decision for his own physical health, Jesse pulled away from the handshake rather curtly.

One of the guards came from behind Callum and jabbed the Pirate King in the back shoulder with the butt of his shotgun. Callum gasped in pain then glanced back at the guard, his glare continued. Meanwhile Hardying had watched the whole interaction, his smirk fading.

"Hello there, Princess, I'm afraid this isn't a dinner. We'll get to what it really is about very soon," He muttered with a glance towards Takakiko, earning an audible groan of disappointment from her. Then he sternly spoke to both Jesse and Callum. "Now now, gentlemen, play nice."

Scarleth smirked again, rolling her neck a bit. Tiny cracks sounded off, and she shook her hair, causing the maddened mane to fall into a somewhat different arrangement. She quietly peeked over at Callum with her augmentation, attempting to analyze what had happened. For a brief moment, the Pirate King had come back. However, the moment was just that--brief. Sighing a bit, Scarleth returned her gaze to the budybodies in the front of the room. "You've gone soft," Scarleth whispered, her voice hollow. "They killed the Pirate King without even lifting a finger..."

"The Black Stars died with him. This, fool, helped with that." Callum said, his words just loud enough for Jesse to hear as he gave the man another glare.

Callum heard the words whispered into his ear from his fellow, former Black Star member. The Pirate King died when he was stuck in prison and shut off from the outside world. He'd heard nothing about his galaxy spanning gang since his incarceration. He had no power here.

Jesse smiled as the pretty assassin spoke. He was rather glad that she was at least partially on his side -he was more afraid of her handshake than the Dead Pirate King's. He gave a nod to Callum as he was mentioned, glad to hear that his contributions weren't going unnoticed. "I do what I can." He said, humbly raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. He considered going further, but he wasn't keen at all on taking a shotgun butt to the back like Callum had.

Scarleth giggled, the laughter dripping softly from her lips. A slight twinkle, more light a spark, appeared in the corner of her eye. She never really worshipped Callum the way the rest of the Black Stars did--she didn't know what it meant to idolize, to love. Her only care in the world was money, a need programmed into her from an early age. "I suppose I picked the wrong gang to join," Scarleth mused, glancing over at the One-Handed-Wonder. "I'm Ruby Red. I hope you haven't heard of me, or I've done poorer than I expected."

Jesse narrowed his good eye as he glanced over at Scarleth, the artificial eye changing her marking from 'Sexy Assassin(?)' to 'Ruby Red'. He smiled at the comment, raising an eyebrow. "Your lucky day, Red. Only legends." He chuckled, leaning back in his seat a bit. "Always room for you here on the winning side." He said, not so subtly looking her up and down.

"Would that be your left side?" Taka asked rather nonchalantly.

"None of us are winners. We're all sitting here as prisoners." Callum interjected.

Scarleth noticed Callum's interjection, rolling her eyes at him, her gaze still forward. She caught Jesse's gaze with her enhanced eye, and not even the slightest trace of a smile graced her lips this time. Her face void of emotion and her voice hollow, lacking any sort of life to it, she addressed Jesse calmly. "Remember who I am and rethink that action." She paused, before continuing on. "There won't be a next time."

Jesse smiled at Taka's interjection, shrugging very much not casually. "Guilty as charged." He said, eyebrows raised as he studied the alien. He was glad for her addition to the room, the whole thing had been starting to look like a Homines Primum meeting. His smile soured as Callum added his own comment, as if he were trying to kill the mood. "Aren't you just a little party pooper? If you hadn't noticed, we're not rotting in cells right now, and these chairs aren't electric." A concerned look on his face, he turned to the warden. "Right?" before continuing. Though he had nothing clever to say in response to Scarleth's comment, his mannerisms stayed the same even as he slightly shifted away.

"Your hands are still bound." Callum said with a smile towards Jesse, the first one he had broken in a very long time. Warden Hardying had been watching the whole exchange closely, when Jesse looked towards him he gave a simple nod.

Taka tapped a finger against her chin for a moment, mulling over the suave looking gentleman's statement, "You know, I can tell you it wouldn't make a lot of sense for us to be executed here," She started, "I'd know, I just came from there."

"They'd never execute me. I could reach across this table and strangle the life out of him. They still would just knock me out cold, not shoot me dead. I'm a symbol that they can catch anyone and imprison them like an animal in some twisted zoo." Callum muttered.

"So basically... you fucked up?" Taka replied with a slight huff, remembering the dark confines of that box from what seemed like so long ago.

"Didn't we all?" Callum said with another smile, this time towards Taka. Then the Warden silenced them all as he smacked his hand twice against the steel table, the loud noise drawing attention to him.

"No need to speak like that, we still have other inmates to join us. Don't want to put them on edge with talk like that." Hardying said to the group.

---

"Hey fuckface, wake up."

A groan escaped Reaver as he stirred, followed by him opening one eye to glance towards the edge of his cell. "Now that could be anyone." he said, before his vision took hold and he realized there were 4 guards standing before him, awaiting him to acknowledge they were there. Laying upon his cot, his hands behind his head and his feet propped up, he decided he didn't quite want to get up, which is probably what they wanted him to do. "Heya fellas. You guys here for a quickie? I'm sorry I'm a bit tired at the moment."

"Get the hell up before we beat you to death." the front guard said, his face grim and unamused. Kamdo sat up, but didn't exactly get up. "So, are you here to tell me how long I'm to stay here, or am I just going to be executed on the spot? It's not the punishment, it's the suspense. Can't take it anymore." He sounded positively bored. They opened the cell without answering. "Fellas, come on."

One guard attempted to hit him square in the face. Reaver slid his arm up and under the swing, redirecting its course so as to keep it from hitting him. He used his other hand to strike the man under the ribs as he rose from the bed. "I will say one thing." Reaver said as the guard he struck hit the wall. "The fitness program here aint bad." It was 10 minutes later and bruise upon bruise between both sides that Reaver was in handcuffs and was lead into the room with the other inmates. Despite his sarcasm earlier, his gaze turned hard and full of wariness when he saw who was in here.

"Well well well." he declared as they set him down in his chair. His glare was as a sharp as a dagger, though he held a wicked, closed mouth grin. At least two of these people had been on his 'to kill' list, and the others seemed like crazy sorts that were half getting along with them at the moment. He had no clue as to why they and he were here, but it couldn't be good. "Don't stop the conversation for my sake, guys, please."

Henrietta "Alloy" Larsson

Henrietta paced aimlessly between the four walls of her cell. She could take four steps before hitting the other side. Four steps, over and over again. The worst thing about a secluded maximum security prison was not the years locked away with violent criminals, the being treated as less than nothing by some guards or even the bland, undefinable food. It was the boredom. The sheer, mind-numbing boredom. Wake, eat, sleep, repeat. Henri could feel it rotting her brain. She needed the chaos of destruction, the mass hysteria of a battle... or at least a board game to play.

She continued to pace, her left arm hanging limply by her side.

Before coming to the LMSIF they had peeled back a realistic layer of synthetic skin from the inside of her forearm and clumsily disconnected essential components. Safely decommissioned, they had said. The flesh had not been replaced, leaving her nervous and motor systems, a sophisticated mass of wires, metal and hydraulics, on display. Henri thought it was beautiful but it was also a hindrance. It wouldn't serve her well to have her alterations on display for all and, more than that, it was dead weight. Many kilograms of dead weight making her shoulder ache.

With any luck, Henri would be able to convince the powers that be to have her arm recommissioned in the future but getting an audience with anyone who wasn't a guard was serving to be quite difficult. Once you were incarcerated within the sterile, white walls of the Lunar Maximum Security Incarceration Facility, it seemed, you became nothing more than a number to anyone important. Fortunately, she still had her legs although, unlike her arm, they were not covered with synthetic skin (but trousers would do).

For the time being, Henri often kept her arm in a sling made from material she had torn from her bed sheet. It would suffice and, as a bonus, it seemed to project an air of fragility that made certain guards warm to her. At least those newer, more naive ones. Speaking of which-

The door to her cell slid open and a familiar face appeared. Henri stood to mock attention.

"Miss Larsson," The guard said, "You've been summoned."

Henri smiled sweetly, "I think you're supposed to call me Three-Zero-Zero-Four."

He scowled, "Come along now inmate."

Henri lifted her useless arm into it's sling before following him out. There was another guard waiting outside for her, stern-faced and armed. She almost scoffed, what did they expect her to do? Sure, she could have outrun any one of them but where was there to go, the moon? They escorted her down the suffocating white halls as the fluorescent lighting assaulted her senses, making her head throb. The clanging, echo of the guards boots compounding the effect every step. Soon enough they arrived at their destination.

A grin split across Henri's face when she saw who the room contained. Some of LMSIFs most notorious. She had heard whispers of each of them, before and after her incarceration. Henri had to hold back a gleeful laugh when her eyes fell across the former members, enemies and glorious leader of The Black Stars. She idly wondered, as she took a seat, if they would recognise her. After all, she was just the daughter of a member.

The room had fallen silent since her arrival and a layer of tension

"Okay, I'll start." Henri smiled, swinging her legs on a seat which was far too tall, "My name is Henri and I'm an alcoholic."

Blood on his hands, Maxamillian stood, surrounded by more dead bodies than he could count. Even if his eyes could not break their stare at his bloodied hands and shirt, he could recognize the faces on all of the bodies around him, and they all had the same pale, wrinkled skin and deathly thousand yards stares. Each body was a copy of Comet, and they shared Max’s hard stare at the red stained hands he held out in front of himself. He tried to move, tried to speak, but he was paralyzed, other than the shaky breath that would rock his chest, and provided the only noise in a room with no walls.

“I told you, Max, you can’t go back. You could never go back, from they day you were taken. It was always meant to be like this. Quit fighting it.” All the Comets said in unison, as they all shambled to their feet. The thousands of voices all reverberated off of the invisible walls, filling Max’s ears and head with pain, but all he could do was free small, struggled groans.

Max’s eyes were finally released to move freely, by Max almost wished they hadn’t. The copies of Comet sprawled for as far as his eyes could see, and they all had bodies full of open, freely bleeding wounds. Max struggled vehemently to try and turn his head away, but all he could do was shut his eyes, which were always opened right back up against his will.

“Maybe this will teach you what I’ve been preaching to you this whole time, Maxy.” The copies spoke up, but this time, there was only one Comet, with no wounds or bleeding, but her voice was distorted. The garbles of her voice made her words incomprehensive, yet Max could still understand it somehow. Out of the visor in his helmet, Max could see Comet approaching, in one hand cradling his own knife. Before he could attempt to speak, she had taken the knife in both hands, and brought the blade down hard on his helmet. The tip of the blade stopped short of completely piercing the helmet, but the very tip of the blade still dug into Max’s scalp, causing his chest to tighten in pain and surprise as he tried his hardest to speak or yell in pain.

With one cruel yank, and the knife amazingly cut straight through his helmet, digging downwards in the process. Something in his chest broke, and his yells finally become audible. His mouth opened wide as he let out an intense yell, and then grit his teeth.

"Comet, what the fuck! Stop for God’s sake!'

A tightened fist cruelly impacted with Max’s right cheek, knocking the rest of his body loose, following the momentum of his falling face. He caught himself, and tried to recollect his thoughts, before he felt a hot boot push him the rest of the way down, and pin his head to the ground, as he let out a grunt. A gloved hand shoved itself into the cut in the helmet, and yanked, creating an opening that revealed Max’s antenna.

“Maybe now, you’ll stop making stupid mistakes.” Said Max. His mouth moved on it’s own accord, but Comet’s voice was what came out. His stomach jumped as he gagged, returning to his own voice, but his voice was caught in his throat suddenly when Comet gripped his antenna with one hand, and jabbed the knife harshly around the base of it, making a few, jagged cuts, and then finishing the job with a quick yank.

Visual displays flashed and beep, indicating the large hole in his helmet, and his scalp felt as if it was burning. He could feel warm blood flow down into his helmet, getting in his eyes, and soaking into the padding around his face. He wanted to scream, but the overwhelming pain made him gag, and he rose to his hands and knees once the boot left his head. He tried desperately to open the mouth hatch, but the systems in the mask were shorting out, either from the blood getting in the circuitry or the large cuts through most of it’s wiring. A low rumble from his stomach turned into a full blown cry and moan of pain, and he again fell onto his side, cradling his head, searching for any way to get the thing off.

Finally, his hands found the release that took the mask off, but instead of loosening, the mask got tighter, and rapidly continued to do so until his head was pounding in pain, with his ear ringing. He clenched his teeth so hard it began to hurt his jaw, and his pained growl turned into a full out cry, begging for mercy and a for the pain to stop. Fingers clawed desperately trying to pry the mask off to no avail, and the map in his helmet, although still flickering and shorting out, solely showed a plotted map from a moon of some planet to his home planet, Nohvia.

“Maybe now you’ll understand.”

Comet had left, the speaking was coming from his voice modulator. He could barely hear the words over his own cries. Tighter and tighter the helmet grew, blood still streaming into the mask until his sight was burning and muddled, and then, he finally couldn’t breath. He struggled, flailing his arms and legs trying to find escape, but his need for air outgrew anything, and soon, the struggling turned into gurgling and his movement stopped

Sharp and deep, a needle was shoved into Max’s chest,and his chest rapidly sucked in air, and light filled his eyes, burning them. His hands quickly found the arm that was stabbing him and gripped tightly.

”MAX! Jesus Christ, wake up, Max! Snap out of it!”

Still mostly blinded, Max tried his best to look around what felt like purgatory. The first face he saw was that of the nurse in his cell block, yanking a needle from his chest, and Max instantly understood everything. His gripped loosening, and he covered his face.

”Can I have my mask, please, gentlemen?” He said, his groggy voice muffled by his hands.

Something landed lightly on his chest, and Max grabbed it, eyes still shut, and slid it on, knowing it wouldn’t choke him this time. With the flip of a small switch, a much easier to see view of the room came up and filled Max’s vision. Aside from the nurse, there were 3 guards, 2 of them stood outside the cell, confused looks plastered on their face, and the third, familiar face, stood over him next to the crouched nurse.

”Sorry to wake you from such a good dream, Max, but your presence has been requested.” Sgt. McMillan said, in his usual deep, slightly southern drawl.

”Requested? Who wants to see this washed up drug runner?” Max said, sitting up, removing his mask to quickly rub his eyes and face, and then putting it straight back on.

”Couldn’t tell you, honestly. It’s important though, better look your best. The Sergeant said, placing Max’s trusty old jacket over his shoulder.

”Thanks, Fred. This what they’re burying me in?” Max said with a hidden smirk, sliding his arm in a jacket sleeve.

The Sergeant chuckled.
“They’re gonna cremate your ass when they finally kill you, won’t matter what you’re wearing.“

Max gave a quiet chuckle as the nurse helped him up. Once on his feet. He straightened out and fastened his jacket, adjusted his helmet, and turned to the nurse.

“Had to use the adrenaline again huh?”

"Yep." The man said. ”Smacking you on the head and shaking you didn’t do much, so out came the needle." He said with a smirk.

”Tsk.” Max chuckled as he put his arms out, wrists close. "Best not leave the guests waiting, eh?”

One of the guards that stood outside the cell wordlessly walked in and cuffed Max’s hands, and then, along with the other guard, they both gripped onto each of Max’s arms, one a rather squishy real arm, and the other a stiff, firm, robotic one. With the Sergeant in tow, the group started their walk down the sprawling hallways, as the nurse patted Max on the back and went his separate way.

As the conversation died and the walk came into it’s main stretch, Max’s eyes felt heavy once again. No desire to ask questions could be found in his head. Just about any surprise wouldn’t be too much for him to handle, so why spoil a bit of fun? Grey, metal walls and bars were boring enough, even Max needed a bit of a surprise sometimes.

Soon enough, after what seemed like eons and miles of goddamned grey walls, Max reached his destination, and could hear conversation through the door. The guards exchanged looks and nods, and Max finally made his grand entrance.

Seated at the table were a familiar face or two. Who didn’t recognize the Pirate King? He looked depressed, but who was Max to talk? The woman who sat next to him seemed familiar, but Max could put a finger on her name. There sat another, rather attractive woman he thought, her bionic legs swinging, and another man who he could not name, but had a rough look about him. The man seated across from King was a complete stranger, with a distinct tattoo under his eyes and then there was-

What the fuck? Max stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the soft pink skin, the sea foam hair. Something rose in his throat but he stopped it in it’s tracks. He refused to believe what his eyes were telling him. Max had only even known two people with the skin and hair colors that spoke that intimately to him, and here, in front of him, sat one, surrounded by renowned criminals, including himself. His jaw clenched, and he shook the thought out of his head, lowering his gaze. Maybe he was still dreaming, still comatose in his cell. He slowly, and silently took his seat, his gaze pointed downwards, avoiding contact with all the recognizing eyes that peered at him.

“Welcome to the table, Mr. Maxamillian. I’m sure you’ll find your fellow inmates here good for some conversation, they’ve been quite talkative up until this point.” The Warden spoke.

Max’s stare did not break from the table, he shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat.

”I’m sure they have, sir.”

Maxamillian felt like gagging.

Prisoner 4304. The Ghost.

She wasn't the most violent or dangerous prisoner to ever earn themselves a life sentence in the good old LMSIF. Hell, compared to some of the slashers, scumbags, and psychopaths that came to the distant lunar prison to rot, she was practically a saint. Finally, many of the guards thought, a hardened criminal that we could actually deal with for a change. No bloodthirsty pirates or trained assassins for once, just a regular, common thief.

Kao Tesra Em'dyn, however, was no common thief. Pens and notepads and other small keepsakes began to go missing at an alarming rate, only to be found under the Lanun's mattress in a surprise inspection. Accidents became more common thanks to small spills and objects left in dark spaces to trip people up, with every slip and fall accompanied by barely restrained laughter from cell 4304. And the escape attempts...the guards began to lose count of how many times she had been missing from her cell, and by that time Tesra had become well-known as one of the most obnoxious, irritating prisoners that the LMSIF had ever had to deal with.

Needless to say, the guards sent to get Prisoner 4304 weren't sorry to be seeing the back of her, and if Tesra had her way she'd be showing it to them, as well as the area down a bit lower. Sprawled across the desk in her prison cell in a rather awkward but comfortable position, she was already dreaming up her next big escape attempt. The examination that she got pulled into was a very lucky break. The psychiatrist's security cards had gotten her the closest to sweet, sweet freedom, and if she hadn't stopped to get Sigmund she would have been halfway to home by now on a hijacked shuttle before anyone knew she was gone.

Humming a little Lanun pop ditty that sounded like a sea shanty, Tesra pondered how best to get by the guards stationed outside the hangers, idly chewing on the ends of her old-fashioned bionic fingers. The guards had confiscated her old arm when they found out about the metal spike hidden inside it and had given her a decent enough replacement arm. Then when she dissected it and used the components to short out a force field generator during an escape attempt they took that arm and gave her an older prosthetic, as well as a promise that she wouldn't get a replacement if she dissected this one. It was one of the older model bionics designed for a human rather then a Lanun, with the synthetic skin flaking off in places, the joints creaking audibly when she flexed her fingers, and the entire arm feeling numb thanks to a busted tactile sensor. Tesra was sure that the guards went out of their way to find a crummy bionic arm just for her, but she didn't mind. An arm was an arm, and once she got out of here she could get a replacement anywhere. Plus the occasional repairs it needed gave her something to do besides plotting her escape and actually attempting those escapes.

Tesra was stirred from said plotting by the sound of three sharp taps on the wall outside her cell. She stretched her neck and looked towards her cell door to see a couple of guards standing there.

"Oh wow, company," Tesra said, stretching her legs out and pushing up to a sitting position. "You should have called earlier, I would have gotten out the fine china!"

"Prisoner 4304," the leftmost guard said mechanically. "Kneel on the ground and place your hands behind your head."

"Kneel on the ground and place your hands behind your head, PLEASE."

The guard gave her an icy stare. "I have the authority to get you where you need to go by any means necessary, 4304. Get on the floor and keep your hands behind your head, NOW." With a noncommittal shrug, Tesra gave a noncommittal shrug and leaned over just enough to topple off the desk and somersault into a kneeling position. Closing her eyes, she dramatically thrust her chest out like a dancer and obediently put her hands behind her head.

"Do what you will to me, vile knave!" she said wistfully as the force field's hum shut down. A pair of guards flanked around each side of the first one, who stood there with his arms crossed as Tesra was searched, cuffed, and yanked to a standing position by the wrists. As he looked her over, the first guard noticed something strange.

"...why is your jumpsuit on backwards?" Tesra glanced down at her own chest innocently and gave a slight gasp of surprise.

"Well they always said I didn't have my head screwed on right," she explained with a cheeky grin. "Hey, I can even see my number now! 'h0eh', huh? Boy this was a good idea!" The guard gave her an incredulous look before dropping the subject and signalling the guards to move out. As she was led out of the cell and through the corridor, whoops and cheers began to sound from neighboring cells. Tesra smiled and pretended to fawn over the attention. Her pranks and escapes weren't making her any friends among the guards, but her antics had certainly made her popular with her fellow convicts. "You tolerate me, you really tolerate me!" she crooned passionately. The lead guard just rolled his eyes and kept leading her down the corridor, the click of boot heels on metal tiling giving a tempo to the scattered cheers.

Eventually, the cheers died down, and the odd procession had reached their designation. Without another word, Tesra was unceremoniously shoved into the room to take in the unusual scene before her. For just a moment, she was at a loss for words. Her four eyes darted between the vaguely familiar faces seated in chairs around the table, to the warden and the unknown men in suits at the head, and finally to the unfamiliar guards lining the walls armed with shotguns. A perplexed look crossing her face, she turned to look back at the men and women seated around the table, whom she just realized were prisoners. She didn't recognize most of them, and she doubted that they would recognize her, but there were a familiar few here. Callum Bowman was of course easy to recognize, and she figured the green haired Nohvan must have been that 'princess' with the explosion fetish that the guards occasionally swapped stories about. A pirate king, an anarchist, and a master thief all in one room? It sounded like the beginning of a really corny bar joke. Regaining her composure, she faked a look of exasperation.

"Come on guys, I said I didn't want a big party this year..."

Hardying's eyes were on each of the prisoners as they entered the room, he listened to all of their words. The conversation before between the first group that had assembled was an interesting one. The beaten 'Pirate King' rambling about how he couldn't die because he was an example that the Federation could capture even the worst people. If Bowman had spoken like that when he wasn't in his current situation then Hardying would have had a couple of the guards show the despicable scoundrel the painful side of their shock batons. He stood out of his seat and addressed the assembled convicts.

"We seem to have almost every inmate in attendance for this meeting, the one were are waiting for is a different inmate from the rest and I believed his arrival may have taken a little longer than we wished. But we must continue, may I introduce Mr. Gabriel White." The Warden announced with a smirk as he clapped his hands.

None of the prisoners applauded but the guards in the room did with their gloved palms. One of the business suit wearing men clapped the loudest and smiled. The other one, in a grey suit rose out of his seat and shook Hardying's hand, then he faced each of the criminals. This was Mr. White, his skin was impeccably tanned, his spiked hair blond and his suit fitted to his exact dimensions, so much so that he would give One-Arm a run in that category of fashion sense.

"Hello to you all, I know I do not seem like the typical visitor to a lunar prison but I come on important business right from the Federation." White said as he folded his hands behind his back. Callum rolled his eyes at the mention of the Feds, he should have guessed this asshole was one of them.

"Each of you are hardened criminals, you all know this. That is why you are on this station, what you also know is that each of you possess unique sets of skills that have no use stuck behind prison cells. Many of you are serving life sentences, freedom is an afterthought. What I came here today to offer is a unique type of freedom, one beneficial to all involved." White continued as he scanned over each of the criminals, not afraid to lock eyes with any of them as he paused to press a button on a device on his wrist. A holographic image of a ship appeared over the center of the table, further lighting up the room.

"This my friends, is the I.S.S. Gladius, a warship of human make. Why am I showing you this you might ask? Well, your unique freedom involves this vessel. See all of you talented people have nothing to lose, you would relish any chance to escape these metallic walls. I aim to put you all together on a highly talented task force, one which will do good for the galaxy. You will each by placed on the Gladius as you undergo missions for the greater good." White said as he paced around the table, fully within arms reach of any of the prisoners as he strolled by them.

The Warden watched the display as White gave his speech. He had been briefed upon all of this and even gave his approval. He didn't like losing some of his most 'interesting' inmates, but the benefits he had received in exchange was more than enough to convince the man. He smirked as White walked near the prisoners, if any of them tried anything then it would be a one way ticket to a beating. They knew better than to do anything but just listen to the persuasive fellow.

"You will be able to do as you please aboard the ship, there's a stocked bar, a shooting range, a gym, it will be your new home which I'm sure each of you will love. You will be the only ones on the Gladius, there are no other people except each of you. You will receive messages about missions you have been assigned to, it is imperative that when you receive a mission that you do it immediately. You will be given freedom but you are still expected to do the work, and do it well." White continued as he accentuated his final word by speaking it slightly louder than the previous ones.

"You will be provided weaponry, armor and other equipment. Along with the exact items that were taken from you when you were arrested. You will be a strike team, a ruthless, efficient and driven one even better than those in militarizes across the galaxy." The well dressed man said with a clenched, raised fist as he tried to energize the group of convicts.

"You can decline this offer, but there is no sane reason to. Some of you have otherwise been slated for execution or life imprisonment. You would go back to rotting in a cell. My offer has too many benefits to ignore. If you do enough missions then full freedom is a possibility. Even reduced sentences which will lead to full fledged freedom." White finished his words off with the bombshell of convincing words. He stood with his hands behind his back as he waited for any of the prisoners to speak up. One did, the Pirate King.

"Fuck the Federation. I'd rather die than work for you scum." Callum snarled as he stared White right in the eyes. The Feds had locked him up, killed many of his gang members, turned his best friend against him. He'd rather they just put a bullet in his head and toss his corpse out an airlock than ever help them.

"You're not working for the Federation, Mr. Bowman, you're working with us. We simply provide you with missions and many benefits, you will never have to speak to Federation personal. You aren't listed as one, as far as the public knows you are all locked in this facility instead of fighting for the greater good. This is not an opportunity to throw away as something like it will never come up again," Mr. White shot back as he met Callum's stone cold glare. The Pirate King shook his head. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by saying yes to this offer."

"Fine, but you'd better keep your word. If I ever have to speak to one of you Feds face to face while onboard that ship then I'll crash that fancy vessel into Federation HQ." Callum muttered as he agreed to the offer in the only way he could, by making a serious threat. It seemed some more of the old Pirate King had emerged when he learned he had to deal with the Federation. White awaited any other questions, answers or outbursts from the other criminals.

Jesse smiled rather innocently at Callum's rebuttal. He was rather glad for Taka's comment, as he himself hadn't a response. The little pink thing was growing on him already. Before Jesse could prod more at Callum, hopefully earn him another whack or two with a shotgun, Hardying said his piece. "No need to speak like that, we still have other inmates to join us. Don't want to put them on edge with talk like that." Jesse raised an eyebrow at the comment, and looked around rather pointedly at the shotgun-armed guards, but said nothing.

"Don't stop the conversation for my sake, guys, please." Another inmate was walked in, another voice added to the mix. Jesse eyed him suspiciously, not recognizing the man. He smiled curtly, before extending a hand to the new entrance. A quick glance back at Callum made him rethink the decision, and he quickly retracted his cuffed hands before the recent introduction could take a hold.

"Name's One-Arm, I don't think I recognize you. That means you're either very good or very bad at what you do." Jesse said, making eye contact with Reeves for only the first couple words before getting bored and looking away. As if a staged entrance in a play, another convict entered, just on time.

"Okay, I'll start. My name is Henri and I'm an alcoholic." Jesse smirked, letting out a single syllable of a chuckle at the comment. Funny kid, with a rather unassuming face. But the name certainly rung a bell -what were the odds that there would be multiple young women by the name of Henri imprisoned at the LMSIF? Jesse turned his attention to her, leaning in close as he propped his chin on a table made of his interlaced fingers.

"Henri, eh? That wouldn't happen to be the Henrietta... Henrietta... Lawson, I wanna say. Was it Lawson? Something like that. Daughter of some Black Star asshole, yeah? Went by some dumbass name like 'The Mechanic'?" He rambled, resting back in his chair as though mulling over some happy memories. He never personally knew the kid, but he had been rather close in a far less benign sense. He remembered the incident rather clearly, something in the irony of it -Jesse had sent a hitman to take Henri, in the hopes to force some information out of The Mechanic. A fit of poetic justice, the hitman was stalking The Mechanic when his workshop exploded. Shrapnel took the hitman out of commission, seemingly one last 'fuck you' from The Mechanic. Of course, no one knew about the incident but the hitman and Jesse, and only one of the two wasn't in a shallow grave on an uninhabited moon.

“Welcome to the table, Mr. Maxamillian. I’m sure you’ll find your fellow inmates here good for some conversation, they’ve been quite talkative up until this point.” The Warden interrupted Jesse, much to his own dismay. His gaze shifted from Henri to the new entrance, who seemed all too interested in the floor.

"I’m sure they have, sir." Came the man's voice, after a quick clearing of the throat. A masked face, that Jesse certainly did not recognize. While Jesse was sure that he had a joke somewhere in his brain about the mask he wanted to make, he was far more interested in the new face walking in, a new species thrown into the mix as well. Five humans, a Novahn, some masked jackass of questionable race, and now this Lanun. At least Jesse was fairly sure it was a Lanun. Fifty-fifty odds on the guess, he figured.

"Come on guys, I said I didn't want a big party this year..." She said, following suit with just about every other inmate thus far. Jesse turned to her, and considered winking before he thought better of it. He couldn't tell just from looks what she was in for, but as it was stacking up so far, this room was filled with the worst of the worst -Jesse wasn't in the mood for the express Scarleth treatment from this one as well. Rather, he curtly nodded to her.

"Well, we splurged anyways. Brought out the shiniest toys, just for you, Princess." He said, an overly expressive sing-song tone sounding out. When Hardying spoke again, Jesse very quickly shut his own mouth. Being one of the most reputable gang leaders among the galaxy, one tends to learn to respect the man who has six shotguns at the ready while you're handcuffed. He took note of the absentee inmate, rather interested in that case. What could make this other arrival so special that he warrants a late entrance? Jesse tried not to dwell on it as he shifted his attention to the impressive Gabriel White, and his round of applause. "Goddamn, he almost looks as good as me. Hell, he looks better than me. I don't know whether to love him or hate him now." Jesse thought to himself, eyebrows climbing up his forehead in a futile attempt to integrate with his hairline.

If Jesse wasn't already full fledged grinning at the beginning of Mr. White's speech, he certainly was by the end. Callum's rather short-lived attempt at verbal mutiny only furthered that. Waiting a moment to ensure that Mr. White wasn't going to point to some hidden camera and reveal this all to be a twisted joke, Jesse spoke up. "Let me get this straight, Mr. White -can I call you Gabe? You just gathered up eight of the biggest assholes on this entire moon-jail, and you're going to give us a ship, armor, guns, freedom, and more importanly booze -all with no supervision? I know you Fed guys are supposed to be dumb, but come on! Tell me you see the problem with that plan, cupcake." Jesse said, leaning forward. "What's the catch? This shit always comes with some fine print, hidden terms and conditions, whatever. Save me the suspense, what is gonna bite us in the ass when we say yes?"

In the far back of the hallway of cell blocks, Jackal was confined in a small cell. Even in confinement he was restricted by metal devices. Multiple chains locked his wings and barbed tail against his back, two sets of large steel handcuffs restraining both the hands on his arms and wings, A headpiece that restricts vision and head movement, and an iron ball that burdened him down with heavy weight. He was sitting along the wall, leaning against it and looked up to the sound of footsteps. Three guards, two of which had shock batons and the third had brought a high-powered rifle, appeared in his obscured vision just beyond the bars of the cell. "They want this thing? what is it being brought to a circus?" asked one of the guards as they began to open the cell. "Wait we have to escort it?" Asked the other guard to the one wielding the gun. "Yes." Responded the armed officer, "Don't screw up."

The third guard protested "I aint getting near that...thing!" Jackal was a prisoner of good behavior since his confinement, never once has he resisted, or provided violence, yet his size and beastly appearance worked against him. To most of the guards, Jackal was a like a tamed crocodile. A beast that is seemingly peaceful but remains unpredictable and could easily kill its master. Jackal had gotten used to this treatment, he didn't complain or say anything to the guards. "Like before, 1607, Get up, no sudden movements." He said as the two other guards opened the cell. As jackal Exited, he could finally fully stand being free from the cell that couldn't support anything under 8 feet in height. It wasn't surprising to see one of the guards shiver in fear at the sight of the beast in its full height. "Get moving." The armed officer stayed behind Jackal with his gun at the ready, while the other two guards lead Jackal to the main event. Despite having an Iron weight strapped to his left leg, Jackal could still walk relatively fine.

Due to his obscure vision, He didn't see the door, and so Jackal's skull would bang the metal surface. The door could barely fit him from above the upper chest, so he had to crouch to get through. He was lead to a seat among the other prisoners. And once seated they would remove some of his restrictions.

They first removed the chains, slowly, unwinding his wings and tail. Once they were free, they removed the iron weight from his leg, which the two guards had some trouble due to the weight of the metal. And lastly, the headpiece, revealing his saurian head that was crowned in horns and bore crocodilian eyes that beamed of yellow. It didn't take a genius to figure that these other strangers he was seating with were also prisoners, however the rather well dressed stranger was a mystery to Jackal, since he had little to do with formal meetings and politics, but he knew this wasn't an execution.

The reptilian Monstrosity flexed his tail and wings to suffice for the freedom they now had. He was still kept in cuffs for 'safety' precautions, but this freedom of mobility was enough to satisfy him. His blue scales of keeled and plated formation looked like iron to the untrained eye, and even sitting down he dwarfed the others present in the room. It took him a moment to realize he must have been late, for reasons he couldn't control, yet he apologized with a simple bow to the head at the well dressed man who he assumed was the one who organized this. Strange politeness for a monster one would think. He kept silent and listened further to both the man he bowed to and his fellow prisoners.

Henri let her bottom lip wobble in mock upset as One-Arm attempted to rile her. She had recognised the sharp man immediately, having been still roaming free when he had been captured and incarcerated. She had to say, he was a lot more handsome in real life than in his mugshot.

"Oh, you wound me Jesse," Henri gasped, clutching her chest with her functioning hand, "You can't even remember my name."

Dropping her hand she grinned at him, barring her teeth a little. How she'd missed this kind of interaction. Admittedly, she was slightly perturbed that she had been recognised so easily by someone outside of the Black Stars. Her affiliation with the Black Stars had been tentative and while she was no small time crook, she had only acted as a freelance mercenary on odd jobs in more recent years, identity concealed. She was no gang leader, no mass murderer or master thief like anyone else here. In fact, she felt quite out of place.

The entrance of two more prisoners interrupted her musings. The first was and unassuming Nohvan. He looked startled, eyes fixed to the table.

"Come on guys, I said I didn't want a big party this year..." A new voice was added to the mix. Henri's eyes widened comically upon sight of the Lanun. This time, she could not help but laugh. It rang, lyrically at odds with the tense atmosphere. Henri stood, and began to extend her hand as if to shake hands. A guard pushed her back into her seat with a thud.

"I'm a big fan, Ghost." Henri said, sincerely. Now there was a thief she aspired to be like. Henri's thefts were graceless, a blur of broken doors and unconscious guards.

Following the new arrivals, the prisoners listened with bemusement to Gabriel White's scheme. Henri honestly saw its merits and admired the I.S.S Gladius, she could only imagine what tech she could get her hands on on that shiny warship. Maybe there'd be a workshop for her to tinker with her limbs or maybe... wait.

"I'm sorry Mr. White," Henri said with a saccharine tone, "But I see no reason for me to take up this offer. I've barely three years left to serve. Why should I put myself in the line of fire for the Federation?" Truthfully, the thought excited her. She thrived on the kind of madness these criminals created. But her point was valid, why risk death for the Federation?

"Miss Larrson," Mr. White returned her smile insincerely, "You may currently be incarcerated on relatively minor charges." He cast his eyes over the rest of group on relatively, "But the Federation has reason to suspect you've been acting as freelance mercenary for some time. I seem to recall your name mentioned in regards to some stolen weaponry which was sold to the Andorians. Weaponry which led to wide spread destruction across Federation protected planets. One might call that an act of war, Miss Larrson." Mr. White raises a single, sardonic eyebrow, "You may want to rethink your involvement in this program."

Henri swallowed thickly. Well, she thought, What do you expect? You always leave a trail of destruction behind you. Someone was bound to follow it eventually.

Fortunately, the attention was quickly taken from Henri as an iron scaled reptile drew every eye in the room. He could have picked Henri up with a single hand. The thought made her slightly giddy.

“Oh my,” Henri sighed dreamily before adding under her breath, " “You are fantastic.”

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Scarleth closed her eyes, letting her head fall forward. There wasn't much point in interacting with her fellow prisoners. If she needed to know anything about them, it wouldn't be too hard. And besides, the chairs they had put them in were marvelously more comfortable than the bed in her cell. She smirked a bit to herself, wondering what her godfather would have done, had she done this so many years ago.

She had no doubts if would have been another "accident" similar to what destroyed her eye, forcing her to replace it with a cybernetic.

The meaningless conversation irritated Scarleth to no end, yet she masked her annoyance. The warden and his invited guest broke the silence, a smattering of applause from the guards helping as well. Hardly deigning to raise her head, Scarleth opened her eyes, her head still fallen forward. There was no reason for her to sit up straight. There was no point in it. If anything, she figured, her fellow inmates would only become more terrified of her.

As they should be.

Truthfully, White's speech did appeal to her. It would allow her an opportunity to eventually escape and take her revenge, though Scarleth wasn't foolish. She knew there would be something to ensure they cooperated. Governments weren't in the habit of giving criminals a warship of sorts without having a leash. She snickered at Callum's comments, throwing her head back, as she finally raised her eyes. She didn't need to comment on how silly and inane Callum was acting. He was nothing, as far as Scarleth was concerned.

"What is our incentive for compliance?" Scarleth asked coolly. "The Federation isn't foolish. They need a system to ensure that we continue to fulfill missions, rather than rebel and go back to our more natural veins of crime." Her concerns were echoed in One-Arm's question, and she smirked a bit, her eyes cold and harsh. Scarleth stared Mr. White down, refusing to waver her gaze, even with Jackal's entrance. Her stare had served to unnerve people before--perhaps, it would work again.

Breaking his stare with the table, Max finally looked at the pink Nohvan across from him while the others spoke to each other and bantered. His mask pointed in one direction, his eyes strained to the left to observe her. He almost refused to believe it could be anyone other than the twins, but Max had learned never to bank anything on a guess, even if he was good at it. He examined her face quickly, and found her eyes, which made his moving view stand still. Piercing blue, surrounded in an abyss. Those eyes took him back to the Slaver ship of his childhood from many years ago. When he was nameless, weaker. The childlike wonder was still in them, and Max smiled silently beneath his mask. Even when people like Max and Callum had let the world bring them down, she appeared to have maintained her bubbly personality from so many years ago.

Onimani, have I truly found you again?

Even if his better judgement didn’t allow him to be certain, his heart was already dead set on his guess. The nausea in his throat dried up, and, even still being bewildered that she was in prison, the pleasure of being near an old friend again still comforted him.

What that sweet kid could’ve possibly done to end up in the same room as the Pirate King and I, I will ne-

Beginning to speak, the Warden reminded that Max had actually been facing someone the whole time, and he quickly turned his gaze fully towards the Warden. It felt like minutes had gone by that he looked at the Pink Nohvan, but luckily it had only been a few seconds. Hopefully it didn’t look like he was actually staring at anyone. First impressions were always important, especially for the weirdo wearing the mask.

The Warden introduced Mr. White, a clean cut man who stood up and introduced himself to the crowd of criminals that stood in front of him. Tanned skin, clean skin, the man immediately screamed CONMAN to Max, but he’d at least hear what he had to say before telling him that. Not much to Max’s surprise, Mr. White began telling tall tales about how the convicts could become some sort of rag-tag mercenary group to work for the Federation. As much as Max would love to have some sort of purpose, this sounded way too outlandish to be taken at face value.

"Fuck the Federation. I'd rather die than work for you scum."

A hidden smirk creeped across Max’s face as he turned his head to look at Callum.

"You're not working for the Federation, Mr. Bowman, you're working with us. We simply provide you with missions and many benefits, you will never have to speak to Federation personal. You aren't listed as one, as far as the public knows you are all locked in this facility instead of fighting for the greater good. This is not an opportunity to throw away as something like it will never come up again,"

Max nearly laughed the response off, but his smile was replaced by a look of surprise when it seemed like Callum had been satisfied by this answer. For such a rebellious man to be silenced with such an...odd answer was striking. Max began to rebutt, but stayed quiet while his other prisoner’s began to speak, choosing to take his time to mull over his own words carefully.

"Let me get this straight, Mr. White -can I call you Gabe? You just gathered up eight of the biggest assholes on this entire moon-jail, and you're going to give us a ship, armor, guns, freedom, and more importanly booze -all with no supervision? I know you Fed guys are supposed to be dumb, but come on! Tell me you see the problem with that plan, cupcake. What's the catch? This shit always comes with some fine print, hidden terms and conditions, whatever. Save me the suspense, what is gonna bite us in the ass when we say yes?"

Max silently nodded to himself, wondering some similar things to himself. There had to be some sort of stipulation or rider to this deal. Max couldn’t, and wouldn’t believe they would let these criminals on such a loose leash with so much firepower. Max started to speak up again, as he gazed at the ship’s hologram on the table, but was cut off when a larger-than-life Gorgas entered the room. Max’s gaze, along with a few others in the room, slowly turned to view the reptile fully. Standing at at least 3 heads taller than Max, and looking to weigh easily 4 times as him, the dragon was obviously nothing to be trifled with. In the Gorgas’ lack of much to say, another prisoner in the room spoke up

"The Federation isn't foolish. They need a system to ensure that we continue to fulfill missions, rather than rebel and go back to our more natural veins of crime."

Max once again gave himself a small nod in agreement with the sentiment and question posed by the woman. Finally, seeing as no one else was going to speak, Max took his chance, letting his solid voice fall out of his mouth like slinky: slow to begin with, but gaining speed as it went on.

”Okay, Mr. White, let me repeat what I gathered from what you said, and you tell me if I have this wrong. You, well, the Federation more specifically, are offering us a chance at freedom, well, neutered freedom, I imagine, to go out and work for you. Now, you say we’d be working with the Federation, but working with someone, or something, usually means that, that someone or something would usually be giving some sort of aid or assistance, or doing something other than just handing us guns, giving us an objective, and saying ‘Go.”

Max turned in his chair to better face Mr. White directly, and gave him the best eye contact one can give someone when they’re wearing a mask. Pulling his leg up and resting it across the other, he continued.

“But. If we basically don’t exist, to either the public, or most of the Federation outside of this little room here, how exactly are we much more than the Federation’s little attack dogs? I can’t imagine we’d be fighting alongside Federation soldiers, or doing any work that the Federation would really want to do themselves, so why not send a bunch of expendable prisoners? Beyond that, did you put any thought in this, or did you put exactly enough thought into it that you needed to? Because, I don’t know most of the people in this room, and I didn’t know anyone I worked for, at least not personally, so some, or all, of these people could’ve easily tried to kill me in the past. Stick them in a confined space with me, and a bunch of guns, this doesn’t spell well for either of us. As much as I would genuinely love to have some sort of purpose other than sitting in a cell with my own thoughts, I want to know the finer details of this purpose that you’re trying to sell us here. Do the room a favor, and please stop speaking in these tail-chasing semantics. What is the catch?”

Tough crowd, Tesra thought. She didn't expect any of the guards to laugh at her little attempt at humor, but not even the prisoners seemed to do more then crack a smile at her entrance. Clearly she needed some better material. Still, it got her noticed judging by the brief but intent look a human with black and gray hair gave her before he acknowledged her with a polite nod. Must have been trying to get a read on her, Tesra concluded.

"Well, we splurged anyways. Brought out the shiniest toys, just for you, Princess," he replied in a theatrical tone. Tesra, relieved to see there was at least one other person on this rock with a sense of humor for once, clasped her hands to her chest and gave a melodramatic sigh to carry on the joke.

"Woah hold on, I'm the princess got it?" the green haired Nohvan suddenly shouted, simultaneously leaping to her feet and breaking the charade entirely. Tesra would have returned the comment with a sassy response of her own but she wasn't the only one that got to her feet at the sight of Tesra's arrival. A pleasant laugh pierced the grim proceedings as another human, a brown haired female with a limply hanging left arm, attempted to get to her feet before being forced down again.

"I'm a big fan, Ghost," the woman told her. Tesra was stunned by the brief, and for a moment was unsure of how to respond. Sure it was slightly concerning that her day job consisted of being sneaky and unseen yet she was popular enough to have a fan, but mostly...she was touched. Sincerely, legitimately touched. Maybe it was just the fact that she hadn't seen anyone that hadn't treated her like dirt for the past several months or so, but it felt nice to hear that little bit of admiration. It gave her a pleasantly warm feeling in her chest that reminded her strongly of the last time Sigmund curled up next to her and fell asleep. Goddess she missed her Siggy...

Tesra only paused for a moment before returning to her previous demeanor, though she still looked bashfully pleased by the comment before making her way to the empty seat next to the girl. "Wow, I didn't know I had such a devoted following! I might just turn purple from embarrassment!" Tesra exclaimed before reaching the seat, spinning it around (quite a feat to pull off in handcuffs mind you) and plopping down in it with the back facing the table before shooting a grin at her admirer. "Well if we're here to meet new best friends I think we're off to a roaring good start, eh Ward?"

Tesra was right, she realized a few moments later after Gabriel White had laid out his interesting scheme, though not in the way she expected. So that's why all of these criminals were here, Tesra realized. The Federation wanted to take all of them and put them on some strike team as an alternative to serving out their life sentences. Callum obviously didn't care for the idea at all, but Tesra had to admit the idea was appealing. Tesra quite enjoyed the dangerous double life she once lived, and the chance to do it legally was a very tempting offer indeed. Sure it would most likely be extremely dangerous and there had to be some sort of catch to such a nice deal, but still...

"I'm sorry Mr. White," Tesra's new best friend said sweetly, "But I see no reason for me to take up this offer. I've barely three years left to serve. Why should I put myself in the line of fire for the Federation?"

"Yeah, how could you pressure a poor innocent girl like this into such a dangerous situation. Shame on you!" Tesra echoed in mocking parental tones.

"Miss Larrson," Mr. White replied with a smile, "You may currently be incarcerated on relatively minor charges, but the Federation has reason to suspect you've been acting as freelance mercenary for some time. I seem to recall your name mentioned in regards to some stolen weaponry which was sold to the Andorians. Weaponry which led to wide spread destruction across Federation protected planets. One might call that an act of war, Miss Larrson."

"Whoah-ho," Tesra said admirably, giving Larrson a surprised look. "Larrson's packing heat!" This was going to go even better then she had hoped, the joking Lanun concluded. She was about to make an offhand comment to a redhead as a joke before a commotion sounded outside the room and the elusive final member of the party seemed to make his arrival. And make his arrival he did. Tesra felt her jaw involuntarily drop as the rather large prisoner found his way into the room, blue scales gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. She was no xenobiologist, but with muscles and scales like that he could only be a Gorgas, and a particularly tough one by the looks of it.

"Oh my," Tesra and Larrson chorused as one.

"You are fantastic."

"You are BIG."

---

"Name's One-Arm, I don't think I recognize you. That means you're either very good or very bad at what you do." Jesse said from beside him. Reaver didn't look his way, giving a casual but hard stare at Callum and Scarleth while they sat across from him. His arms were crossed, hands over a few scars along his skin. He knew who they were, and if he had met them a year previous they would be on his 'to kill' list.

Finally he glanced to Jesse, but the man had already looked away by that point, and Reaver shrugged. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up nonchalantly, closing his eyes and not really caring what was going on around him. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, but hey, whatever happens happens.

Mr. White walked into the room and gave his whole speech while Reaver was still keeping the appearance of being too tired to care. Truthfully he listened to every word, but his appearance wasn't a full lie. He didn't really think it was worth listening to in the long run, at least until he heard the whole thing. In true criminal fashion, his supposed 'comrades' began to question the old man on about everything.

He let out a small grin as he listened to them. They were much more predictable than he had originally thought, which means if he ever did have to take them out, he'd simply need tried and true methods of execution. The others he noted as well. Henri Lawrson, he'd heard of her. Tesra... Finally, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. He put his pinky in his ear and began digging around in there, looking like he was just awoken from a nice sleep unexpectedly. "Listen Mr. White, as much as I'd love to go and kill people, it's kinda hard to listen on an empty stomach. You got any food 'round here?"

"The catch is the explosive microchip inside of your brains. You've all had a 'routine' medical examination within the last two weeks, you all received a shot during that. It was with this operation in mind. If you 'act of line', then a switch is flipped and your head explodes like a ripe watermelon against concrete. It's a bit messy but it gets the point across." Warden Hardying said as he answered Jesse's question, and Scarleth's for Mr. White, a cruel smile on his face. The business suit wearing man gave the Warden a look, he didn't exactly want to reveal that information at this moment.

"The Warden is correct, that microchip will explode if you go out of line. But I must state that we do not want to go to that extreme, you are all skilled individuals whom we do not wish to kill unless there is no way around it. Consider it an absolute final resort," White said with a glance around the table. Callum was not the least bit surprised at the bombshell announcement, he almost expected something like that from the Feds. "As long as you do your missions to the best of your abilities when you receive them, then the topic of the microchips will never come up again."

His eyes were upon Jackal as the being entered the room, it was an impressive creature. He was glad that plenty of precautions were put in place. It was not a dumb animal, it was an intelligent being, so Mr. White gave a nod of acknowledgement as the Gorgas took his seat as the table. Callum was not that shocked by the sight of Jackal, he had heard of that species before and had seen stranger things in his travels around the galaxy.

"You won't be fighting alongside the Federation, you are a special operations team. Your existence is a secret. The explosive chips wired into each of your heads are the catch. The Federation has done its research, we highly doubt any of you would try to kill each other on your missions. You will all value your freedom too highly to do such a thing." He stated with a smirk.

"There is plenty of food on the Gladius, we have stocked enough to last you for years. There are also ot-" Mr. White's words were interrupted by an alarm loudly sounding as a red light flashed in the room. The Warden stared at the alarm, then at the device on his wrist as he receive an urgent message. Prisoner cells across the station had suddenly come open. A good old fashion prison riot was about to occur, involving many of the most dangerous beings in the galaxy.

"Mr. White, take these prisoners to the Gladius. There's an emergency situation in the facility, I fear a riot is about to occur. You four, help escort this group to the vessel, you two follow me." The Warden stated then popped of his seat as he exited the room, the guards in the room exchanging looks of surprise as two following Hardying out. Mr. White had a look of shock on his face which he exchanged with the other business suit clad man.

"These type of things always happen at the worst times. All of you, follow me, we're going to the ship, now. I highly recommend against joining the rioters, the Gladius is one of the only two ways off of this station. The Warden won't take this situation lightly. I won't either." White warned as he exited the room. Noise hit him as soon as he left it, screams, gunshots, sounds of brutal action.

The entire prison outside of the small meeting room had descended into pure chaos. Prisoners stormed out of their now unbarred cells as the force-fields keeping them inside all dissipated at the same time. Many thought they were hallucinating at such a sight. They were not, it was real. As soon as the convicts were freed they assaulted nearby guards, primitive shanks tore through their armor. Defeated bodies of dead guards laid around the cells. The prisoners also fought amongst themselves, an unlucky amount were ganged up upon for various reasons. Old feuds reignited in a time of pure chaos and prisoners who had ratted out their fellow inmates were brutally beaten.

The rest seemed to band up with themselves as they were freed from their confinement. Smiles were on all of their faces, violence was something many of them enjoyed. Guards had sprinted to the armories as they armed themselves with the emergency equipment, heavy armors, shotguns, gas grenades. Fear was in many of their minds as they were forced to defend themselves against some of the worst people in the galaxy, all of whom were very angry. Warden Hardying had dashed back towards his quarters as he frantically assessed the situation. A repeating message blared over the intercom.

"Prisoners, return to your cells immediately. Rioters will be shown no mercy."

One of the most spectacular scenes could be seen at the far end of a hallway from the meeting room. A dozen guards moved towards a cell block as prisoners prepared for a charge. The twelve guards clenched huge metallic riot shields, in each of their other hands they had ignited shock batons which glowed a shimmering blue. Above them more guards leaned over the railing as they aimed rifles loaded with shock rounds at the prisoners. The convicts had no fear in their eyes, they greatly outnumbered the guards, they stepped over the dead bodies spread around the block, others simply stomped through them.

A large tattooed man stood in front of the pack, his chest was covered in blood, anger in his blue eyes. He rose a fist and screamed a terrifying noise, the prisoners behind him followed the exclamation as they all charged towards the shielded guards. Boots smacked against the metal floor as the mob rushed the scared men, time seemed to slow as they got closer. Then they all collided, bodies sickeningly bounced like bowling balls into pins. Bones broke and fractured as the huge group clashed, one of the guards' baton shot backwards as he was trampled by the prisoners. Another one had his shield wrestled away from him. Above the guards fired into the mob, just hoping to thin them out. It was no use, there were too many outraged convicts. What had been a dozen guards quickly turned to nothing as the enraged prisoners tore them to shreds. Blood stained the floors as the prisoners advanced.

"This way, come on!" Mr. White exclaimed as watched the scene unfold with fear in the back of his mind. He had a way off this station, his ship was docked right next to the Gladius. The docks were not that far away.

---

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---

Scarleth nodded curtly, processing the information. It was what she expected, of course, but she couldn't have been more pleased. From the description, she doubted that an AI had been tasked with deciding when to set off the bombs. That was a choice made by a sentient being. As the expression went, human error already weakened the system. A being was far easier to exploit than a machine, making her eventual escape all the more possible. She smiled, her face the textbook definition of gorgeous, while her soul was the definition of malevolent.

Scarleth raised an eyebrow. As much as she would have loved to crush a few skulls, it wasn't the time. Now was the time to act subdued and compliant, to be the loyal bitch that Mr. White needed. Already mourning the missed opportunity to isolate Hardying from the other guards, and then instruct her fellow inmates to each grab a limb and pull in various directions, Scarleth followed White, a vacant expression on her face. To express emotion was to allow the enemy to see you. To be seen was to be vulnerable. To be vulnerable was to be destroyed.

Glancing towards the opposite end of the hall, Scarleth took in the scene as twelve guards were pummeled thoroughly, the prisoners trampling them. Elated, it was all Scarleth could do to not go in and join the other rioters. Some violence was in order. She craved it. The feeling of blood, of knowing that she had taken a life. It was like she became a god, deciding who was worthy of life.

"Yes, sir," Scarleth replied to Mr. White, tearing her gaze away, and following him still. In her mind, she could see herself take Mr. White hostage, demanding the controls to the bombs. Once obtaining them, she would execute her fellow prisoners -- perhaps not the more humorous ones, but certainly Callum -- and use one of the ships to escape. Scarleth deduced that the Federation wouldn't give their undercover group a ship easily tracked.

However, now was not the time. There were too many flaws in the plan, too many holes. She would find her escape later. For now, it was time to comply. She continued to walk forward, only for a Vaxir to approach her, roaring. The prisoner charged at her, and in the blink of an eye, it found itself sprawled on the ground. Scarleth had flipped it effortlessly, slamming it down, and walking over it as she continued on her way.

Scarleth didn't bat an eye.