
IN A UNIVERSE where traders from all over the galaxy travel the treacherous trade routes of the alpha quadrant with riches in their freighter's holds fueling their dreams of power and fortune... a band of Terran Empire deserters turned pirate, wreck havoc on the open seas. Running from the law while looting from the innocent, a drama unfolded on the pirate ship formerly known as ISS Sentinel, in the year of our Emperor, two thousand four hundred and sixteen, giving rise to new power...
Viscous, yellow mucous dripped slowly from Voleron's nose and tears of agony streamed from his raw, bloodshot eyes as the photonic projectile launched into Captain Bastian's back as he stood, the recoil from the phaser rifle rippling through Voleron's biceps. The concept of friendship and love were foreign in this universe, causing Voleron bewilderment at the churning feeling of despair that built in his gut. "People are disposable creatures", Voleron reminded himself of wise words once imparted to him by his paternal grandfather. "Their purpose is to fulfill our needs until our needs are met... then strike, while the iron's hot." Life in this universe revolved around the truth of that idiom, yet Voleron's heart bled for Bastian in a manner with which he was beyond unfamiliar, his body reacting in a way with which he was unaccustomed.
The turbolift reached its destination and its doors slid open, depositing Captain Bastian's crumpled and lifeless body onto the frigid deck plating of the bridge. Smoke from the photon discharge of Voleron's phaser billowed out of the lift, revealing Voleron's grieving figure to the bridge crew who had turned to bear witness to the spectacle, several of whom wore a bemused expression at the perplexing emotion worn on Voleron's face. His tears betrayed his inner sentiments and like a drop of blood falling in predetorial waters, two of the bridge officers elected to capitalize on the moment of weakness that they sensed, readying their weapons in Voleron's direction. But Voleron was a predator in his own rite, having bore bloody witness to his own parent's deaths and the deaths of many of his comrades in battle.
Voleron jolted himself from his trance-like state to full consciousness, taking deadly aim at the closest of his opponents with his rifle, as he dove out of the confined space of the turbolift. Torpedoing his body horizontally through the air, he brought his weapon to bear, discharging a fury of photonic energy into the navigator, ravaging his body as it jarred from side to side with each impact. Voleron shifted his focus to the tactical officer before him, who had discharged his own energy weapon at him, the beam of energy slicing through the flesh of Voleron's shoulder, sending blood spatter in all directions, and causing him to react with shrieking pain. Only momentarily deterred, Voleron plunged the bayonet on his rifle into the chest of the officer, who collapsed to the deck where he had stood. In that moment, all of Voleron's recent grief re-surfaced: a crazed energy that was channeled into his fists which descended upon the tactician's face with hellish and merciless fury until scarcely any semblance of the former humanoid remained.
As Voleron's exhausted limbs forced the conclusion of his counter-attack, he summoned what remained of his body's diminished strength, thrust his head back and discharged a blood-curdling scream of anguish as the remainder of the senior staff looked on. With this unquestionable display of dominance now complete, the crew turned back to their stations largely un-phased, accepting the change of command without further debate.
Bloodied, wearied and emotionally exhausted, Voleron collapsed into the Captain's chair on the bridge, slowly swiveling in all directions to make steady and calculated eye contact with every member of the remaining bridge crew, searching for any additional indication of traitorous challenge to his new found authority. Finding none, Voleron relaxed, slouching back into the command seat. Pulling his black, leather combat gloves slowly off of his hands finger by finger, Captain Voleron shed a final tear for Bastian, whose captaincy he'd just plundered, but whose tenderness under the sheets, he'd surely miss.
"Dispose of that, would you?" Voleron commanded of the ship's helmsman, motioning over to Bastian's lifeless body which was preventing the turbolift doors from closing. "It depresses me."