There was blood on the floor. Blood on the doors. Blood on the walls. Blood on the windows. Death had made its presence known. The rotting corpses lay mangled in the corridor, going on for as far as the eyes could see. This wasn't a war, a small conflict, a brawl or even a small fight. Only one side had substantial fatalities. This was an extermination. And he was too late to stop it.

Luc LeMarsh stood solemnly in the doorway. He crouched down beside one of the bodies. He lifted up its arm and pulled back the bullet-hole ridden, bloodied sleeve. A single tattoo was imprinted on the deceased's wrist: the Gallic Junker Familia insignia. Luc sighed.

Once again, his kin would dwindle even more. Even after the initial massacre, the Union Corse was still determined to crack down on any remaining members of the Familia. Fortunately for Luc, his status as a Privateer and recent elevation into the GRN kept him mildly safe from the UC assassins. This was not enough comfort for his tastes though, and he still slept with a pistol under his pillow.

He got up and walked back into the hangar. In due time, the assailants would pay for what they've done. But for now, Luc would venture back into the dark reaches of space and continue his search for survivors. Before stepping into his Wrecker he lit up his last cigarette. Its warmth reminded him of when his father took him on a tour of this station and through the smelting plants. It was the only time he didn't feel alone.

Planet Orleans

The Wrecker glided next to the Manor House. The heavy rain pounded against the metal hull, like a drum. Soon, the murmur of engines came to a halt, the ship doors hummed and clicked, before opening. Luc stepped out, obscured by his dark coat, his boots making a splash as he descended. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. But before he could even begin smoking a raindrop snubbed it out. "Psh..." he muttered, throwing the cigarette to the floor before proceeding to the entrance of the house.

He slowly pushed the large oak doors open. It was unlocked, as it had always been since the attack. Stepping into the large hall, he absorbed the scenery. Vases lay smashed, furniture had been torn up and the carpets had been ripped. Light shone through the shattered windows and illuminated the dried patches of blood on the floor. He turned to a portrait of his family - his father, mother and sister - that was still defiantly pinned to the wall. Alas, bullet holes and cuts from a blade had infringed upon the beauty of the work. To an Art dealer, it would be useless. But to Luc, it was sentimental. It reminded him of better times. He took a moment to gaze at the painting. Reflecting on what it meant to be a LeMarsh, and the price they had to pay. A tear rolled down his face.