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Jason Moore - Zapp - 12-27-2007
![[Image: JasonMoore.jpg]](http://www.dropfiles.net//files/2246/JasonMoore.jpg)
Jason Moore was LPI's best. He was unbribable, determined, and unbeatable. He was six-foot-four, brown hair and brown eyes. He was one of the few straight cops that the Junkers wanted down, the Rogues feared, and every other sort of pirate scum wanted in a coffin drifting towards a very bright, very hot sun.
Jason Moore got fired.
It all happened a few months ago...
-------------------------------------
Jason Moore was driving the service-issued car and his partner, Samantha Taylor was riding shotgun. It was an uneventful day; they had only busted four punks that thought it was 'cool' to deface public property, three of which were high. Denver was a tough place, but then, someone had to do it. Jason was just cruising around another planet, on another assignment, waiting for retirement and that fat pension. The radio buzzed to life, and Sam picked it up.
"We have a lead on a potential smuggling operation, need unit 42-C on it."
"This is unit 42-C, go ahead HQ," Sam replied.
"We need you to head to this address:" The rest was static as far as Jason was concerned, but he didn't care. One scumbag or another, as far as someone went down.
"OK, we're on it." Sam put the receiver back, and told him to take the next left. She looked a little different.
"You OK? You see a little... weird." Jason was looking at her sideways.
"I'm fine, just take the next right."
"You know, I can find it myself. Just give me the address."
"We're here."
Jason looked out and saw his house. Then he heard the sound of betrayal. The sound nobody wanted to hear. A gun cocking off to his side, the side where only one of his best friends sat.
"Whoa whoa, take it easy. What the hell is going on?" Jason said, gently raising his hands.
"When'd you go bad, Jason? When? They found Cardamine, artifacts, counterfeit software, every type of god damn contraband in your house." Sam was yelling at the end, the gun was wavering in her hand.
"What the hell? I don't have any of that in my house!"
"You're under arrest. I think you know your rights."
-------------------------------------
Jason had seen trials take up to three years to hit the courts. His took two days. The evidence was overwhelming, and his defense attorney suggested he plead guilty and throw himself on the mercy of the court. Jason knew it was a setup, but obviously everyone else was too stupid to realize that nobody, not even the Junkers, dealt in both Cardamine and artifacts at the same time. Any one person to come into contact with both the stuff at the same time was liable to get shot, or disappear. Or both.
However, Jason wasn't stupid. He knew that if he fought, he would lose. A lesson he had learned through several hard years on the force: don't fight when you can't win. He pleaded guilty, and got only a years sentence, because of his spotless record and years in the LPI.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 12-27-2007
Jail was no place for a cop. There were two gangs: the Xenos and the Rogues. The Outcasts were kept in a separate prison because of the problems between Outcasts and Xenos, and the Hackers were never captured, as far as anyone else knew. Jason had killed several of them himself, but never had captured a single one.
The first day in jail went something like this:
Jason gut up at six in the morning, and by seven he had five Rogues thinking that because he was in prison, was off the force, and the guards didn't care, that they could mess with him. They were wrong.
The first two went down in five seconds, their own knives made out of chiseled toothbrushes through their hearts. The third one got a left hook to the face so hard Jason heard his neck snap. The fourth tried to run and got the third one's chiseled-toothbrush knife thrown at his from twenty feet; the poor bastard never had a chance. The fifth fell to his knees and wet himself begging for mercy.
At eight, it was the Xenos turn, except it was ten of them. It went about the same. The rest of the day was uneventful, and the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days were uneventful as well, seeing as all the criminals were too busy not being around Jason that they didn't have any time to try and mess with him again. When Jason got out, there was one thing on his mind.
Revenge.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 12-28-2007
Jason had nothing. No cash, no house, no friends. Everything he had had been invested in the LPI, and now he didn't even have that. He was direction-less. A ship without a rudder. He wondered the streets of Houston, alone. While most people would have been planning how to get back on their feet, Jason was planning how to track down who had framed him and how to get the sons of b*****s back for what they did.
the way i figure it i need a gun a ship and some connections maybe sam could but no she wouldn't not anymore damn she was my best friend i
His thoughts drifted. He drifted. When he came out of the trance, he realized that his feet had brought him to the docks. He looked around, and made a decision. He smiled to himself; he had once hijacked a Defender when no other ship was around and he had to bust some Outcast scum from making his delivery. He figured stealing a civilian ship would be a piece of cake, comparatively. He looked around, and saw a Starflier. The pilot was inside it, muttering to himself. Good, best if they're in the ship.
He walked up, and entered the ship through the back hatch. Climbed up a short tube with a ladder and came out in the cockpit. The pilot didn't see him. He was a young man, in his early twenties. Probably hadn't been flying long, and probably had never been attacked from behind by a six-foot-four two-hundred-forty pound man. Jason tapped him on the shoulder, and the pilot turned his head. Or started to turn his head. Jason hit him has hard as he could right in the face. Classic.
He hauled him up and tossed him down the entry hatch. There was a distinct thud. Quickly, Jason climbed into the seat, sealed the hatch by flipping a switch, and searched for the transponder. It read "Synth Foods Escort Alpha-9". He ripped the top off and ripped all the wires out. There was a slight zapp, but Jason didn't notice. His hand probed beneath the dashboard, down in the leg room. There... the tracing device. He ripped it off too, and threw it to the ground has hard as he could. Then he stepped on it. A lot.
Firing up the engines, he took off, and plotted a course to Manhattan, where he would buy a Civilian transponder and start his search for vengeance.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 12-29-2007
Jason made planet-fall on Manhattan. He went to the bar and looked for a job. On the board next to the entrance, he picked the best paying. He didn't really look at the details, but it sent him all the way to the California system. From that time on Jason always checked the details. Working out of Los Angeles, Jason took odd-job after odd-job to get enough credits to upgrade to a better ship. He bought a Patriot, and loaded it out with two advanced Stunpulses and two heavy Starbeams, alternately using a pair for shields and hull.
Eventually he headed back to New York, where he did a few more jobs and upgraded to the Starblazer, a good ship that, while a light fighter, was on par with most heavy fighters. He again took the highest paying job, which took him to the Hudson system this time. There were about twenty Rogue ships, and each one bit the dust. Heading back to Texas, Jason had saved up just enough money for the Freelancer transponder. After that, he would get a better ship and he would begin his search for whoever screwed him over.
All his missions were for the Bounty Hunters, because he couldn't stomach doing the dirty work for his former employers. Once he had admired them, loved being a cop, but now he wouldn't spit in their direction. After each mission, he would pay the pilots he captured a visit, and spend some quality time chatting with them. By "chatting" I mean "interrogating/torturing".
He would ask them every thing they knew about patrol routes, chains of commands, the movement of stolen goods, and, most importantly, if they knew anything about who had framed him. When they refused to answer, he would pull his gun and put it to their knee, then ask if they knew what would happen if he pulled the trigger. That usually over-rid most resistance. Except one time.
Jason had been hearing the name "Robert Foster" a lot, and was beginning to wonder who he was. So he asked the next Rogue he pulled in who Robert was. He shut his mouth tighter than a clam.
[warning: umm... I try to make it not too graphic, but still... torture is torture... just skip to the last paragraph if you don't wanna read it]
Jason pulled his gun, and set it straight against his knee, and asked his famous question: "Do you know what will happen if I pull the trigger?" What would happen is that it's one of the most painful places to be shot.
The Rogue nodded slowly, tears beginning to leak from his eyes.
"Do you want to tell me who Robert Foster is now?
The Rogue shook his head. Jason pulled the trigger. He wasn't a big fan of threatening, if he didn't mean to deliver. And he screamed. And screamed. And finally, he stopped. Broken bones were sticking out of the knee joint, and blood was all over the place. Jason wasn't through, though. The gun moved to the other knee.
"I think we've established what happens. So, are you going to tell me what I want to know?"
The Rogue shook his head hard, tears leaking from his eyes and a low moaning emanating from his mouth. Jason shrugged, as if saying 'What can you do?' and pulled the trigger again. It was the same deal, only this time there was a bit more screaming and a bit more blood.
"I know what you're thinking now: he's out of knees. Wrong." Jason adjusted the gun to his left elbow. "I assure you, it hurts just the same. Now, you have three more chances. Tell me. NOW."
The Rogue was sobbing, and virtually no air was getting in. He shook his head vigorously. Jason, disturbed, pulled the trigger again. The gun was so powerful that it separated his arm, and at the same time cauterized the wound so that he wouldn't bleed to death. Jason switched to the other elbow.
"I'm getting tired of this, and you are too, apparently. Now, I can finish this without asking anymore questions. If you think I'm just gonna kill you, you're wrong. I'm gonna put you back in your escape pod, seal it, and launch it into space, and let you either bleed to death, die when you run out of oxygen, or die of thirst. I hear none of those deaths are pretty. You still got nothing to say? OK then." Jason pulled the trigger. The man was now armless from the elbows down.
Jason hated to do this. Torturing wasn't his forte, but he switched the gun to the place that would make all men crack. Right below the belt. The Rogue's eyes went white all around. Jason put his head down near the Rogue's ear, and said, "Tell me now."
The Rogue spit in his face. Jason pulled the trigger. There was no screaming this time. Just a stricken look on the Rogue's face, as if he had just about suffered so much that it was impossible to suffer any more, only it wasn't, but it was still impossible for him to scream any more.
Jason picked him up and hoisted him into the escape pod. He sealed it, and climbed back to the cockpit. He jettisoned it, maneuvering so that it flew to the sun. He gave the poor fool one more chance. He hailed him, and said, "One last chance, who is Robert Foster?!"
There was a mutter from the other side of the comm.
"What?"
"F*** YOU!" And those were the last words the Rogue ever said.
Jason settled back in his chair, shaking. No one, and he meant no one, had ever made it that far. He had never actually gotten past the first elbow before. Whoever this Robert Foster was, he was obviously going to be someone Jason wanted to know. He sighed, and plotted a course to the nearest base. He needed a shower.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 12-30-2007
Jason was doing odd jobs for companies now, big ones, like Interspace, Universal, DSE, and so on. He impressed the higher-ups in Interspace, so they gave him a one time offer. Four million credits, for the termination of one Scott Freeman. They told him what he'd need to do:
Somehow, he'd have to get on Bufallo base, in the Badlands. Then, he would have to go through the entire base, here's the catch, without dying, and get to the penthouse, which is at the very top, and is therefore the farthest thing from the docking area, which was at the very bottom. Then, he would have to get through at least eight body guards, each toting around enough automatic weaponry to arm a third-world country. Then, he would have to put no less than three bullets in Scott, assuming he had any left, and do the whole thing in reverse; get down to the docking area, while simultaneously not dying, and getting off the station. There may even be eight body guards guarding whatever ship he decided to steal to get off.
Oh yeah, getting on the station was going to be the hardest part.
To do this, he went to Rochester, and made a deal with a Junker. He stowed himself in a crate marked Food Rations, with enough oxygen, food, and water for the trip. He was stowed aboard a Mule which would be heading down to Bufallo. Jason prayed that his tax dollars wouldn't fly around trying to shoot down this ship. After he was off of it, sure, they could.
It was a hectic trip, filled with bumping, jostling, the sudden urge to use the restroom (which Jason stoically refused to cave into) and a few minor bouts of claustrophobia. But he made it. And when the crate was offloaded, and put into storage, Jason unsealed it using a little thing called a "crate unsealer". Most people referred to it as a Detroit Munitions 11mm handgun. Jason doesn't much care for that kind of semantics.
Pulling himself out of the crate, he hit the deck, looking around for potential targets. This station was about to get real messy, real quick. He made haste for the door, and opened it. Peering out, he saw a long, cramped, corridor stretching in both directions. He was better off in the crate, for claustrophobic reasons. He chose to go right. In five seconds flat, there were about five Rogues wielding wicked-looking more-than-likely-illegally-modified automatic weaponry. Say that three times fast. They were fast, but Jason was faster. His gun was up in about .3 seconds flat, and he pulled the trigger five times, which took another .7 seconds. Needless to say, each shot hit home on the hapless Rogues, and they went down hard. He ran over, picked up one of the guns, and looked for an elevator. Or some stairs. Or at least a Burger King drive-thru; he was a bit hungry.
Finding the elevator before the Burger King, Jason took it to the top. Unfortunately, you needed a key to get into the penthouse. Fortunately, Jason had a key. Some people might call it a Detroit Munitions 11mm handgun, but Jason, once again, despises such semantics. He calls it a key. And it worked just like a key, blowing the lock off, thus disengaging it. But the door didn't open. Jason had planned for such an eventuality. Pulling a small crowbar out of his jacket, he wrenched the door open. Jason was lucky, big time. There were only six body guards.
Laying down enough fire to make Arnold Schwarzenegger proud, Jason managed to make all of them hit the deck, or have their heads taken off. The automatic quickly ran out of ammo, and Jason tossed it aside like a used napkin. Pulling his ol' Reliable, Jason picked the body guards off one-by-one, trading shots hot and fast with them. Three clips later, all of them were down, and Jason had only been hit once, in his left shoulder. He holds staunchly that they were aiming for his head, but missed. I don't think anyone disagrees.
Jason kicked the door to the next room down, even though it was more-than-likely unlocked. Surprise of surprises, there were the two extra bodyguards! They died one second later. And there, behind a plush desk, was Scott Freeman. He died another second later, three bullets through his head. He fell forward, and got blood all over his plush desk. Pity.
Now, it was time to get off the station. Unfortunately, Scott's head fell on the alarm, and red klaxons were sounding all over the station. No, Jason thought, this is the hard part.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 01-27-2008
Quickly deciding what to do, he took a sum total of five steps towards the elevator he had just come out of. Then he heard the car coming up, and figured it was full of a security team that he'd rather avoid. Surveying the room, he saw a laundry shoot off to the side, which more than likely went all the way down to the sub-levels. Looking over his shoulder, Jason hoped that it was a laundry shoot and not a garbage disposal. Oh that would be unpleasant. Without a second thought, he leaped through. Ten seconds later, the room was stormed by Rogues, who were dismayed and pleasantly surprised to find Scott Freeman dead. Pleasant, because now someone else could come into this office, and it might be one of them...
Lucky for Jason, it was a laundry shoot. Lucky for Jason, it did come out on the sub-levels, only a scant two levels below the docking bay. Unlucky for Jason, the base was swarming like a kicked anthill, and they were locking down the docking bay. Looking around the room, getting an impression rather than any distinct distinct thoughts, he saw that he was alone in a cramped and dirty room. Rogues must not like laundry...
He approached the only exit, his gun in his right hand, muzzle pointed to the ceiling. Old habits die hard, and that was about the oldest one, beaten into him by his firearms instructor. Has something to do with safety, as if he could accidentally discharge his gun. The only time it fires is when he wants it to, but still, he had had to do it to pass the class.
Gently, he turned the knob and opened the door a hairpin, and peeked out. Clear to the left, clear to the right. He nudged the door, squeezing out through a door open only enough to allow him through with a tight fit. Though he had no idea where he was, instinct said go left. Maybe it was vibrations he felt and analyzed on a subconscience level. Maybe it was some other-worldly sixth-sense. Maybe it was some supernatural being looking out for him. Turning left, he jogged down the dark and dank hallway, and soon heard a ruckus behind him.
It sounded like an ill-organized, disorderly, filthy (literally), and any other bad adjectives you can think of, patrol of Rogues. With an attack dog. Score one for God. His jogging turned into flat out running, looking frantically for some stairs or a lift. Thing is, he doesn't like dogs. Thing is, not only do dogs frighten him, but he is incapable of shooting them. Oh fun.
After a few seconds, a door to his right caught his attention. It had some markings one it, one of which included an arrow pointed up. Sparing no time, he opened it, and went in. Just in time, as the "patrol" turned the corner. Jason was in a stairwell. Sighing, as he hated going up stairs, he ran up anyway. Soon, the door below exploded with a fury, and the dog came through first. Damn thing must of led them straight to the door.
Jason, while running up, pointed his gun down in the general direction of the door, without aiming or even looking, and squeezed the trigger til the clip was empty. Hastily ejecting the old clip, still running, he slammed a fresh one home. Then he looked down and saw one poor huge, notably dead, Rotweiller and a couple Rogues that looked just as notably dead as the Rotweiller. However, a flood of ten more came through.
At just that time, Jason came upon the next door, and spared no time in kicking it open. On this level, red strobes were flashing methodically; the corridor was bathed in red. Ill omen, if you asked most. Sign of better things to come, if you asked Jason. Turning right, he was at a dead run inside a second. Unfortunately, apparently the Rogues weren't so dead and they had called ahead. Five of them came out of nowhere ahead of him, toting huge guns that would scare of anyone with the intelligence of a PB&J. Unfortunately, for the Rogues, it did scare Jason. Unlike most people, Jason's fear reflex is to pull his gun and shoot it. Shots flew everywhere as one by one, the Rogues were shot down, though one shot grazed Jason's temple.
He turned the next corner and saw the decompression airlock of the launch bay. He pressed the open button, and the monstrously huge thing slid open at the rate of a snail. Cries of distress came from behind him as the other Rogues no doubt found the ones he had just killed. It seemed that the door wouldn't open in time. Jason was at a dead-end with nowhere to go but back through the people trying to kill him.
Tapping his foot impatiently, Jason turned and braced himself to face them. One second. Two. Three. Time seemed to drag on when you were waiting like this. Then they came. Like a wave hitting the beach, crashing into the shore with deafening impact they came. Of course, in that analogy, very little happens to the beach. Trading shots hot and fast, Jason took one to his right leg, two to his left, and almost lost his right arm. Pure, sweet adrenaline was all that was keeping Jason conscious. His body drank it like the ambrosia of the gods. Unfortunately, he only had so much. The door was halfway open, five Rogues down, five had hunkered down and weren't going anywhere. In a sudden feat of physical prowess impossible to most, Jason dove backwards, his body parallel to the ground, shoving off with all the force his legs could muster.
For a few brief seconds, Jason was weightless, floating backwards at an impressive velocity. Squeezing off shot after shot that seemed to arc because of his change in position, each one punched through a Rogue. The impact of the shots sent them flying backwards, and each shot sent Jason backwards faster. About five seconds later, Jason's back hit the deck and he skidded five yards, right under the hatch that was still opening. He immediately started running, picked the closest Bloodhound, jumped in, and gunned the engine. Of course the dock bays were closed, but a burst of fire from the Drails fixed that. Rogues that were around the deck were pulled into the Badlands by the decompression, more than likely dead before their bodies hit the rocks. Jason almost felt sorry for them.
He ran for the New York intrasystem jumphole, several Bloodhounds hot on his trail. Going through, he went four kilometers to the south, where his Starblazer was drifting, ready for his escape. He would've stayed in the Bloodhound, but he didn't think Newark would allow it to land, seeing as they would have no way to know it was him.
It was an uneventful trip back to Newark, albeit he was bleeding from numerous holes. As he landed, he called for medics to meet him on the pad. The ship touched down, and he gently lost conscienceness. His adrenaline had just run out.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 02-25-2008
beep
Jason felt a throbbing in his temples, as well as pain all over his body.
beep
The pain was concentrated in several points along his legs, arms, and torso.
beep
He struggled to open his eyes... they were swollen shut.
beep
With a great effort, his eyes cracked open. He was in a white, sterile room. He try to move his head, but found it was locked into place. He also noticed that a mask was over his face.
beep
A man came over and said something. It sounded like it was in another language, pitched and altered so that all Jason heard was gibberish. What the man had really said was, "The sedatives are already worn off, his body is resisting!"
Jason fell back to darkness as the man turned a switch, which pumped even more sedatives into him.
******
Jason awoke again to that incessant beeping. His mind was clear enough to know that it was a heart monitor... he was relieved to hear it going at the normal rate. Jason tried to look around, and found with delight that not only could he move his head, but that the mask was gone.
A doctor with bags under his eyes sat in a chair by the door, half snoozing. Once Jason tried to sit up, the doctor got up with a jolt, said something to someone outside the room, and came over to push Jason back down.
"Not so fast... you took eight shots. Lost a lot of blood, and somehow your body made thirty times the normal amount of adrenaline that humans can make naturally. You need to rest for awhile. And.. someone wants to see you."
A man in an expensively tailored business suit walked into the room. He looked to be in his fifties, hair gray at the roots. Most would say his hair was streaked with black, not gray. He walked over and patted Jason on the shoulder.
"Son, what you did was incredible. Not only did you take out one of the Liberty Rogue's premiere leaders, you fought your way through Buffalo, killing an estimated 20 men directly, and 10 men indirectly by decompressing the flight deck. I just want you to know that this is four million credits well spent."
With that he turned and walked towards the door. As he stood in the doorway, he turned and said over his shoulder, "Oh, and as a bonus, you have free insurance with IC for life."
Jason looked around, safe in the knowledge that not a dime of the care was coming out of his pocket.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 02-27-2008
The doctors suggested that Jason stay for another week. He stayed for three more days. He left, heading to use the scratch he just earned to get a better ship. He used an extensive list of contacts and corrupt officers in the Navy from his days in the Police to locate the place of a potential ride: the Battleship Rio Grande in the Colorado system. Specifically, he was interested in the Raven Claw, a ship with expanded stealth capabilities.
Jason figured whoever screwed him over was pretty powerful, and had the means to hire someone to take him out of whatever picture. Since Jason couldn't get his hand on an overtly powerful force to enter into direct combat with whatever forces his unknown antagonist possessed, he'd have to use a more roundabout way.
All that was a fancy way of saying Jason was going to stab the bastard in his sleep.
It took awhile for Jason to make all the contacts necessary to make the sale go through. It wasn't like you could just buy a military-grade fighter craft like you buy (or steal) a tricycle. It took time. He had to call in seven old favors, and he blew all his bribe money on five of them. Then, for those unbribable 'saints', he had to take extra time to find something to blackmail them with, either that or 'persuade' them with the use of extreme force.
Eventually, after all that hard work, Jason got clearance to buy, at full price, one off the back of the maintenance line. It was cheap, and at first Jason figured he was better off in his old Starblazer. He had to cleverly use appliances from the kitchenette as ship parts, and it was pretty poorly-armed. However, he persevered, and landed a job as an escort fighter. As he got his pay, he upgraded his ship, until one day he was fully kitted out.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 02-27-2008
Jason was under his Raven Claw as it was parked on Planet Los Angeles, ripping apart the forward power-relay, trying to fix that damned rattling. He wasn't having much success. Back in the LPI, he normally would have just sent it to maintenance, but he really didn't have that option right now.
"Dammit!" he yelled, slamming the undercarriage of the ship with his fists. Sparks flew everywhere, and he cursed again, louder. He got out from under the ship, and made a solemn vow that he'd get back at his ship one of these days. Maybe he'd get upset and fly into a sun or planet.
He checked the jobs board and was more than a little surprised to see a bounty on Hellfire Legionaires, as well as high-profile Hackers, to the sum of four million credits a head, placed by the LSF. Jason whistled under his breath, but decided against it. His ship wasn't in the best order right now, and besides, he had just secured a contract with the Kusari Naval Forces, which was where he was heading -- Kusari.
Getting back in the cockpit of his Raven Claw, which he had dubbed 'Cassandra' for reasons even he didn't know, he set a course for New Tokyo.
Jason Moore - Zapp - 02-29-2008
The KNF officer hadn't been pleased to see a Raven Claw (it's a sore-spot for them), but he wisely didn't crack his jaw. Jason may just have broken his jaw if he had.
Now Jason sat there in 'Cassandra', looking down at the radar periodically. He was in Shikoku, keeping an eye out for pirates. Kusari really is a beautiful place, Jason though. Nothing like Liberty. All those purple and multi-hued clouds. All Liberty has is scrap fields and radioactive waste.
His thoughts were interrupted as his radar beeped frantically. Looking down, Jason saw an incoming Outcast Raven's Talon, coming in fast. Jason sent out a warning, but the thing kept coming. Cursing, Jason grabbed the controls and jinked right, hard. The engines squealed in protest -- damn good time for the engines to give! -- but he moved fast enough to avoid getting hit by salvos of Krakens and Nomad Cannons.
Jason swung the ship around and let the Outcast have a taste of weapon group one -- two Advanced Debilitators and two Improved Debilitators. The Outcast was surprised to lose his shields in about three seconds, but he recovered fast. In the time it took Jason to switch weapon groups -- group two was two Prometheus' and two Nomad Cannons -- the Outast, Grimmjow, had started flying defensively.
For the next thirty minutes they traded shots hot and fast. However, Jason soon gained the upper hand and he destroyed the Raven's Talon. Face flush from the adrenaline and heat of battle, Jason set a course for the nearest station -- Deshima.