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The first to walk in is a tall, slender and definitely feminine figure. After seeing a mysterious message left by what she could only call a ghost from the past, Sofia Celio made way to that deserted corner of Trafalgar she knew so well. If this were a joke, it would seem rather tasteless, but something told her this wasn't the case. Call it instinct, or perhaps intuition.

One could say the past few years had been kind to her. While the rest of Sirius was plunged into disarray she lived the high life, having made use of her womanly charms to seduce and marry a rich and influential Cambridge professor under a false name. Even she couldn't keep up the farce for long, however, and before long the Bretonian Police were frantically searching for one Amelie Willshire, the murderer who robbed half the Cambridge intellectuals blind, a mysterious person who had seemingly vanished into thin air. With her accounts several millions heavier Sofia wandered Bretonia as a fugitive for a while, eventually ending back in Trafalgar after spending herself into a corner.

Now she stood at the entrance, staring dumbfounded. Amidst the dirty abandoned pub stood the Captain himself, holding onto a bottle of booze.

“Well I'll be damned... And here I thought it was just another of those hacker kiddies poking fun.”-she said, laughing heartily.

She finally puts a foot inside and strides into the Bay in her usual, overconfident manner. Looks like things will be getting lively real soon.

Morgan sets down the bottle. He considered offering Sofia a drink, but he knew that nobody else could stand the foul brew he was drinking. That's why it got left behind when the old Bay was abandoned.

"Sofia, glad ye could make it. We've got a start here, but between you and me we aren't exactly a force to be reckoned with. Hopefully some o' the others get the call and show up."

The call had gone out. The capt'n had resurface. The call had gone out. Times had changed, and Sirius was the worse for it. Bretonia had changed the most - or not at all, depending on who you asked. One war had been swapped for another, with enemies becoming allies and allies being swept away by the tides of enmity. Despite this, one variable remained constant; crime. There would always be crime, in Bretonia and further afield. The Buccaneers had perished as a space-bourne enterprise, but... The call had gone out.

The door was pushed open again, and the hulking figure of John Morris shouldered its way through. Largely machine rather than man, Morris had more augmented mechanical parts than biological ones. Added to his towering stature, this gave him a punch like a steam piston and the resilience of a security safe. The man was practically bullet and explosion-proof, and had been known to tear men in half with his bare hands during the execution of the Buccaneers' less savoury planetside duties. It was unsurprising that he had once acted as a bouncer in the 'Bay.

Following him through was 'King - John Crown. The grizzled lieutenant had changed a lot since the Buccaneer's short-lived revival and golden age. He had lost his left arm and eye since the Captain had last seen him, both now replaced with artificial replacements. A tattoo of a crown now adorned his brow. He had retreated to Gran Canaria shortly after the Great Collapse, with Morris acting as a personal bodyguard. From there, they had insidiously infiltrated the planet and the Port Jackson colony, ensuring the gang's influence in the area.

As per usual, Morris had his hand-cannon within easy reach. It wasn't every day a dead man came back to life - both Buccaneers were rightly suspicious of a trap. As the iron giant spotted Morgan, his scarred patchwork of face creased up into what could be roughly described as a smile. "So. You're back," King succinctly summarised.

Morgan turned to greet the new arrivals.

"King, Morris, it's good to see ye! Ye look like ye've been through hell, King. O' course, it's not really been a good year for any of us. I spent the better part o' the year sittin' in an LPI lockup in Liberty. Thankfully they didn't know who they had or I'd have likely been sent back to the BPA or BAF and force-fed a slice of heaven as payback for all the trouble I've caused 'em. Things are finally startin' to look up, I think."

Almost a year passed since Henry Morgan tried to revive the Buccaneers' fortunes. Some of the old guard had responded to the call, and things were just starting to get back on track. It all came to a crashing halt when Morgan finally found out what had happened to his wife, Mary. While he was sitting in a Libertonian jail, she had been arrested by the BAF for desertion. By pure misfortune, she was recognized by a pair of her former shipmates, who wasted no time turning her in. Morgan managed to acquire a recording of her cashiering and execution by firing squad. Morgan, along with every other Buccaneer who saw it, could not help but be moved to tears by her stubborn dignity as a stone-faced BAF senior officer tore off the patches, epaulets, rank insignia, and medals from her uniform. During the execution, she refused a blindfold. As the executioners took aim and fired, she stood tall and sang "Hoist the Colors", the Buccaneers' traditional funeral dirge.

After seeing that, Morgan was inconsolable. He wanted revenge on her killers, but his loyalty to the Code prevented him from doing it. Unfortunately, as time passed, his grief grew worse instead of better. His grip on reality loosened, and he could often be seen talking to people who weren't there. Other times, his mind was clearly not in the present, and he'd often talk about things past as if they were happening in the present.

As loyal as the Buccaneers were to their Captain, it quickly became obvious that he was in no state to be leading a card game, let alone an interplanetary criminal empire. A vote was taken, and Morgan was out, replaced by long-time Lieutenant, Silas Worley. Worley was a natural choice to succeed Morgan as Captain, as he had been in charge of ground operations on Leeds since the death of Lieutenant Hawkins during the BPA raid that eventually led to the Buccaneers acquiring the Leviathan. He had also shown his courage (for a Buccaneer) during the Leviathan's capture.

With Morgan's worsening mental state, it was expected that Morgan would be shot as an act of mercy, but none of the Buccaneers could bring themselves to do it. Morgan remains active, however, since the cockpit is the only place where he can focus and find some measure of peace. Besides, there's always the hope that he'll work through his problems and return to his old self.

Somewhere on Leeds
Ever since receiving a Letter of Marque from the Bretonian government, Captain Morgan and the remnants of the Buccaneers on Leeds had been engaged in a guerrilla war against the Gallic invaders alongside a group of BAF irregulars. War makes for strange bedfellows, the old saying ran, and never was that more true than today. Never in a million years would Morgan have expected to work with the Crown's forces for anything at all, especially after what they did to his wife. With the Buccaneer network on Leeds shattered and his home under foreign occupation, though, all they could do was fight to put things back the way they were.

That's not to say that the BAF was any more comfortable with the arrangement than Morgan and the Buccaneers, though. It took a long while, but Henry Morgan eventually reassembled the pieces of his shattered mind and mostly came to terms with the death of his wife. Those who knew Morgan best could tell that the pieces hadn't gone back together quite right, though. His humor was as close to the surface as ever and his loyalty to the Buccaneers was still unshakable, but he had developed a nasty sadistic streak that made many people, even amongst the Buccaneers, a bit uncomfortable. Fortunately, for the moment, he directed his impulse for brutality toward the Gallic invaders, who were understandably eager to get their hands on him.

The operation had been in planning for weeks, but the time was finally near. Morgan looked through his spyglass at the Gallic prison below. The prison had originally been one of the BPA's largest, most secure penal facilities on the planet, and it presently contained thousands of Buccaneers and other people that the snail-eaters considered a threat. If they could liberate this facility, they could start reconstructing the Buccaneers' planetside network, and maybe even consider getting back into space again.

Fortunately, his BAF liason had worked in the prison before the invasion and knew the place fairly well. Intelligence indicated that the Gallics hadn't really changed much since taking it over. Apparently they didn't consider a prison a priority for equipment or staffing when so much of the rest of the planet was still an active war zone. The planning for the operation required timing the attack from outside with a prearranged prisoner riot inside, and a BAF regular operation to keep the GRN busy elsewhere. With any luck at all, they should have several hours to liberate the prison and get away.

He put the spyglass away and checked his rifle. It was time to begin.

An Hour Later
The operation had gone surprisingly smoothly, proving that occasionally a plan of attack does survive contact with the enemy. The inmates quickly overwhelmed the guards from inside, leaving them totally unprepared for Morgan's force to hit them from outside. Before long, most of the guards were dead. The surviving guards had surrendered and were brought to Morgan. There were six of them, all of them wearing the insignia of a GRN conscript unit. Obviously they weren't going to send their best to guard a prison. As he looked over the surviving guards, one caught his eye. She was short with blond hair and couldn't have been much past her 18th birthday. Obviously they threw her into a uniform and sent her to the front with a minimum of training. He ordered his men to take away the other guards for execution, but he had something special in mind for this one. She burst into tears as Morgan forced her into a nearby cell.

A short time later, his lusts sated and with a bloody, blond-haired scalp adorning his belt, Morgan began organizing the prisoners into BAF and captured GRN personnel transports. There were a lot of laughs, handshakes, and promises of celebratory rum. The Buccaneers were back, and Morgan couldn't be happier. Soon, they'd be reorganized and life could start getting back to normal.