As you walk into the bar, the steady rythm of the air conditioning creates a low hum in the room.

The bar runs along one wall, and the window looks straight out at the badlands. The low hum of quiet conversation fills the room, blaster marks on the walls. A large bouncer demands you relinquish your weapons.

At one table in the corner of the room sits a Syndicate representative, instantly recognisable from his crisp suit and greased hair.

The bartender, A short man with a limp and an impressive scar on his nose glances at you as you arrive, quickly looking back to the glasses he is cleaning.

Daniel Ryan sauntered into the bar, barely anyone looked up from thier drinks or conversations. The Syndicate presense on Buffalo was becoming almost commonplace now, the rogues were becoming used to the designer suits and arrogance of the wealthy mobsters.

After all, the wealth spread around as long as they were there, and the drugs were cheaper.

"Hunter on the rocks for me bartender, and a round for all the patrols when they get in." Daniel leaned against the bar, surveying his surroundings. This is the kind of people we need around us, he thought, people who will do anything for the drugs and money that we have.

// this is an RP bar for anyone who docks at buffalo base, rogues, hackers, outcasts. it also serves as the Liberty Syndicate recruiting thread, please make all posts in RP. thanks //

Sayne sighed and walked into the bar, heading straight for the bar. He pulled his insulator for his fighter helmet out from around his head and flopped it down on the bar next to the drink he had just ordered. He downed the cup quickly and threw it back on the counter.

"Another." Sayne said through the groggyness of his voice.

"You ok Sayne? Rough contact?" the bartender said smiling.

"You have no idea, chased the bugger through Magellan into California, through Texas, and eventually when he thought he lost me, I came through the New York Jumphole and scattered his ship across a mile wide diameter...a cool million. Not much, but hell, it's something. Another million towards being a billionare."

"That's the spirit Sayne." he said setting another drink next to me. "I heard of another target for you that just popped up on the board, the guys are paying five million cool one's for him, might want to get in contact with them." he said with a wink.

"That's why I like you man, your old Mercenary style still hangs in even after you've long retired. Thanks for the info, I'm going to chill out here for a while though...need to rest my legs and arms a bit after that last one, he was tough to catch."

He smiled and walked away. I looked around the bar and noticed a few faces I recognized and a few others I didn't, one of them being a man surveying the bar around him as I was. I got up slowly and walked over to him, sitting down next to him.

"Evening, I trust you're having a good day?" I asked.

Daniel lit another cardi-tip.

The week had not gone so well, he had lost contact with his navy mole, and the patrols were getting more frequent, and always in the wrong place.

"Two shots of arranmor whisky, wait, make that three." The bartender gave him a grunt and lined up his shots.

The burning in his throat was good, felt like it woke him up.

"When my sister gets here, tell her to meet us in the office." The barman nodded.

"Barkeep! Double rum, neat. And keep em coming!" I said loudly.
The barkeeper glared at me a minute, then I guess he saw what kind of mood I was in.
Drink in hand, I picked a booth in the corner. Nice to have your back against the wall, eyes on the door. The Rogues are pretty friendly to us Junkers, but only to a point. I don't trust any of em.
The rum felt good burning down my throat.....I started to sip my second one and reflect on the past 24 hours of my miserable life.
My ship is gone...blasted away by some trader armored transport...the "Hector Norweb " I believe was it's callsign. *sigh*
Well, I can't blame the trader now can I? I was desperate for credits...the higher ranking Junkers at Beaumont have been hoarding all the locations of decent scrap....ah the hell with it.
Anyway, as luck would have it, the only ship in the vicinity willing to pick me up was a blasted Rogue gunboat. He refused to drop me anywhere but here due to "security reasons". Whatever.
Now I have to bide my time in this wretched bar on this wretched piece of rock until my brother Nick picks me up. And he's in Omega-15.
"Drinks on me!"

Alexi Venturious stepped inside the dim lighting of the bar and immediately felt reassured by the heavy weight of the Tomvase 450 pistol sitting comfortably in it's armpit holster. he knew from experience that you could never be too safe, and it was better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. several times he had been caught out and he had the scars to show from it, and particularly a place as rough as this it would always help out.

a quick glance confirmed all that he needed to know. the syndicate was here... oh well, that was no surprise and there was the usual mix of rogues, junkers and other riffraff which suited him perfectly. it had been a long time since he had served in anything resembling of the law, and several years in the slammer in the worse pens of Sugarland was enough to take away most of one's humanity.

not including his several run in's with the nomads...

without even a further glance around he saddled over to the bar, receiving an acknowledging nod from the barkeep as he poured a shot of synthetic vodka into his glass. he had been here a few times. just enough for the barkeep to know who he was and what he liked, but not enough that he couldn't blend into the shadows when required. he found that camouflage was always the best bet for survival, and when that didn't work, speed and firepower, in that order. that's why his Slipstream was still sitting comfortably in the hanger undergoing repairs from the last foolhardy attempt of LPI trying to bring him back in.

downing his second shot he felt the burning sensation flow right through his veins, filling him with the slight contentment that it always did. he'd hang here for a bit, at least until his ship was all good. might give him enough time to rustle up some work or something.

The barkeep had my drink ready soon after he saw me.
"There ya go Junker! Keep 'em coming?"
"Indeed" I replied. He remembered the large tip from last time.
Ah rum, the reason I still dock here. The Rogues are far cheaper than anyone in Sirius, especially those blasted Bretonians. I usually buy a case now when I'm here, hell....they don't even sell the stuff in Kusari space. I can put up with the Rogues for that at least.
My fortunes have turned for the better since I was stranded here several visits ago. My brother Nick finally made it here from Omega-15 and gave me a quite large amount of credits to replace my ship. I asked where he came into such money, and I still smile at his response:
"From several traders sympathetic to the Junker plight." Gotta love those traders.
Since then, I have come into possesion of a Pirate Transport, as "lawfuls" call it, but it was hard going to even get to the location of the shipyard where it is built. I nearly died several times on that journey, but it was well worth the effort.
Aside from one unfortunate incident with the =LSF=, I have begun to see profits climb, as I deliver certain "materials" to clients across Sirius. They do indeed pay well for my services. Hence, my generous tipping.
Settled comfortably in my usual booth, I notice two corporate types waltz in and sidle up to the bar. No not corporate, they are a bit too flashy for that. Must be a couple of those Syndicate blokes I've heard talk of.
Not one to take chances, I rest my hand on the butt of my blaster...ready for the worst if they approach me.

Alexi flashed a winning grin as he placed his hand down, revelling in the sudden look of distaste and defeat on his company's features. There was an audible curse, almost physical in its very nature but if there was ever a better excuse for such incredibly harsh language, then this moment was it.

A completely confident grin creased Alexi's face, curling up the corner of his mouth as he announced his hand of a complete royal flush, the very hand that had just guaranteed and made him the proud owner of his very own Gunship. Built by the Lane Hackers, and filled with that much advanced tech that had been stolen from Algeria Technologies he knew that this game of poker was more than worth the risk involved.

His gaming partners, a small group of seven men each glanced between themselves, sharing a mixture of grins and friendly jibes towards their losing companion and the briefest of hostile stares at Alexi. Each one was dressed in the matt-grey flight suits of the Lane Hackers, which seemed to blend into the shadows of this far corner of the 'Hole'. Alexi's own flight suit was a complete midnight black, rendering him almost invisible in his seats as he sat in the very corner of the booth, back into the wall in such a position where he could see the entirety of the Bar. Even in such relaxed conditions he could not afford to have a lapse in his own self protection.

With a look at his winning hand, his gaming partner, a tall but slim Hacker with an ocular implant for a left eye scowled and threw his own hand into the centre. With a glance it confirmed the bluff that his opponent had been pushing to the hilt, even going as far as raising the stakes until their ships had been placed down onto the table themselves.

Cursing, the Hacker glared at Alexi with his remaining organic eye, his ocular module emitting several whirring clicks as it focused. There was distaste in his expression; the look of hated defeat but there was still enough honour shared among the group that this would not just get ignored and backed away from.

"Beginners luck." he spat, downing a shot of cheap alcohol in a single gulp.

"I've been in this business a lot longer than you Adams." Alexi scooped up the small pile of hard credits and smiled at his defeated opponent. "It's not too bad though. You mightn't have your gunship, but at least you know get to kick around in my Slipstream."

There was a low growl from Adams as his expression showed how he felt about that idea. Pouring another shot for himself and sharing the bottle around through the rest of his fellow Hackers he glared back at Alexi. "Normally I wouldn't have let you go ahead and take off with my baby just like that, but you did save our arses out there today. Just how did you know that there was a Navy Patrol out and about? It was like you knew that they were coming and what they were going to do."

"That's despite the fact he took down two of those bombers single-handedly boss." one of the other's piped up helpfully.

"Indeed." Adams ignored the statement, and his feelings towards Alexi showed a little more than just respect. Those bombers were the only things capable of taking on his gunship, and he knew it.
"Just how did you know they were there?" he asked inquisitively.

"As you said before;" with a smile Alexi poured another shot of Sythnetic Vodka down his throat without flinching. "Beginner's luck."

"I'll bet. Oh, I forgot to mention before. I hope you have Organic Uplink Ports, otherwise the 'Buckshot' is going to be completely useless to you." with a cruel smile that betrayed the fact that Adams thought that Alexi had noting of the sort, he turned his head to the side and pulled back the hood of his flight suit, revealing the gleaming metal jack-ports sutured into the very bone of his skull to allow direct linking into the very ship itself through the Neural Net. It was way more advanced than most pilots and companies out in Sirus, but the Lane Hackers had the Capability for such things

"Without them, it seems that you have just won a ship that you cannot fly..." he sneered, looking into Alexi's Eyes for the slightest hint of emotion.

Instead all he got was a soft chuckle. "That would've been a problem indeed." he said confidently, reaching up and pulling back a short section of hair, to reveal that he too had the same implants.

As one the Hackers seated around the table opened their mouths in astonishment. Not only did this Rogue Pirate have the same high tech implants, but they were obviously a more advanced and a much better standard compared to theirs. They were the greatest tech pirates in all of sirus if one discounted the Order, and Alexi obviously hadn't recieved such technological marvels from them...

"What the Fu-" Adams stammered, staring uncomprensibly at Alexi as he stood to leave, throwing several credits onto the table to pay for his drinks.

"I thank you for your company Gentlemen." Alexi said, cutting Adams off mid-curse. "Safe flying and if you ever need a hand, you know how to contact me"

Without even a look back at the fuming Hacker he trundled over to the bar, dropping off a sizeable tip to the bartender who nodded his respect to the Rogue Pirate. He been coming here for quite some time now, and he could almost be counted as a part of the Bar itself now whenever he wasn't off 'working' somewhere. It would take a while for the ship transfer to be completed and all of his gear transferred over to his brand new fully-automated hacker Gunship. But in the end this day had been incredibly worth the effort...

Robert Fitzgerald stumbled into the bar area. Small patches of charcoal could be seen on his face and clothing. Blood streamed down his left arm, from several medium-sized cuts. As this was the Hell Hound Hole, the mercenary's appearance didn't surprise anyone.

The barkeep yelled out to Robert: "You'd be wanting a Liberty ale, right?"

There was no reply from the injured man. Using some of his fading strength, Robert struggled over to one of the unoccupied booths. A quick fall later, he was on the floor.

"Need any help there, Mr. Fitzgerald?"

Collin Baxter, a secretive Junker, gave Robert his hand. He lifted him up and helped him over his shoulder to the booth.

"So, what happened here Robert? Did those Bounty Hunters get you again?"

"No, it's a long story..."

Halfway to the exit out of the bar Alexi suddenly froze in place, his instincts lighting up warning lights all through his skull. Something was terribly wrong, and it wasn't just from the bleeding figure of the Merc that had gotten his attention. Several of the Bar's Patrons were staring curiously in his direction, but there was no overwhelming need or desire for them to move to the man's aid.
His eyes scanned the room, sifting through the shadows lining the walls and seeking out the faces of those seated in them. His mind was now screaming, almost filling his head with the wail of klaxons and he found himself lowering into a defensive position without consciously realising it.
A gleam of gunmetal sparked from the darkness, only a few meters away from his position near the door and he immediately threw himself to the ground behind the nearest table. With a roar of primeval fury the handgun discharged, its enormous barrel erupting in smoke and flame as it spat its payload into its soft target.
Surprisingly Alexi still found himself alive after the first burst from the automatic handgun, his combat attuned mind already realising that the gun wielding thug wasnt actually aiming for him. It seemed that he had just been caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that the blood streaked Merc was the target this time around.
Streaming rage and indignation in almost physical form the gunman stormed across the floor of the bar, his enormous autopistol spitting a furious stream of solid slugs into the booth that had once been occupied by the wounded Merc. Wood splintered, chair stuffing was blasted apart into clouds of white puff and the air was filled with the smell of split alcohol, burnt metal and cordite.
Within seconds, the bar had erupted into chaos, Pirates, Smugglers, Mercenaries and the other various Unlawfuls occupying it had immediately ducked into cover, drawing concealed weapons and firearms that they had smuggled in past the bars bouncer and drawing beads on whoever they deemed to be a threat, a source of the firing, or just whoever was closest at the time.
Within those long two seconds Alexi had found himself almost laying in between the armed gunman and the booth that he was almost casually shredding with his firepower. So far no one else had fired back or fired at anyone else and he knew that unless someone stopped this lunatic the entire place would turn into a slaughterhouse.
Without hesitation he rose to his feet, moving gracefully and in a blur to the eye drawing his own powerful Tomvase Pistol from its holster under his left arm. It was his own personal piece, taken from an Algeria Shipment from Detroit Munitions several months ago and he knew that there werent many like that in the open market, let alone in the hands of a pirate like himself. It was a massive calibre handgun, with enough stopping power to punch through armour plate, and would blow apart a man with a well placed shot.
With a roar that drowned out the gunmans own smaller autopistol the Tomvase bucked in his hand, launching its enormous round and blasting a fist sized hole through the mans chest. In a puff of pink mist the round punched through his opponent, tearing out of his back in a gout of blood and continuing on until it buried itself deep in the metal plating of the bar wall. A second shot followed, matching its twin only a few centimetres difference and causing the gunman to stagger slightly even with the twin craters in his chest.
For several seconds the entire bar was hushed into silence, and Alexi stood there staring in shock as the gunman turned and looked in his direction. Every person in the bar had been shocked into silence by the enormous bark of his Tomvase, but they all now positively remain shocked in their positions as the unknown gunman seemed to ignore the incapacitating wounds to his chest. Most normal men wouldve been thrown to the ground by the massive rounds from Alexis pistol, but instead it seemed like the shooter was completely immune to pain and injury.
With a glance Alexi saw that he mightve bitten off more than he could chew. The gunmans eyes were whirlpools of red, veins distended from his forehead and throat constricted; sure signs of a massive overdose of combat stimulants and enhancement drugs. Alexi knew that there was a lot on the market that could enhance the human body to superhuman levels, but on the black market He didnt want to think about how much punishment someone could take and dish out on such enhancements.
Roaring with hate the shooter turned his weapon away from the destroyed booth where the Junker and the Merc somehow remained miraculously alive under the table, and turned it right onto Alexi. Once more it roared, a single three round burst that totally missed the dodging pirate, the rounds sizzling through the air like angry hornets and blasting apart a shelf of liquor behind the cringing barman in a shower of mingling liquids and glass fragments.
Alexi knew that the only chance against such an adversary was to get in close, to get into arms reach of his attacker and finish him off. He had more than enough up his sleeve to win this fight, and provided that no one else in the bar decided to open up he had a chance to get out of this with his skin intact. So far no one else looked like they were willing to get caught up in this, so it looked like he might be in the clear in that respect.
Ducking under a clumsy punch from the drugged up shooter he lashed out like a snake, thudding his fist directly into the mans solar plexus with enough force to knock him back and smash the oxygen out of his lungs. A second blow followed that was a blur to the eye that struck with a machine like precision into the gunmans side, directly under the armpit and there was an audible crunch of bone splintering under the attack. Now, winded, bleeding from two massive craters in his chest that had obviously blown apart everything in the right side of his chest and with four ribs broken completely, the gunman started showing signs of tiring. With each strike, Alexi forced the man back, shattering bones and smashing organs with techniques that no pirate shouldve ever known. His history floated to the surface, and with each strike he brought up more of his past, of his training and of his previous life.
With a roar of hate and anguish he suddenly let it all out, lashing out with a savage combination of strikes that shattered the gunmans kneecap, broke his gun arm in two different places and punched his trachea in with a crunch of cartridge. Gurgling through a blocked windpipe the gunman dropped to the ground with a thud, his crippled limbs buckling under the damage and forcing his head down to the level of Alexis heavy jackboots.
Scowling, Alexi looked down on his defeated foe, seeing how the drug haze still burned fiercely in his eyes and made his body ignore the pain and the crippling injuries that had been dealt to it. Without even the slightest remorse he lifted his boot as he might over an insect, and crushed the gunmans skull with a sickening crunch.

Standing tall over the massive corpse Alexi turned and looked around the bar, seeing his image reflected in two dozen sets of eyes as every pirate and lowlife in the Bar struggled to understand what they had just witnessed. It had only taken less than four seconds for Alexi to draw his own weapon after the first burst, shoot the gunman twice and kill him with his bare hands in a series of lightning fast moves. None, even the most veteran of the hardened criminals and unlawfuls in the bar had ever seen such a thing, and even the Barkeeper seemed shocked at the speed and ruthlessness of the one sided fight.
Alexi ignored them, wiping his messy boot on the cleanest part of the corpses flight suit and glanced over to the wounded Merc and his Junker friend.
You blokes all right? he asked, holstering his Tomvase with a certain flourish as he regarded the shocked looks of the rest of the bar with empathy.

Carlton stared into his drink. Times were hard, and were going to get harder, for a little while at least. He didn`t take any notice of the crowd and they didn`t take any notice of him. Which was just as well really, they way he was feeling he didn`t want anyone to take notice of him. The young man was just really peeved off, lost his ship, lost his money.

"Shouldn`t have gambled." he thought, "I can`t play poker."

The young Liberty Rogue had gambled his Greyhound and his last million credits in a drunken poker match between him and some stupid merc. He was lost in misery, he didn`t even hear the gunshots and the sounds of fighting coming from near the door. He didn`t even look up, didn`t flinch. The drink bought with the last of his credits didn`t even look appealing anymore.

Carlton got up and walked through the crowd only then noticing how quiet it had got. Everyone was staring at a guy near the door.

"You blokes alright?" the figure said.

The body on the floor covered in blood took Carltons attention.

"Hey thats the guy who beat me at poker." exclaimed Carlton moving over to the body.

Bending down Carlton rifled through the pockets and found a credit token for a couple of thousand credits. No one took any notice of him stealing the dead mans money, they were too busy nursing their apparant shock at the event that had just happened.

"That`ll do for starters." thought Carlton.

The thought of buying a new ship and the long arduous journey of filling it with silver to build up his balance to replace his Greyhound filled his head.

"Mum," he thought, "I won`t be coming home for a bit longer."

Carlton left, credit card in his pocket. Walking the corridors toward the shipyard where he was going to buy a cheap ship, he bumped into a Rogue officer.

"Hey Carlton, " the officer said, "I got a presen for ya." The officer threw something toward him.

Carlton caught it and stared at it. It was a module block.

"Whats this?"

"Its your 5 million creds you doofus, go cash it in and get your ship sorted out..." said the officer sauntering in the general direction of the bar.

"Who`s this from?" asked Carlton in disbelief.

"Someone by the callsign Battle or something, I don`t know. Probably did you a favor, you know how the boss is so busy and everything. See ya later..."

Carlton could not believe his luck. He thought he was never going to get his busary, now he wouldn`t have to go spend a month mining silver in the copperton field. He thought he`d give the credit he got off the dead merc to one of the children charites the rogues were running.

Today was going to be a great day.

The first shot hit my glass. Instinctively my blaster was out and I began to scan from left to right.
Several more shots and then.....silence, save for the running and yelling that ensued. What the hell just happened?
A dead guy on the floor in a pool of gore, and an apparently very dangerous man standing over him, asking if everyone was alright. People stampeding through the narrow exit, or cowering behind upended tables. That is what I saw. I remember wondering if I had passed out or something. I began checking myself for wounds.
Nothing.
"You're still alive....don't worry, Junker" said a voice over my shoulder.
I turned around....and pointed my blaster right between his eyes. He appeared to be a pilot of some sort, judging from the tattered flight suit he was wearing. The arms of the suit bore several faded patches,military insignia it seemed....but none that I recognized. I didn't see any weapon near him or on him. To top it all off, he was grinning at me.
"Identify yourself ....and don't even think about reaching for anything" I said. My finger tightened around the trigger of the blaster.
"Relax Paul, your brother sent me...he said you would be suspicious. I am not armed...see?"
I tried to place the accent,but couldn't. My brother indeed.
"I'll say it one more time...identify yourself...NOW!" I pulled the trigger and his comm array vanished off of his belt in a shower of sparks.
"OKAY! Sheesh...I didn't know you were this bad" he replied hands raised,"My name is Carlos Mendoza, I pilot the fighter the Jack of Spades, I am a mercenary...what else do you want?"
"Who sent you?" I growled.
"I told you already, your brother Nick..."
I glared at him.
"Nina, Pinta..." I practically whispered.
"Santa Maria" he replied. I thought he was going to faint.
I holstered my blaster.
"Sit down Mr.Mendoza" I said curtly, gesturing to my booth in the empty bar.
He sat, I asked, and this is what he told me........

It had been a long day.
`Stupid fool, waddya go play the hero for. I need a drink. I need several drinks`

Carlton went to the bar, ordered five strong cardi-cokes and sat down. The bar lady came over with the cokes. "Wheres your friends?" asked the lady bringing the cokes. She`s nice thought Carlton. `Stop it.` he told himself.

The first three cokes went down in seconds. The others Carlton stared at them. Two left, he knew if he drunk the other two as quick, he would be on the floor. He was missing home. He was missing his mum. Young, stupid and dangerous he was. He hadn`t contacted his mum in two months.

The yound rogue rubbed his eyes. It wasn`t tiredness, it was the strain. He was feeling the strain. Losing his father cut him up, and he had been so busy he`d forgot all about his mum. `She doesn`t know. God, she doesn`t even know.`

Being so busy, Carlton never sent a message to his mum telling her of his fathers death at the hands of Liberty scumbags.

Coke number four went down like a shot. Number five hit the back of the throat before number four had a chance to go hit the bottom.

Ten minutes later he`d passed out on the table, snoring loudly.

Axton put his feet up on the table and leaned back. A warm, though thoroughly mediocre meal sat in his belly with a mug of watered wine. He'd decided to go with a decent drink instead of having the cooks attempt an honest meal out of the ration paste most of the rogue pilots lived on. He was safe for the moment. A few mix ups happened outside Buffalo every day, but nothing he'd been asked to get involved with. It had been days since the Rogue prisoner rescue on Manhattan and his exodus from LPI controlled space. The boss hadn't gotten back to him yet, but he was patient. The Rogues weren't taking it any easier on the police than they would have if he were out in a bloodhound. He accessed his net account again and went over his supplies and equipment, as well as funds. No big deal. This was all giving him time to gather info, like knowledge of other pirate allies and the atrocities of the corporations and government officials from all over Sirius. About the only people who didn't piss him off lately were the Bretonians. After giving concessions to the Mollys and cooperating with their wish for independence, the only major presence that bothered him in that cluster was BMM and the Corsairs. He wasn't going to make a point to go after either yet, but he wouldn't hesitate to rough up any BMM executive transports that passed his way.

He let out a slight sigh as his food settled. He hadn't seen either of the pilots from before since he landed. He rather wanted to go out for a jaunt with them and do some actual Rogue-ing. He huffed slightly and got up. In only 2 minutes he'd worked himself into a need for action. Without any other orders, he decided he better head out on an unofficial patrol to work it out of his system.

Rudo spat out the rest of his chew into his requested extra cup, his drink finally having arrived.

It had been a good day. Running the Hudson gauntlet of Liberty forces, ferrying industrial supplies, military goods and intel between sides. Tensions were rising, and such things were needed. He'd flown in Rheinlanders from Liberty who'd had enough of the rising tensions and threats of segregation. How would anyone know if there were people among them who knew important things about Liberty's military capacity and weaknesses?

From Rheinland he picked up a cache of weapons, both ship-mounted and ground assault. Mercenary arms dealers, who themselves wanted Rheinland to go to war again. They'd profited immensely during the Nomad struggle and wanted another such payday. He was happy to know such men -- as a prince among morally bankrupt capitalists, he knew how to manipulate his own kind. They went along with anything with the promise of personal profit and were immensely easy to betray when the time was right.

He himself kept the camera on his ship running full-time in Rheinland, idly poking along the outskirts of the trade lanes, recording patrol routes and counting ships.

Both sides paid well. Neither house knew of the other's bargain with him. Two fat contracts, and the dagger was ready for when the relationship stopped being profitable and the risks of potential enemies outweighed the benefits of an immense payday.

If his hard work paid off, both sides would start their advances in earnest, and they would need supplies and intel even more. Who better than the Junkers to provide such a service... for a modest fee of course? And if it didn't, like he said; the dagger was ready. Those who would have the best chance to stop him wouldn't get the chance. He also knew how to disappear. Men like him either knew to disappear, or didn't live very long.

A trio of Rogue patrolmen, unshaven and quivering from their cardamine high, bustled on by, talking three times as fast as one would normally. They went on excitedly about their raid on a convoy, how it had been a success. H-Fuel, engine parts and a slew of prisoners for ransom... and only two wingmen lost.

He took a sip of his drink and scratched at his old wrestling mask. Few knew his real face. Those that knew his face didn't know who he really was. One could calculate from this that the mask was more his face now, than the skin beneath it. Family tradition and it made him a minor celebrity where it profited him.

Rudo, the last luchador.

Rudo, the masked wheelman who had a line in everything.

Rudo, everyone's best friend.

It paid to be everyone's friend. If the day came when it stopped paying to be friendly, then it paid to know their secrets. When that time came, it also paid to have nobody know your true face.

Few knew his face. Nobody talked to him. He liked it that way.

He straightened his tie and tightened the lace on his mask, before quietly signalling for another drink. The tip he'd left on the last one made sure this one came fast.

A good day, indeed.

Walking into the bar, Carlton too a big deep sniff of the air. It was good to be back. The long trip around Sirius took a good month. It was a big place, Sirius, lots to see and lots to do. It was good to be back home though. He ordered a few drinks and was waved over to a table with lots of other rogues sitting around it.

One said, "Hey Carlton, where the heck have you been. You missed the show."

"I been all over Sirius, went exploring, man the sites I `ve seen and the girls I`ve kissed." he told them.

"Oh yeah, we know about the girls you kiss." said another.

"CARLTON, GET YOUR ASS UP TO MY OFFICE - NOOOWW." , the voice of the commanding officer in charge of Buffalo Base was heard above every voice in the bar.

"Oooooo, Carlton, you`re on the mat."

As Carlton left the table, the other rogues grabbed the drinks he left behind, and then they threw chips at his head.

"See ya later Carlton. You doofus. He he."

A smile came over Carlton`s face... Yeah, its good to be back.

A young woman wandered into the bar idly, taking a lazy gander around the room.

"Well this looks pleasant..." The sarcastic remark drifted through her mind.

A few heads turned as she entered the bar. Not every day the riff-raff laid eyes on one so young - or pretty - in the Hell Bound Hole. She was a welcome sight.

A little too welcome.

She wandered up to the bar and plopped down on an empty stool. "Water please." She asked nicely.

The barkeep had to do a double-take. "Aren't you a little young to be in here, Miss?"

"I asked for a water, didn't I?" She replied with a touch of venom.

He cocked an eyebrow fractionally. "Fair enough. You new here?"

The fiery red-headed girl looked up at him. "Yeah, sorry. I just uh... signed up. Name's Draya."


OOC: Hmm... this one isn't too active. Get out the shovels, boys.

A tall man strolled into the doorway. He had a snide expression on his face, with light brown hair covered by a fedora, wearing a slightly-weathered business suit. One cannot look into his eyes, as they are covered by a pair of slight-red-tint glasses.

He shouted across the room "Barkeep!". The response was a beckoning gesture to the bar counter.

"What brings you here, friend?" A bottle of Rogue Rum was placed next to the man's hand.

"I'm not here for the drink today. I need" - he paused midsentence to scan the room.

"...Information"

"i hear you need information." says an outcast pilot sitting a few feet away from him. drinking from a huge tankerd of cardi-cola..
"i might know what you want. how ever,...." he said " it will cost you"

he took another drink of his cardi-cola paid for it. stood up and took a long swig of the bottle of rouge rum. "ahhh" he sighed "good stuff" he handed the bottle to the man.

The dark red bottle was placed back on the table. The man gestured to it, and the Outcast took another swig.

"About this, information. I need to know more about the Liberty Navy. Their pilots, their ships, their tasks. For each appropriate piece of information, I'll reward you."

"I'm needed elsewhere. Here's my card, in case you are interested in my offer."

"I'll be here for a while now. The gunboat's out being repaired - today it had a few holes poked into it. The culprits were Xenos this time - they were much more organised than I had expected."

The bartender sighed softly and poured another glass of Rogue Rum for the patron.

"You know, you could maybe take a rest from all the fighting. There's other ways to make money you know."

"I chose this life. My legs hurt, from that damned cramped escape pod, my eyes are tired from looking at HUD screens, and you know how much I hate gathering identification evidence for the Boss. However, I enjoy it overall, contrary to what I say in my drinking sessions. The combat is thrilling, the work is dirty and I just love to see explosions."

"If you say so, friend."

"While the Gunboat's being repaired, I might as well make some improvements to it. Some extra armour, I think, will be best. Thanks for the Rum. Send the bill to the Boss."

Young woman (Linda) enters the pub, lookouts and after standing few minutes sits down in corner table.
Few people recognizes her from TV, start to chatter.
She sits in corner and talking something to herself...