LeftEar JoNs

WOO HOO! Mirror! ::is really Mirror biased::

::has an extreme geek out reaction to said log:: w00t!

8.17.07 USS Excalibur NCC-2000B “Cantina Medicine” Lieutenant jg Left Ear JoNs woke from her injury induced slumber, flat on her back, her view that of the piping supports and tiles on the ceiling. A few seconds passed in confusion, and then her full clarity came rushing back. The battle. The Fleet. Excal. I’m not at my posting. The dark furred Caitian leapt up and onto her hind paws, immediately realizing that 1.) she was no longer on the bridge, and 2.) the cargo bay tipped sideways. The normally sure-footed feline officer stumbled sideways into a makeshift cot, jostling the occupant. Two strong hands came to support her right side – one closed around her wrist, the other rested on her thigh. JoNs didn’t look at her supporter, keeping her gaze straight ahead until her equilibrium settled and her breathing went back to normal. After about two minutes had passed, an accented human voice spoke. “The decking back down where it’s supposed to be?” The feline security officer slowly nodded, finally venturing to turn her head and look at the speaker. She was a Terran female of Caucasian descent, dark blond hair, about the same age as Left Ear, sporting an engineering jumpsuit. She offered a wane smile. “Ensign Tracey, pleased to meet you. You aren’t the first one to leap up like that; one of the Midshipmen did it a little while ago; slammed themselves right into one of the bulkheads.” Left Ear gently disengaged herself from the support, and carefully found her way back to the cot she had just vacated, located next to Tracey. “Lieutenant JoNs. Thank you for the help.” “Well, it isn’t as if I have a whole lot to do right now Lieutenant.” “Where are we?” “Cargo bay, obviously. Medicals got it sectioned off according to injury. We’re in the walking wounded area.” Tracey pointed to her own bloodied and bandaged leg, and for the first time, left Ear touched the bandage wrapped around her own head wound. The feline looked at Tracey. “Where’s the staff?” “Well…we only had two medical techs anyway, not being in immediate danger. They were here, but then scattered about ten minutes ago. According to the shouts I heard, one of the patients with a chest wound seized, and another section had a patient half out of his head with pain…,” the ensign’s voice trailed off in a shared sympathy; the Excal had taken quite a pounding. JoNs shook her head. “I had been on bridge duty….I guess it’s just as well that I don’t really recall what exactly landed me here.” The two women lapsed into the tired companionable silence of the wounded, and Left Ear took a few moments to take mental stock of herself. She knew her rank, her name, her current assignment. She recalled her home world, and her family. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, but then again, she probably hadn’t had much opportunity to eat. It was time to go. The felinoid carefully stood, and then walked over to a nearby supply hover cart. With each step she took, her footing became more stable, but she clamped down on the slight nausea that she felt. She began to rummage through the supplies, looking for what she needed. Security first aid training was a wonderful thing. Left Ear quickly ran a scan on herself with a medical tricorder, confirming that her wound was superficial to low grade. She then pulled a skin regenerator at half power and a low dosage hypo for the pain. She injected herself in the arm with the hypo and then started to remove her bandage. “Sir? What in the…I mean…what are you doing?” “Preparing to blow this pop stand, I believe you humans say.” JoNs then used the reflective screen of a medical Padd to see the laceration on her forehead and began to apply the protoplaser. “…y’all are nuts. Sir, I mean…you need to be cleared first.” “Ensign, chances are you and I aren’t even recorded as being in the triage queue yet. There is too much going on for the medical people; they won’t miss one.” “Well in that case, let’s make it two.” Tracey began the process of getting up off her cot, game leg and all. The Caitian junior lieutenant was obviously no doctor; the wound was now repaired, but she had managed to leave a scar. One of the docs could deal with it later. Left Ear turned her attention to the struggling engineering ensign. “Look, Tracey, I’m not setting the best example here.” As she spoke, the feline disposed of her bloody bandage down a medical waste receptacle. “But going by my field training, that leg looks a bit worse then my head wound did…you need real medical attention, not my backroom cantina act.” A sheen of perspiration had broken out across Tracey’s forehead. “…Good solid medical advice Lieutenant…” JoNs smiled and moved back to her, helping her back to her original position. Both woman exchanged last words of encouragement with each other, shook, and then Left Ear was on her way. The Caitian paused, checking that the way was clear, and then hastily – and sneakily - exited the cargo-triage area, gladly leaving the blood, groans, and medicinal smells behind her.

Everyone remember where we parked.

Can I please have: "Keeping up with the JoNs's 2" Thanks!

Could I please have "Seven Ways From Sundown" Thanks!

While gaming with the D&D / Vampire group, there was an occasion for the GM to break out the D100 dice. I remember just sitting there thinking "Now THAT is a really big die/dice". I remember having a cool die/dice with a skull on it. Wish I still had it! KBear has her own special dice? Is that good or bad? :P

Mr. Riko pretty much covered everything, so.... Hello and Welcome! Good crew here at STSF.

Please Note: some Mature themes 09.14.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Strange Bedfellows” (Mature) (This log takes place during Second Shift rotation, after Cmdr. Nelar and the Rihan rebels are secured in the brig) Leaving Nimetti and Spitfire to keep an eye on things at the brig, Lieutenant JoNs managed to slip away in order to deal with other business; she hated leaving dealings unfinished and wanted to be done with the contact business for Zimm. Arriving at the designated quarters, JoNs waved a paw, activating the sensor on the door. The marine lieutenant’s voice rang out several seconds later, admitting her entrance. The Caitian officer sauntered into the small living area. Zimm was seated at the small desk, working at the console screen. Parts of a disassembled rifle lay scattered on a workbench along the side wall. Above the workbench was a grouping of shelves containing mementos from his travels: a Klingon Grishnar Cat skull, a Ferengi hideaway assassin pistol, and the like. One plain plasti-steel chair in the corner, the bunk behind the desk, and the adjacent head completed the area. Kansas tossed the Padd she held at Zimm. “This is the contact information I promised. Look it over, and once you’ve decided on who you want to use, I can get in contact with them.” Zimm snatched the Padd from the air and touched it to his forehead. “Thank you.” He started to check the information while Kansas turned her attention to his wall display. “Good god’s woman! You’re seeping!” She looked at Zimm, a bit confused. “Pardon me?” He was across the common area in one stride, taking hold of the Caitian’s upper arm and maneuvered her, rather gently, in front of a floor to ceiling mirror bolted onto the closet door so she could get a look at her back. The claw marks from the Sahvess had started to bleed again. She had hoped that keeping the wound clean would suffice until she could stop by sickbay again, but this was not the case. Zimm released her arm and snorted, walking into the fresher. “It’s a wonder you don’t have a fever. What’re you trying to do, make yourself sick?” JoNs registered the fact that he did not inquire about exactly how she had came by the wounding, but her annoyance overwhelmed her. “I attempted to seek medical attention, but duty called; you should know how that is.” He emerged from the washroom, carrying a tray with several spray bottles of medicine and what looked like a low grade protoplaser. “A mercenary knows to take care of themselves first, so they can deal with anything later.” “I really do not need a lecture thank you…” “Take off your tunic; I need to look at your back.” “And that is my cue, exit left. I am not in the habit of spontaneously stripping, Lieutenant Zimm. Seek me out when you’ve made your contact choice…” The Caitian moved toward the door. “Step into the corridor and I’m on you like stink on a Targ.” Kansas leveled a glare at Zimm. Zimm glared back at Kansas. They seemed to do this a lot to one another. She broke the eye contact, closed her eyes and sighed. “Fine.” She started to strip off her gold wrap tunic. “I suppose there is some sort of catch to your services?” “No.” The bluntness of Zimms answer to her query caused her to pause and stare at him. He answered with a slight smile on his face, almost sad in a way. “Not everyone on this ship requires reciprocation.” JoNs nodded. “Fine. No complaints here, and…thank you.” She placed her bloodied tunic off to the side of the desk and half leaned forward, placing her paws flat on the surface for support. “Don’t thank me yet.” Zimm eyed her wounded back with a grimace. “I don’t think you are going to enjoy this.” The feline security officer attempted some levity. “Well that’s not a very good beside manner…GRRRRK! NYUUHH….” JoNs lowered her head as renewed pain blossomed across her back when Zimm applied a medicinal disinfectant to the wounds. The marine worked quickly, deftly treating and applying a field dressing no doubt practiced over many battle fields. After a coating of plasti-skin, he used the low grade protoplaser. The entire process took fifteen minutes, with JoNs panting as she tried to shake off the pain. She turned to face the marine lieutenant, gripping the edge of the desk while she re-oriented herself. “If you want the scarring completely removed, you need to go to the ‘bay. Otherwise, it looks much better then it did.” Zimm smirked. “Take two and call me in the morning.” Zimm was taken by surprise when Kansas’s paws suddenly shot out, grabbed him by the shoulders and brought her lips to his for a long kiss. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was unsure at first, and then returned the kiss with full force. He placed his hands on her hips. Their lips parted and he eyed the Caitian slyly. “Now that’s a thank you. What will your boyfriend say?” He did, after all, have his own hide to look after. It would not do to mess with someone else’s woman, particularly the security chief. Kansas looked away and muttered a Caitian oath. “Damn shipboard gossip.” Zimm deadpanned. “Pain in the ass it is.” The security lieutenant turned back and looked up at the marine. “I won’t deny that I enjoyed myself, or that Robair is an attractive man. However, if I did not comply, he would have ordered me to. If I refused the orders then whatever discipline…” she snorted derisively “…he had in mind would have been decidedly more unpleasant as well as more official. Tactically, I chose the best course of action and got away scott free, I believe is the correct Terran term.” She intertwined her paws behind his strong neck with a satisfied smirk. Zimm undid the Caitians sash and loosened the waistline of her uniform trousers, moving his hands to massage her now exposed lower back. “So. What of this current tactical situation?” Kansas reacted favorably to the massage, purring loudly and pressing closer to Zimm. She in turn removed his black uniform vest, her paws gently massaging his shoulders. Her purred voice was softer then normal. “I have never been one to jump from bed to bed, partner to partner. When I choose someone, the decision is always my own; I prefer to maintain true relationships with some decorum of honor.” She then grinned ferally. “As for right now, my new target is in sight. I have tone. All torpedoes are ready. Time to cause some damage.” Zimms own grin matched hers. “Good to know…lock and load…” He brought his lips to hers again. <<<<< >>>>> The marine lieutenant awoke several hours later, rolling over in the bunk to observe his unexpected, yet not unwelcome, guest. She was sleeping on her back, exuding feline grace even while sleeping. He reached over to gently wake her, running his hand across her stomach and down her left inner thigh, enjoying the feel of the golden fur beneath his hand. JoNs rolled over, stretched and smiled at Zimm, exposing her fangs. “Good morning. Who are you and what are you doing in my quarters? Security!” He smiled at her quip. “Good Morning. We both have duty in a couple hours.” She gently stroked his neck. “I need to be going to get cleaned up and grab a fresh uniform…” He regarded her seriously. “I meant what I said. A mercenary pact, between the two of us.” Kansas replied “And I am more then glad to accept.” She smiled, a genuine and rare expression of her acceptance. A pact between mercenaries was less then a marriage, more then a business arrangement, and operated on the premise of honor. The parties would not betray one another out of mutual respect. Most mercenary cultures employed some form of this agreement, some more so then others. JoNs was glad that Zimm had been exposed to an honor system similar to the one she had grown up with. With the recent changes in the Agincourt command structure, as well as her minor role in the goings on, it was time to start looking for true allies among the crew. If a romantic relationship was a result of this particular ally, then so be it. She moved off of the bed and started to gather her uniform. Zimm admired the view for a few minutes before speaking again of business. “I know how you security types like to stay on top…” “I love being on top.” Zimm threw a pillow at Kansas before continuing.”…of any dissension among the ranks. I am sure there will be some what with the command restructure and all. And you’d be surprised at what is said freely around marine hearing, thinking that this being a naval ship, why worry about what the Jarheads hear. If I hear anything of importance, any plotting, I will let you know.” The Caitian pulled on her soiled tunic and nodded. “Likewise, if I hear anything of interest that you can use regarding enforcement issues, you will hear from me. And, expect some contact regarding my drop off shipments. I don’t think Doctor Levy will mind sharing the wealth.” She grinned mischievously. Zimm waved a finger in mock admonishment. “Do not annoy the medical staff now.” “Who me? Annoy? I never annoy anyone.” Zimm threw another pillow at JoNs. Lieutenant (sg) MS Kansas JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

9.3.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “A Memo Quandary” Lieutenant JoNs sat at a workstation in the main security offices, tapping a claw against the recessed interface and staring at the viewer. It was part of her job to keep Robair informed. Certainly, the mysterious sickbay patient known only as Nelar qualified as need to know information. Even if the security chief already knew of the Klingons presence, JoNs had to keep it “regulation” and inform him as an on site witness. It also wouldn’t do to have the information come to Robair from a third party, namely Nimetti and Spitfire, when Kansas had summoned them for a brief stint guarding an agitated Nelar. The issue was – how much information was too much, and what was too little? “Yes well Chief, I just happened to be in the neighborhood of sickbay trying to get some wounds tended to, and saw our guest.” That was certainly not going to work. JoNs would not admit that she had been wounded during an unauthorized visit to Psi Velorum, which then led to the interrupted ‘bay visit when Nelar had awakened. Self preservation is a wonderful motivator. The Caitian plunged ahead and began to type the report. <<<<< >>>>> Lt. Commander Robair: During the latter cycle of third shift, I was on impromptu patrol rounds and entered sickbay. I was treated to a rather unusual spectacle. There was an unknown Klingon patient there, later discovered to go by the name Nelar. Dr. Levy treated her. Colonel Harper arrived, and then proceeded to question her. I gleaned the following from the conversation: she was apparently found among the wreckage remaining from a ship, the Gideon. Her purpose and motives, if any, are currently unknown, as I was dismissed from the sickbay by Harper at this point. If possible, will inform you of any further developments. Lieutenant JoNs <<<<< >>>>> Short, sweet, to the point, and mostly centering on the truth, thank you very much. The Caitian then tapped a quick series of commands, sending the completed memo to Robair’s personal office console. Lieutenant (sg) MS “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

8.24.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Mercenary Ties” JoNs sat at a table next to one of the big bay windows in the main mess hall. Psi Velorum could be seen in all its glory. Despite what was transpiring below with the subjugation of the local inhabitants, Psi was a beautiful sight to behold. She sipped Vulcan tea from a mug while looking over a Padd, reviewing a draft report from her tactical shift. It was a concise report, detailing the general sector readings, the movements of the Marine deployment teams, the scans to locate an apparent group of rogue Rihannsu, and the strange dampening field that obscured the sensors in a certain area of the planet. The final part of the draft detailed the transport of a couple groups of lizards captured and held by MCapt. Rieve’s team. The Caitian smiled quietly to herself. Robairs orders had been to beam one group to the Agincourt holding cells, and a second group into space. Well, the second group of prisoners hadn’t been quite spaced. She had instead sent them to the remote village she had visited the other night. Spacing them would really have served no useful purpose. Of course, the altered readings showed that the lizards had been spaced. Gods, she loved tactical command codes. So intent was she on the report, she sensed danger a second before a shadow fell over the table. She spun to meet the threat, paw going for her dagger. Zimm was quicker. He grabbed JoNs by the neck and clamped his other hand on her knife hand. She was pinned back against the lower bulkhead of the bay window, the chair lifted up and back. Zimms stance had him straddling her and the chair in such a manner that she was unable to knee him in the groin. Plan B – talk your way out of this. The Marine wasn’t applying a lot of pressure to her throat, but her purred voice still came out hoarse. “Second Lieutenant Zimm. Good evening.” He released her and stepped back; both of them proceeded to glare at one another. Kansas refused to call for backup; this was her issue. She reached for her mug and spoke to the marine. “I’m gathering you are a bit annoyed at the cargo bay incident and subsequent Booth time.” She took a gulp of the tea. “I should flip you over my knee and beat the ever living daylights out of you.” The Caitian involuntarily inhaled the tea up her nose. A knifing. A one way ticket to the airlock. Torture. Agonizing. Boothing. Poison. Rabid tribbles. Really large bugs. There were many ways for someone to be threatened. These threats she had expected. Zimms particular threat of choice was unexpected and completely blindsided her. Brilliant tactical move! Zimm at least had grace enough to look a bit concerned when she entered into the “Pardon me while I cough my lung up” type of coughing. He grabbed an unused cloth napkin from a nearby table and tossed it to JoNs. She caught it and began to wipe her streaming eyes. “Mr. Zimm,” she managed to wheeze out, “you are more then welcome to try that particular method of attack, but I am sure that …wheeze…both of us would be rather dinged up afterwards. Besides, let’s leave that sort of action to our engineering compliment.” Zimm smirked and then indicated the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Can I sit?” JoNs nodded a silent yes, her curiosity going into overdrive. He settled in on the other side of the table and faced the Caitian. She observed him. Close cropped blond hair just starting to gray out at the temples. His face, square jawed, probably considered handsome by Terran standards. His face just starting to show age lines, either from weather exposure or a hard life, possibly both; Empire service did take a toll on those who served. He wore the black vest of the marines, chest bared. He sported a color tattoo of a vicious Terran style cat, located on the underside of his right forearm. He fixed ice cold blue eyes on her. The eyes of a predator. “You deserve a beating.” Kansas likewise fixed her own predatory gaze on Zimm. “For what its worth, Rico can be cocky, it’s no wonder you went for him. I’ve wanted to take my claws to him on occasion. Off the record, of course. It just so happens that you took him on and got caught.” Zimms one eyebrow rose to his hairline. “Of course.” Great Bird of the Galaxy, it was like dealing with a Vulcan, only worse. JoNs let her instincts guide her. She addressed the marine formally. “Second Lieutenant Zimm…” “Conrad.” Oh. Now on a first name basis and no ranks? This conversation had decidedly gone in the off the record direction. She nodded, “Alright…Conrad. Call me Kansas” and then continued. “Other then apparently wanting to seek swift retribution on my backside….what brings you here?” A ghost of a smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. “Curiosity, for now. The methods you employed to diffuse that little situation in the cargo area. Shadowy. Swift. Direct. No quarter given, except for those who you choose to give it too. Those are mercenary tactics.” She flipped an ear back. This was very interesting. “Aye. I was raised a mercenary on a Caitian clan ship. But, this is all in my file. What’s the point of speaking of this?” Conrad paused and spoke quietly, a feral smile coloring his features. “One mercenary can spot another across a parsec. Most of my youth was spent on a freighter as well, going from job to job. Not the most glamorous life but we both have our skills to show for it now, don’t we? And now, I have some business to discuss.” Without skipping a beat, Kansas replied. “If I had known you were of mercenary blood, I would have shot Rico instead.” Zimm let loose with a genuine bark of laughter at the comment, drawing some glances from the other mess hall patrons. The female security officer smiled slightly at him. “So, you have business to discuss.” He regarded her. “The group I grew up with is looking to sell some equipment and such. Legitimate, mind you. Medical supplies, engine parts and the like. I was wondering if you had contacts that could take the items off their hands.” “This is a big risk to take. You really don’t know me.” The Caitian swished her tail curiously. Zimm shook his head. “I know you enough. As you know me enough. I know who has the goods. You have the contacts. It’s as simple as that.” JoNs pondered for a couple minutes, looking out the bay window at the distant surface of Psi Velorum and then turned back to Zimm. “You have a deal. I’ll gather some information and then bring it on an encrypted Padd to you quarters. Let’s say after tomorrow’s Beta shift rotation? Then, you can peruse what candidates I have, where they are located, and decide from there to transmit what information to your compatriots.” Zimm smiled. “It’s a deal.” Kansas sensed no deception. The marine officer and his security counterpart then clasped forearms, mercenary style, to finalize the deal. To the casual observer, it appeared as if they had settled their differences from their earlier argument and the events leading to that argument. In a way, this was true; they had resolved their differences. Both officers then rose from the table, offered a final parting nod to one another, and then left the mess hall to disappear like ghosts into the corridors of the ship. These two vastly different beings, one Terran, the other Caitian, joined by a common bond – ties to the shadow world of the mercenary culture. Lieutenant (sg) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

I did not watch. Intended to, then got involved with other stuff that night. Sounds as if I didn't miss a whole log though.

Well, that stinks. I was never a huge fan of the show, but don't necessarily want to see it go off air (new episodes wise). Understanding about "Atlantis" as well - it may have "Stargate" in the title but, no, its not the same.

8.23.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81962 “Lessons Learned” Written by: Colonel “Medusa” Harper, First Lieutenant “Troll” Merril, Lieutenant (sg) “Kansas” JoNs, Midshipman Callack Nimetti (This joint log takes place after the Marine deployment teams have returned from the surface of Psi Velorum, before “Holding the Reigns” of 8.23.06, and follows up to “Upward Mobility” of 8.12.06. A very special thanks to all who participated in the jointing mayhem.) Corporal Gallagos appeared on the bridge at Lt. JoNs's elbow, her face set in a steely mask. "Colonel wants to see you," she informed the Caitian, jerking her head towards the turbo lift. JoNs froze in mid-tap at the tactical console, turning in her chair to face the enlisted Marine. "Oh the Colonel does? Wonderful." She glanced over and waved a paw toward Holt manning an auxiliary bridge station to come over and mind TAC while she was away. The feline stood and walked toward the TL. Gallagos herded her into the turbo lift with the air of a guard. She didn't exactly make any threatening moves, but her hand hovered very close to her phaser. "Deck 13," she ordered curtly as soon as the doors shut. Standing with her paws clasped behind her back, the Imperial security officer regarded her Marine counterpart as the TL started to move. "Did your CO happen to give any indication why you are on escort duty Corporal? Or am I just special?" Jaw working, the corporal replied tightly, "I don't question the colonel." She stared straight ahead at the closed doors of the lift. JoNs merely responded with "Very well then" and remained silent for the remainder of the ride, wondering. She had been quite busy these past few weeks, the summons could be for any activity. When the lift stopped, Gallagos gestured JoNs into the corridor and paced at the officer's shoulder on the way to the XO's office. They paused outside the office door, as the bodyguard standing there gave them both a suspicious look. "Colonel wants a word with the lieutenant," Gallagos told him quietly, and after another moment of examination, he nodded and palmed the door open for them. Immediately inside the door, the corporal snapped to attention and saluted crisply. "Colonel Harper, Lt. JoNs as ordered." "Dismissed, corporal," Harper replied quietly without so much as glancing up from her workstation. Gallagos performed a precise about-face and exited the office. Kansas stood at the proper attention stance. She fixed her gaze at a spot on the bulkhead directly behind Harper. "Colonel Harper. You wished to see me?" Harper let her wait while she finished reading the reports from the surface teams. At last she dimmed the screen and turned to regard the Caitian. "Lieutenant JoNs." She folded her hands, resting them on the desk with studied casualness. "We have a matter of regulations to correct." The Caitian flipped an ear back in curious confusion. "Ma'am?" She maintained her eye contact on the bulkhead. "You have a problem with my junior officers, Lieutenant?" Realization dawned and there was no point in playing games. "You are referring to Second Lieutenant Zimm Ma'am." "I am indeed referring to Second Lieutenant Zimm, Lieutenant." Harper's voice took on the approximate temperature of dry ice. "Shall I read you the orders entered into the record on Star date 74258.9?" JoNs cleared her throat. "I am familiar with the orders Colonel." She did make eye contact with the executive officer. "Permission to speak freely sir?" Brows shooting upwards, the colonel replied, "This had better be very good, Lieutenant." "Your man Zimm and a few of his comrades started a fight with Ensign Rico of security and some of his cronies." Kansas had placed a slight emphasis on the "your man" part. "I witnessed the event and handled the situation." "That's very interesting, Lieutenant." Harper leaned back in her chair, dropping her hands to the armrests. "Now the way I hear it, a pair of goldshirt’s decided to leave their brains at the door and wade into a fair -- if illegal -- fight. Followed by you stunning my lieutenant and excusing the brainless wonders." The colonel raised a hand, one finger extended, and continued, "Now, this leaves me with two questions. Firstly, how is it that you came to be slugging it out with my Marines. And secondly, why did you wait so long to break up the fight." "Why I waited? I figured watch the show for a bit, let them tire themselves out, and then move in. I stunned Zimm, and then told the others involved to get lost. Your other two men..." again with an emphasis on the your, "...Saunders and Biessman decided to be dingbats and attempted to retrieve Zimm. I convinced them otherwise. Ma'am." Her lips might have twitched; it was hard to tell. "I've yet to hear an explanation for why you opted to ignore the other parties in this matter, Lieutenant." She regarded the Caitian coldly. "As I see it, there are three possible explanations. One, you honestly believed them guiltless. Two, security's standards in both decorum and intelligence have been slipping. Three, you felt incapable of properly disciplining them." Harper paused, and then added, "I can think of two other explanations, but I should like to think more highly of our chief tactical officer." The felinoid officer’s tail twitched once, but she maintained her decorum. "Second Lieutenant Zimm was the only one I was interested in, as he started the fracas. The others, yes, are just as guilty, as well as myself, for breaking the general order guidelines. But, I do not enjoy using the Booth; therefore, I chose to only subject Zimm to it, rather then all. I may have also gotten a little carried away regarding my part in the fracas, and I admit that. But, I stand by my decisions." "You have done Ensign Rico and his friends no favors, Lieutenant," said Harper. "Nor yourself, in fact. These rules exist for a reason. As distasteful as the consequences may be, they must be applied evenly. To do otherwise invites anarchy. Do you think the ensign respects you for this?" Her jaw working, JoNs responded. "Rico is now on the radar, so to speak, and will be dealt with accordingly if he transgresses again. And no, he probably does not give a flying Fvai about any respect at this point. But, I do see your point Colonel." She made direct eye contact again and tried not to get lost in the blue depths. "I will, of course, use this situation and this current outcome for future encounters and adjust accordingly." The statement was sincere. The colonel tapped one finger against her desk, considering the Caitian. "I am inclined to let you off, Lieutenant, seeing as you're a young officer yet. Chalk this up to a learning experience. However, in the matter of Ensign Rico..." Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Harper shook her head. "Unacceptable, Lieutenant. Either there is one law aboard this ship, or there is none." Rising, Harper came around her desk. "It's not that I object to you disciplining Zimm, Lieutenant. Although you should have turned him over to us. Marines handle their own." She motioned to the door. "In fact, I think there's something you should see. Come." Elsewhere on the Agincourt, another breach of protocol was also being addressed with swift marine justice. Troll Merril entered Holodeck five. He was followed by Griffin, under the guard of Fire Team One’s Diamonte and Daniels. The big Marine turned toward the fifth member of the little party. “Well, Callack you ready to observe?” The newest member of Agincourt security, Midshipman Callack Nimetti, looked at Griffin and then turned his attention to Troll. “Yes sir.” Troll then began the proceedings. “Computer, record for Medusa. Conduct unbecoming a Marine. Sentencing Staff Sergeant Griffin, for engaging in unsanctioned brawling with other members of your ship, you are demoted to Sergeant Griffin. For allowing Fleeters to take you, without crippling you at least temporarily, you are hereby assigned to survive this simple training program.” Nimetti looked back toward the big Lieutenant. “Should we use my training program or do you have a specific one?” “I've heard you have a nice program that will fit, we'll use that after I ream this sorry excuse for an NCO.” ”Roger that.” Harper led the way to Holodeck 5, JoNs in tow. They arrived just in time to hear the heavy grind of the doors closing. "Marine discipline is a somewhat different matter, Lieutenant. A necessity for the cohesion of the battalion." The XO palmed open the holodeck door. The felinoid officer cautiously entered the holodeck area, surprised at seeing Nimetti there. "Midshipman? What are you doing here?" Troll noted the HD doors opening, and noticed the stiffening of Diamonte and Daniels, but didn’t take his eyes off of Griffin. Callack asked Troll, "what difficulty level sir?" Then without waiting he looked at Kansas, "getting a lesson in marine punishing marine sir." Harper nodded quietly to Diamonte and Daniels, tucking her hands behind her back and settling in to observe. JoNs regarded Nimetti, but was in no position to pursue the matter. She adopted a parade rest attention stance to Harpers immediate right. Shifting his rifle Callack asked again, this time to Harper. "Ma'am what level of the program should I run. Levels are 1-10, 10 being the worst." Troll began removing his armor as he spoke to Fire Team One. “Double D, take this armor and get yourselves cleaned up.” He then swung around and responded to Nimetti’s question to Harper. “Eyes Front, Middie! If a senior officer wants you to acknowledge their presence they'll speak to you first!” Nimetti jumped to attention, accidentally setting the program to maximum difficulty. Yes, sir!” Troll then spoke again, a bit quieter. “Set it at 1 with a random time increment on when the level increases.” ”Aye, sir. It's ready for your command to activate.” Kansas had bristled at Merril’s tone of voice. "Excuse me, you will refer to our security officer as Midshipman Nimetti." The comment was out of her mouth before she could contain herself. "Lieutenant," Harper said warningly. As he moved over to Kansas's side, Callack gave her a thankful but questioning look and whispered below the marines' hearing, "thanks." Then he fell into a relaxed parade rest. Merril regarded the young security officer. “I apologize Midshipman Nimetti, Marines acting like spoiled children brings out the Drill Sergeant in me.” Glancing at Nimetti, the Caitian commented quietly, with a hint of irony. "Midshipman, no matter how far you advance in rank, never forget that you are always learning." Looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, the young Midshipman replied, "Understood, sir.” Troll glanced at the Cat he's heard rumors about, but never interacted with. “Are you here to observe or play?” He appraised her physique from a combatant's viewpoint, and liked what he saw. “Griffin was dumb enough to go at it with your department.” “Mr. Troll...you are very lucky that my middle digit is currently at parade rest attention. And my participation is up to your Commanding officer." Troll blanked his face and stared past the felinoid with a 'thousand yard stare', then turned to Harper, waiting to see if Medusa had anything to add. Medusa met Trolls gaze calmly. "Proceed, Lt. Merril. Lt. JoNs is here to learn something about Marine discipline. Which will be best served by keeping eyes open, mouth shut." She purposefully did not look at the security officer while speaking. Merril refocused on Griffin. “This program is a sniper training program, for the first half you will be the target. For the second half I will be the target, and you will be one of the snipers. Your final punishment duty will be determined by how few or often you die before the program finishes.” Harper considered Griffin for a moment. "Perhaps we should provide the sergeant with a challenge more... appropriate to his abilities, Troll." She indicated the two barnacles with a nod. "Let them snipe." Merril agreed. “Ok I'll instruct our Snipers for a moment, if you would be willing to get Griffin set up?” Kansas looked entirely too happy at the suggestion; her tail started to swish excitedly. Callack ordered the computer to provide T11 sniper rifles for those participating. The rifles soon appeared laid out in a row upon a plasti-metal table. JoNs risked a comment to Harper. "You and your people do not mess around with regard to departmental discipline." She nodded out toward Griffin. "I understand what you are trying to show me. I should have remanded Zimm to you for his actions instead of circumventing regs, Ma'am.” "Precisely, Lieutenant." Harper smiled frostily. "So far from needing security's assistance... Marines actually get off easily when you goldshirts decide to step in." Merril had taken an interest at the mention of Zimm's name. “Did Z do something worthy of this?” Harper explained shortly, "He and Ensign Rico had a philosophical discussion." Her face carefully neutral, the colonel continued, "Lt. JoNs stunned him." “And he made Lieutenant allowing a Flee…err…security to sneak up on him on his own ship? “Don't underestimate the goldshirts, Lieutenant." Harper strolled over to look at the rifles. “Someone in fleet that actually earned their position in security? Will wonders never cease.” "That'll do, Troll. Back to Griffin." “Yes Ma'am” Kansas glanced to Nimetti and flashed an encouraging smile. "Enjoy this and learn Midshipmen. Despite our differences....these marines are very good at what they do." Troll continued with the program briefing. “In this program the lower levels favor the snipers; the higher levels favor the target. This is why Griffin gets to be target first then sniper second. He's the one being punished, everyone else is just learning. Second half, the target has gone proactive trying to take out the snipers that are pinning the away team from getting to the beam out area. The computer will keep your score and can be viewed afterwards from anyone's perspective The feline security officer turned toward Merril as he started to explain the program parameters, tail swishing. Midshipman Nimetti whispered to JoNs, "Good thing we're not using my other program...it doesn't favor the person using it at all." Callack patiently listened to the brief. :: The holodeck exercise commenced, with some of the best snipers and those sniped that the Imperial Fleet and Imperial Marines had to offer. Griffin was only given a five shot personal phaser, then disappeared to some other part of the program. Everyone, with the exception of Griffin, had benefited from the impromptu training session. Griffin, marine disciplinary justice served, was shakily escorted away by two corporals at the conclusion of said program :: :: The remaining participants and observers have now convened in the Marine Debriefing Room to wrap up the training session:: Troll had to admit that there actually were some people on the Fleet side that were worth knowing and even associating with. Looking at the scores, Callack exclaimed to Kansas, "Nice shooting, but did you get hit by Griffin?" Then he looked up and asked a regrettable question, "So how do you think we did?" Nimetti quietly remembered the sight he had on Griffin, looking down the sniper scope as the marine looked down his, before both took the final shots of the sim. Then he began paying attention to the others. JoNs merely winced in response to the question and brought a paw to her neck where a shot by Griffin had nailed her. She then turned her attention toward the executive officer for any comments. Harper nodded to the young officers. "Passable. Robair trains his people well." "Thank you sir. That means a lot." said the midshipman as he nodded to his XO. Troll Merril looked over at Callack. “Some year you might make an acceptable marine. I think Kansas has her own reasons for being in security, it certainly isn't because she wouldn't have made it in the marines.” Kansas merely nodded respectfully toward Harper and saluted Troll with a wink. “You did quite well yourself, Mr. Troll.” Troll signed 'Thieves Cant' at JoNs, meaning “talk to you later about a deal”. Masking her surprise, she merely signed back quickly, covering the motion by reaching for a personal Padd - "Always." Callack continued. ”Now I know just how good the marines discipline marines. I'll bring the marines to y’all from now on, sir.” Merril glanced at Callack. “Call Kansas for backup, when dealing with marines, not all of them are as 'nice' as Griffin.” Nimetti nodded in acknowledgement to the Trill, "Yes, sir." The Caitian flexed a claw happily and then spoke. "I have learned much today as well. I will not circumvent the regulations again as I did. That is a promise." "I'm sure you'll find new ways to circumvent them," the colonel offered, deadpan. "And I have another lesson to give," Harper said, rising. "My day for teaching, it seems." JoNs chose to (wisely) ignore Harper’s comment. “Do we have your permission to leave Colonel?" "Dismissed." "Aye ma'am", said Callack. "And thank you for the chance to prove myself." He walked out the door with rifle case in hand, ready to get some sleep. Troll also began to rise. “And I think I need to cleanup now.” He winced a bit as he moved, owing to a stray shot that had nicked him when he had mimicked Griffin, trying to throw the Fleeters off their game. The highly competent marine exited the briefing room. JoNs rose from the briefing table, also heading toward the exit. Stopping just at the door, she turned and spoke to the marine executive officer who had given her a valuable, and unexpected, lesson in both ship board decorum and marine honor. "Colonel Harper. Thank you for your understanding."

8.13.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Mirroring a Conscience” JoNs was hunkered down among a stand of medium sized trees, bushes and scrub grass, observing the large village down at the bottom of the hill. She wore civilian travel clothing of browns and tans and a lightweight black cloak of Klingon design, the hood covering her head. Her right paw rested on the Klingon disruptor holstered low on her hip. A travel cylinder rested across her back, containing some items. With the Agincourt orbiting Psi Velorum, and the Marine deployment to collect tribute from the inhabitants and the Sciences deployment to investigate some sort of ancient ruins, the Caitian had seized the opportunity to do some profitable networking. Any planet, no matter the technological level, would always have a need for medicinal aid. It was just a matter of putting the feelers out and knowing what targets were prime; she had chosen a somewhat isolated village in the Northwestern Hemisphere of the planet, well away from the current locations being focused on. Once completing her duty shift and taking care of the Zimm fracas, she had arranged to quietly beam down to the planet surface via a well placed transporter tech bribe and threat, whichever you preferred. Satisfied that the village was clear, she started moving down the hill. She remained in the open, approaching the village with confident strides. When she had gotten within one hundred yards, calls began to ring out in an alert to her presence. The village looked pre industrial with the tents and ramshackle dwellings, but also showed some evidence of technology. Interface consoles and equipment, while battered, could be seen throughout the village. The villagers themselves were lizard like, varying in shades of green to brown, and wore simple, functional work clothing. Kansas entered the main entrance to the village, giving the “guard” – a large lizard holding what looked like a third hand Romulan rifle from two hundred years ago – a look that said “Don’t be shooting yourself in the foot with that now” as she passed him. There was a group of children playing a game just inside the village, and, well, children will be children. Oblivious to her arrival and the nervous excitement of their elders, they continued playing. Right up until an oblong sack of leather stuffed with something soft smacked Kansas in the side of the head. Well, ow. You could have heard an isolinear chip drop. She angrily pulled down the hood and glared at the children. A female lizard, who was probably a mother of one or several of the children made a move to rush toward them. Kansas stopped her in her tracks with a low growl. She also heard that rifle being cocked behind her and then a tink of something hitting the ground, followed by the low muttering of the guard. Yep, that rifle was a piece of targ crud. Regardless, she did not fancy being shot in the back by ancient weaponry, even if it was very used. The Caitian grabbed the ball from the ground and straightened, fixing the children with a long, cool look. The six of them, ranging in ages from very young to say pre-teen, had huddled around the oldest one, a female that was doing her best to look defiant. It needed work. Kansas shifted her stance sideways, placing her right foot behind her and her left foot toward the front. She gripped the ball in both paws. “Well, who’s going to catch?” Her universal translator implant interpreted the statement into the standard language of the planet. A boy, not that much younger then the girl, broke away from the group, made eye contact with the Caitian, and then started running. Kansas heaved the ball. The boy ran about twenty yards, turned and then caught the ball. He yelled what sounded like “Zarhan” to Kansas; the translator couldn’t quite make it out. The remaining children took off running after their playmate with hissed cries and began the game anew. She turned back toward the mother who looked much relieved. “The medical…eh…facility? The village doctor?” The lizard woman pointed in the general direction. “Uztach. He is that way.” Kansas nodded her thanks and then began walking. She called over her shoulder to the lizard guard as she went. “The safety’s on by the way.” She came to one of the larger tents, and it just had to be what passed for the village’s medical facility. A row of bunks was visible, along with console interfaces and clear cabinets containing instruments and what looked like old fashioned data slates. The few medical staffers turned at the new arrival, and an older male lizard emerged from a back office area. He looked at Kansas and hissed his greeting, using her “business” name tagged on her from a prior legitimate mission. “Oz?” The Caitian nodded her affirmation. “This way please.” To his staff, he said, “Please go about your business, everything is fine.” She walked down the aisle between the beds and the cabinets, the black cloak billowing behind her as she went. One of the medical staff’s slitted eyes locked onto the disruptor Kansas carried before she became studiously interested in the data slate she carried. Kansas entered the doctor’s office area. He was kindly, but all business. “You have my supplies.” Kansas loved when they were direct. “I do. You have my payment?” He nodded assent. She placed the travel cylinder on a nearby workbench and removed a smaller plasteel box of civilian make. Once entering the codes, the lid popped to reveal twenty five stripped down hypos. Kansas pointed to each grouping, quickly explaining the color coding as she had understood them from Doctor Levy. “The red hypos are a minor derivative of several clotting compounds and stimulants, for use with patients that need adrenaline to stay alive as well as their wounds to clot. The blue hypos are a straight pain killer. The yellow hypos are antibiotics. The orange hypos are Cordrazine, nice little stimulant boosts either medical wise or non-medical, whatever you prefer. The green hypos contain Hyronalin, normally for radiation, but I’m sure you know how to apply the properties elsewhere. That’s all I have Doctor; you need to figure out the correct dosages for your people and what you can use where.” Kansas then gazed at Uztach expectantly. Without a word, the lizard walked over to a nearby battered cabinet and removed a leather pouch and tossed it to the Caitian. “Rare gems gleaned from our distant beaches years ago, and some family heirlooms donated by our leading citizens.” The heirlooms were necklaces and bracelets of semi good bone and natural stone quality, no doubt in the families for generations. The gems, while uncut, were more to the Caitians liking. She removed the five raw gems, and tossed the pouch back to the doctor. “Keep the jewelry, I don’t need it. Return them to the families; I’m not a robber...” she fixed the doctor with a meaningful look “… unlike some enforcers.” If the medical lizard understood that statement as it applied to what the distant villages on his planet were experiencing, he made no show of it. Kansas placed the gems in a belt pouch, and then slung the travel cylinder across her back. Doctor Uztach carefully placed the medical equipment in a safe, locking it with a crude key and lock device. He turned and regarded the Caitian. “Thank you. We can make good use of these supplies, especially when the harsher seasons hit…” JoNs put up a paw, whether from embarrassment or annoyance it was hard to tell, to stop the lizard. “Doctor, I was paid. I did not do this out of the kindness of my heart. I need to be going. Good luck to you and your people.” She turned to leave. “Can you tell me anything of what happens to our sister villages in the Southern Hemisphere?” The doctor blurted the statement, as if wanting to say it before his courage waned. The question was a veiled statement at best; what he really wanted to know is if his remote village would be payed a little visit as well by the Agincourt’s Marine enforcers. Kansas rounded on the doctor, hissing. “Questions like that can be detrimental to both of us Doctor!” He backed up a few steps as she fixed him with a baleful glare and hissed again. For a few seconds there was silence; Kansas was sure the medical staff was listening outside as well. She made a decision.” I…honestly don’t know what you can expect. Perhaps…a field trip for the children is in order to explore those distant beaches of yours, or a small vacation for your villagers. Within the next week or so, say. And leave a…minor payment behind, just enough mind you, not necessarily everything. Just a suggestion.” With a nod and a tight smile, the Caitian again turned to leave the medical dwelling. The medical staff scrambled to get away from the small doorway and only succeeded in looking highly interested in the nearby cabinets. Uztachs hissed voice called out after her. “Of course. Again, we thank you.” Kansas stalked through the village, and exited past the same guard. The children were no where to be found. Dusk was beginning to settle and cooking smells wafted out from the dwellings. She crossed the flat plain to the hill. She flipped her hood back up and climbed on all fours back up to the trees that she had been using for cover. Once back undercover, she turned around, and regarded the village below, enjoying the brief solitude before returning to the rough and tumble life that constituted being a non Terran officer of the Imperial Fleet. She tapped the wrist communicator hidden under her tunic sleeve, activating an encrypted channel. “One to beam up.” Lt. (SG) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security

8.12.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Upward Mobility” **Takes place during the Marine deployment to Psi Velorum. A phaser blast on heavy stun pinged off the cargo container that Kansas used for cover. She quickly leaped across the exposed aisle gap to another section of cargo containers, attempting to work her way around the fracas that had exploded in the shuttle bay. She had been doing her rounds and minding her own business when the brawl had erupted. Apparently, 2nd Lieutenant Zimm had jumped Ensign Rico. Rico’s men had come to his rescue, and Zimm’s buddies had jumped in, and said brawl had erupted. Now granted, all this took place in front of the Caitian. Hellooooo…would you like to purchase a clue? You never wanted witnesses, especially Imperial security. Upward mobility via taking out a superior was a time honored tradition in the Imperial Fleet. It did require some finesse, and this was not one of those situations. You needed to carefully formulate a plan and then move for the kill. And usually, you needed to tell the difference between the correct and in correct times to act as timing was everything. Besides, nothing would ever get done if everyone was gunning for everyone else all the time. Zimm couldn’t even claim Rico’s post - they weren’t even in the same department. She had never seen a more sloppy confrontation in her entire career. Privately, Kansas was rooting for Rico, a member of security, hoping he would beat the Hades out of marine Zimm. But, she did have a job to do. Granted, it would not be by the book, but whatever. She could not pass up this opportunity, not with most of marine command on the surface of Psi Velorum. With no one around to dispute her handling of the Zimm situation, it was a prime opportunity for some marine-security mayhem. From the shadows, she sighted down on the jarhead. One well placed stun shot, and Zimm went down for the count. She started moving out into the lighted area. It took about twenty seconds for everybeing to realize what had just happened. They all stared at the Caitian. Terrans can be very dense at times, I mean really. She managed to hold onto her patience. “Okay, this is the part where you all work with me.” Kansas said. “Leave now and quickly. I didn’t see any of you here.” Rico and his men needed no further prodding and exited quickly, Rico giving Kansas a slight nod of thanks in her direction. However, the remaining two ground pounders stayed, moving toward their fallen comrade. “No leave him. And you both need to make yourselves scarce. I won’t repeat myself a third time.” Zimm Cronie Number One, a big Private by the name of Biessman*, stopped. But, Zimm Cronie Number Two, Saunders, a Tactical Sergeant, continued toward the fallen Zimm. With no warning, Kansas leapt at Saunders. Saunders turned just in time for an annoyed, 125 lb ball of fur to smash into him. Her claws and fangs were not bared, thank you very much; she was known to use restraint at times. She just hoped that Beissman showed some as well and didn’t lodge his dagger in her back. Saunders did not take kindly to her interference and tussled with the Caitian. She socked him in the jaw, which did change his mind. She did feel a few things did go “pop” in her hand however. Ow…Ow…Ow. Note to self: stop taking on beings bigger then you. Both of them stood panting and staring at one another. Big Bruiser Beissman cleared his throat at that point and started backing toward the exit. Saunders used some good sense and followed suit, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. The two Marines left the shuttle bay. Sleeping Beauty Zimm started to come to at that point. Kansas’s foot connected with his midsection, flipping him over onto his back and causing him to slip back into unconsciousness. She started toward the exit doors and spoke into thin air, activating the internal comms to contact the security offices. She gingerly massaged her injured right hand. The skin beneath the fur had already started to bruise a livid purple and red. Ow…Ow…Ow. Saunders’s hard jaw matches that thick skull of his. Ensign Holt answered the page. Good. He knew when to keep his mouth shot and look the other way. “Holt, this is Lieutenant JoNs. Send an escort team down to the main shuttle bay to pick up Sergeant Zimm. He is due some Booth time.” “Aye Ma’am, the team is being dispatched now. Reason?” Holt replied. His tone was curious. A cocky smile played at her lips as she outright lied, not telling the whole truth. “Oh, apparently, he attacked Rico, no warning at all. Zimm just up and lost his temper. Rico did not retaliate; at least our people know how to follow orders. Harper really needs to update her department on these critical matters; she and her people must need a refresher course on departmental etiquette.” She heard Holt chuckle on the other end. “After all, these confrontations between the marine and security departments are frowned upon. Security must maintain the peace and all. JoNs out.” Ah, the joys of upward mobility. You never can tell how it will work in your favor. Oooorah you ground pounders. Lieutenant M.S. “Kansas” JoN’s Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer *Note: the Beissman character appears courtesy of Star Trek: Elite Force 2 (2003 Activision)

Hello and welcome to STSF - good crew here!

Look on the backsid...bright side, I mean bright side...N'Dak now has a new weapon - if there are any attempts on his life, he can moon the attackers and blind them. Like a flash bang grenade but different. Funny stuff y'all!

8.12.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Mirror-mare” Location: ISS Agincourt, Off duty shift cycle Mrrett Shaow JoNs, of tribe Honor Scar, Clan Shadow Pride, and officer of the Imperial Space Ship Agincourt, found herself traversing a Caitian burial ground. Feathers, beads and indigenous plains flowers decorated the small markers that represented the final resting place of these souls. She wore a plain white, close fitting tunic and black linen trousers, ending just below the knee. She sensed an unnatural chill in the air, odd for the flat plains of Cait. A synthetic leather arm band encircled her upper left arm, emblazoned with her family crest – two crossed swords above the head of an ancient saber cat. The same symbol was branded on the underside of her lower right forearm; when two Caits met, either of the same tribe clan or from a different clan, they would lock arms to ensure that the brands touched one another. This signified a racial unity, a shared code even though the Caitians had loyalties to different tribes and clans. She gripped a steel shield strapped to her left forearm, and a long sword was gripped in her right hand. The metals were black as onyx, glinting evilly in the waning daylight with the JoNs family crest prominently displayed on the shield. “You are not welcome here. You should not be here.” JoNs whirled around at the voice, searching the graveyard for the speaker. Her feline eyes locked onto another Caitian standing nearby among the headstones. Her exact twin stood there with the same golden fur tone, the same features and the exact same clothing. The only differences were the weapons and the design of the crest symbol The weapons of the imposter showed a brilliant silver. A delicate filigree of knot work bordered the head of the cat beast in a diamond shape, replacing the clashing swords of her family symbol. “Who are you?” JoNs demanded once again of the doppelganger, as she had in past encounters. “Explain yourself. This is my ancestral burial ground. I have every right to be here. I am Mrrett Shaow JoNs of Tribe Honor Scar and Clan Shadow Pride. ” The other answered, eerily using the same voice as M’rrett. “I am Mrrett Shaow JoNs, of Tribe Honor Scar. Again, I repeat, it is you who do not belong here. You anger my family guardians.” Dark Shield Mrrett registered the fact that there was no clan designation used, but the thought was fleeting as her temper bristled at the doppelgangers response. “It is you who do not belong imposter. This is the resting place of several generations of Shadow Prides.” Silver Shield Mrrett retorted with, “No. Again I say it is you who do not belong. This is not your time or place. The ancestor guardians will protect this zone from all trespassers; there is no place for your darkness here. You must return through the looking glass to your own time. ” Mrrett had had enough of this and her temper finally flared. Not considering the consequences, she rushed at the doppelganger with a battle cry, sword held high and ready to strike. The silver shield double brought her defensive weapon up in time to deflect the attack and then countered with her own sword. The sword swished in a deadly arc, blocked as well by the dark shield of M’rrett. The two women continued to trade blows for several minutes, the steel of their weapons ringing loudly across the burial ground. JoNs saw and opening and rushed at her double, intent on slicing her deeply. With no warning, the ground exploded in front of her, stopping her charge and causing her to jump backwards. To her horror, skeletal Caitians began clawing their way out of the surrounding graves. They emerged from their eternal slumber, until M’rrett was surrounded by ten of the demons. Their sightless eye sockets glowed a sickly yellow. She turned quickly from right to left, snarling at the undead with a mixture of fear and anger. Silver Mrrett pointed her sword toward Dark Mrrett. “You were warned Caitian rogue. Your kind has no place in the light. You will return to your shadow world.” With a howling snarl that cut to the soul, one of the undead leapt at M’rrett. She had no time to bring her shield up as the claws slashed at her, ripping through her fur and into her skin…she fell…and then there was darkness. Kansas jolted awoke in a sweat and panting, safe in her darkened quarters on the Agincourt. Bolting upright, she called out, “Lights!” She leapt out of the bed, throwing the covers from her. She rushed toward the washroom sink, slapping at the controls. She splashed cold water on her face. The nausea became overwhelming. Bracing her clawed hands on either side of the sink, she dry retched a few times, her back arching up with the effort. Panting, she stared at the water dribbling down the drain of the stainless plasti-aluminum steel sink, concentrating on controlling her breathing and calming her heart rate. Once calm enough, her gaze traveled to the mirror above the sink. The reflection looking back at her was the same as always, yet eerily a match for the dream twin. Rather, it was more a nightmare then a dream. Her senses were going ballistic. There was more to this then she realized; these nocturnal episodes placing her at odds with a counterpart, though sporadic, had plagued her for years. Tonights had been a bit different, leaving her feeling highly disconcerted, and she wanted to know why. The doppelganger had mentioned a looking glass back to her own time, as if Kansas had been trespassing somehow. And the symbolism was not lost on her – light and dark weapons, good and evil. But, why had Kansas possessed the black weapons, the traditional evil looking weapons? Now that was just character assassination. It had been recorded in the fleet archives that years ago the ISS Enterprise, James Kirk commanding, had encountered an alternate universe, inhabited by their exact opposites. These goodly opposites, due to an ion storm that had fried the transporters, had ended up on the alternate ISS ship. Kirk and some of his officers had been replaced by these do gooders, with their weak personalities. Was this what Kansas was encountering in these dreams? Was it a manifestation of an alternate self, a goodly counterpart? Or it could be a load of targ crud. And she needed to go to bed at a decent hour. Besides, let’s say all this could happen - there was no way anyone’s “good counterpart” would last two minutes on the Agincourt, and Kansas was pretty sure she could beat the ever living snot out of an alternate self if it ever came down to it. With a sigh, she shut off the water and walked back toward the sleeping area. The chrono display on her bedside table read 4 AM. In a few hours she’d be on duty, and she just could not bring herself to go back to sleep, so she might as well stay up. The Caitian threw on a steel blue colored sweat suit with the Agincourt security logo on the left chest area and exited her quarters. It was time for some nocturnal prowling; it was amazing what one could find happening on an Imperial ship in the wee hours of the morning. She might even be catching some sleep demons. She had never been one to back down from a fight, either in reality or fantasy. The time would come, yes indeed. Lieutenant M.S. “Kansas” JoN’s Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

8.4.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “The Joy of Discipline” Lt. JoNs stalked down the corridor toward Robairs private quarters. Stopping in front of the door, she exchanged a look with the security guard standing outside on his duty shift guarding Robair. His look said "What'd you do?" Her look said "Don't ask, it's a long story". JoNs rang the buzzer indicating she had arrived. "Enter," stated Robair to the door, as he eagerly stretched out comfortably on his bed. He wouldn't admit it, but he had been waiting for this moment for several months. He watched JoNs as she entered, and a smile grew on his face, despite the fact she had not followed orders to wear something sexual. "Come on over, and we'll discuss what you've done and what we're going to do to settle it." Standing at parade rest attention, JoNs regarded her superior. "I see. Is this how you conduct all department disciplinary business sir?" She bared her fangs slightly. Looking her body over, Robair merely smiled. "Oh, of course not. There aren't very many females in a security department, so I only get this luxury on special occasions." JoNs cocked her head to one side, flicking an ear back. "What gave you any indication that I have any desire to...play in your sandbox?" "I see your tail wag every time you see me, JoNs. And, besides, I'll order you to fill my desires before I check indications of your own." Robair sits up, placing his arms around his knees. "Come on over, kitten." "No, actually sir it wags because I am a Caitian and we do that whole tail swish thing." Then, moving with an unnatural speed she pounced Robair. Robair was quite surprised by the pounce, and may have screamed a bit. "Fiesty, are you? Well, let's just see what you can do!" He threw the cover up over their heads. "What do you do best, may I ask?" With a purring in sharp contrast to the feral smile she wore, JoNs regarded her commanding officer and his rather...surprising disciplinary tactic. "I do many things well...but, one question. Are you sure you wish to...cavort with a non-Terran? You're taking quite the risk." Her claws danced menacingly along his neck. Robair laughed a bit. "Just because I believe that non-Terran life forms are benign to Terrans doesn't mean I don't enjoy their company at... special events such as this. It is actually nice to have some different styles every now and again." With this, Robair kissed JoNs on the cheek. Kansas purred at the kiss. "I as well enjoy...the occasional distraction." Her claw moved gently down his arm, but her eyes locked onto his. ”One condition. What goes on in here stays in here. In our business, not being careful means our death..." She let the statement hang in the air. "Oh, Kansas, I wouldn't dream of letting this get out into the open. Our little secret... and I like the purring." Robair brought Kansas up on top of him. "The walls are thick. Don't bother being too quiet, my beautiful kitten." "Chief...this is one of the more pleasant disciplinary actions I have encountered." Purring deeply, Kansas leaned down and kissed Robair on the lips. Robair returned the kiss immediately. "Lieutenant, this one of the greatest disciplinary actions I've ever ordered. You must get in trouble more often." Robair began sliding his hand up Kansas' mid-drift, as his mouth made way for the cat's neck. Reacting favorably to Robair's touch, she chuckled and her purring became louder. "In more trouble? Oh, of course. You know me..." Lt. Commander Benjamin Robair Second Officer-Chief Security Officer Lt. (SG) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

8.2.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Sarcasm on Stun!” “Well, isn’t this a royal pain.” JoNs stood in the small office area in her private quarters, venting. She silently padded over to the closet and started rummaging. “Wear something revealing he says. Like Hades I will.” She should really consider herself lucky. Six months on the Agincourt and this was the first time Robair had fully zoned in on her. In the past, he had only gone on mild disciplinary rants with the Caitian. Annoyed, she mentally replayed Robairs discipline overtoned little speech to her on the bridge. “You were late for your duty shift.” Well, derrrr, that will happen when you brawl with a sciences officer, and then get waylaid by Lieutenant Prell for breaking a portion of his ship during dang said brawl. It did not help that Lieutenant Kroells showed up, throwing his weight around and trying to “claim” his officer. Both men basically got into a spitting in the galactic wind contest to see who had the bigger…authority. The Caitian smirked. So many comments, so little time. “This is not good.” Thank you Captain James T. Obvious. “Report to my quarters when you are off duty.” Oh dear. Talk about going into the wolf’s den. On the bright side, Robair was keeping it a private matter between the two. During security training at the academy, JoNs had been researching for her Disciplinary Methods through the Ages class. She had come across a text document gleaned from the records of a Rihan war bird from many years back. This ship, the Claw, had been commanded by t’Raptor. She had apparently sentenced half the crew to flogging for active participation in a mutiny plot alongside some giant sentient octopi...or maybe it was shrimp…flounder? Anyway, some seafood being. The entire crew…well at least those not sentenced…were called to bear witness to the event in the shuttle bay. Very public message. As a result, the Caitian was more then happy to endure her one on one session with the Chief. Discarding her favored golden wrap tunic, she slipped into the mid drift baring version of the uniform. With a final snarl, she stalked out of her quarters and headed toward her destination, tail lashing. “This is as revealing as you’re going to get buddy boy.” Lt. (SG) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

7.30.06 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Fight Club” JoNs, dressed in black workout shorts and a black tank top emblazoned with the Imperial symbol, stalked down one of the side corridors. She was heading for the gym area, intent on a good workout. Coming from the opposite direction in that same corridor was a certain scientist, in her own civvies of earth-toned brown and loose-fitting black pants. Brushing past the Caitian, she frowned, rolling her eyes. Her patience was tried from a few sharp-mouthed ensigns, and she was in no mood for oversized felines who'd found their way through the ranks more than a little too quickly. "Belong as pets," she muttered, half under her breath. Stopping in mid stride, JoNs caught the remark. She turned and spoke as Quade walked past her. "I agree wholeheartedly...you belong as a pet. Possibly with a little g-string action toward some upper ranking officer that you have mislead as to your capabilities..." Diane smiled as she turned, quelling the little uprising of anger that the smartass housecat ignited. "Oh, but you misunderstand, Lieutenant. I wasn't referring to me -- I was referring to you." Her arms at her sides, she raised her eyebrows. "I think you fit the overall description better than I..." The Caitian paused for a moment, eyed Quade, and then spoke. "I know. That was my version of an involuntary reflex action a la mouth, also known as being a smart ass. But I would like to know - do you have some particular problem with me?" "Other than the fact that a non-Terran... excuse me... not only a non-Terran, but a non-humanoid has somehow managed to con her way through the ranks, when there are worthier humans." She smirked, turning. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some training to do, Kitty." Service to the Imperial fleet was not without its constant stresses and hardships. Occasionally, things boiled to the service and one felt the need to open a carafe of whoop ass. "Hey!" Kansas leapt at Quade with a snarl. The science officer turned in time to greet the incoming furball as they both toppled through the doors to the gym area when the sensors reacted to the movement. Crewmembers already in the workout area gazed at the rolling pair and stopped what they were doing or got out of the way. Smacking at the hissy little tactician, Diane managed to find her way to her feet. "As you were," she announced to the crowd. Rubbing her hands together, she cracked her knuckles. "So Kitty can't control that feral nature, eh?" “What are YOU looking at?! You heard the woman, as you were." The hissy tactician turned back to the prissy science nerd. "Feral? Who me? I'm sure it has nothing to do with that whole felinoid thing. And I tend to get cranky when beings question my competency." She adopted a fighting crouch. Doubling her fists, she smirked. "Oh, I generally am the same way when I'm critiqued. Just part of being in the Fleet. We humans are assured that we're the cream of the crop to be aboard. As for an alien... such an assurance is harder to obtain." She swung a fist around towards JoNs almost lazily. Dancing nimbly out of the way, the felinoid grabbed at the woman and brought her right knee up to connect with Quade's midsection as the science officer’s momentum carried her forward. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise..." JoNs worked her way around behind the downed woman. “You do that,” she advised, chuckling in spite of how it ached the bruising muscles in her stomach. Swinging around again, she let a stronger, more determined fist connect with the edge of JoNs' mouth. Caught off guard by the quickness of the retaliation, the feline officer ended up flat on her back. Remaining on her back, she pointed upward. "That was good. The impact I give a ten. The form and follow through were a little rough though." "I'm a little out of practice," she admitted. "Not as finely tuned as you goldshirts."In an uncharacteristic move for her dealings with inferior species, she offered Kansas a hand. With a "yowl" of unbridled glee and a crazy smile, Kansas took the proferred hand and then proceeded to pull, falling again onto her back and planting her feet (claws not digging thank you very much) squarely on Quades stomach and smoothly sending her flying. Off-balance, she awkwardly rolled onto one side on her stomach, muttering. "Ungrateful and untrustworthy. I might even say 'catty'. She pushed off onto her feet again, a sharp glare aimed at the Caitian. Kansas responded to the glare by smiling and motioning her paws in a "come on" gesture. "Lieutenant Quade. I'm not getting any younger here." With an equally crazy yell of her own, Quade rushed at the Caitian. The impact of the running tackle carried them both right at the glass plasteel safety barrier for the second floor. A resounding crash sounded as bits and pieces of the shattered barrier rained outward and down as the two officers crashed into it. The dynamic demented dueling duo went airborne, falling from the second floor down into the first floor pool. An ongoing water polo match was rudely interrupted as the two women crashed the party and landed with splashes in the water among the players. Sputtering water, the Caitian called out to the pool inhabitants. ""Pay no attention to the, ahem, landing party. We are just playing through...right Ms. Quade?" Diane screeched, inhaling a lungful of pool water. "Playing! Exactly! Like children, or kittens!" Lieutenant Junior Grade Diane Quade Assistant Science Officer Lieutenant Senior Grade M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security

7.28.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Networking” “And they call this progress?” “There’s something to be said for a good old fashioned flogging.” “Yeearrrrrgh!” - ISS Enterprise, 2155, Captain Forrest, First Officer Archer, and Crewman Terav, respectively (regarding the “Agony Booth”, a newly developed discipline enforcer for use in the Fleet). ________________________________ M.S. JoNs stood, casually leaning against a cargo container as she watched the little drama play out before her. Her clawed fingers rested idly on the butt of her holstered sawed-off stun rifle. Crewman Mason banged against the bulkhead as a blue fist smashed into his temple, leaving a bruise. Petty Officer Tager drew back his arm in preparation for another swipe. Another of her sometimes henchmen, a fellow security officer, stood nearby with a phaser trained on the enlisted cargo technician. Between the Andorian’s strength and Ensign Rrowl with the phaser, Mason stood no chance of fighting back. A small grunt of pain escaped from the enlisted man’s lips. JoNs lifted an eyebrow in sympathy. Nasty business, this discipline, yet control needed to be maintained. She disliked having to come down this hard on someone so young, yet if she didn’t someone else would. She could have opted for using the Agonizer or the Agony booth, but had decided not too. The whip, while a brutally useful weapon at times, she preferred to use for moderate to severe offenses or random acts of stupidity. So, the option was to have a couple of her henchmen take Mason down to one of the cargo bays and work him over. One thing was for certain – the crewman was receiving a personal lesson on how business was conducted on the Agincourt. Both official and…unofficial business. Tager again punched Mason, backhanded him, and then a leg sweep dumped the man with a resounding slam to the decking. His face impacted with the unyielding surface. “Enough.” Her purred voice, while quiet, reverberated within the deserted cargo bay. The beating had lasted long enough; anything more would be overkill for such a minor offense Mason attempted to try and get up at that point, going for Tager in his dazed state. “STAY DOWN, or you’ll get more of the same!” It came out as a snarled order from the feline officer. Mason slumped back down to the decking. Blood poured from his lip and a cut on his left cheekbone. He feebly coughed, spitting out blood, saliva, and a dislodged molar tooth onto the flooring. Tager stood off to the side, keeping an eye on the downed Mason. Her male Caitian counterpart, Rrowl, backed up two steps to flank Kansas and face Mason, arms crossed. The cargo tech rolled over onto his hands and knees, his jaw clenched tight, his thick dark brown hair in disarray from his ordeal. She casually walked over to stand in front of the kneeling Mason. With a natural feline grace, she bent on one knee, picking up the tooth gingerly between thumb and forefinger claws. A bit of red sinewy muscle still clung to the top of the tooth. She stood again and looked down at the man. She let the silence stretch for a few more seconds before speaking. “Crewman Mason. I assume you know why you are here?” Not looking up at the Caitian, he responded. “Aye Sir. I was late for my duty shift.” “Correct. And?” “I also made profit on a portion of a cargo shipment that was not officially recorded on the Agincourt registry.” A cocky, yet not unkind smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “That is completely incorrect.” That got his attention. His gaze finally locked onto her, a mixture of pain and curiosity showing in his ice purple eyes. Her tail casually swished back and forth. “All ship manifests are cleared through security, and can be updated accordingly if you catch my meaning. Keep that in mind for any future personal endeavors. You really do not want to annoy Imperial security by bypassing our systems.” She continued. “Now, with the official Imperial Security speech out of the way, here is my personal one. Next time, inform me regarding any further dealings, I will clear the way, and all will be happy as the credits flow. You savvy Petty Officer?” She punctuated the words with a slight snarl on the “savvy”. His mother thankfully did not raise a fool. “Yes Sir.” If anything, the enlisted man looked a bit surprised at the overtone of the conversation – a partnership of sorts with the Caitian. Kansas nodded, satisfied. “Good.” She offered him a paw up; after a few seconds hesitation, he grasped her clawed paw and accepted the help up. She looked past Mason and spoke to Tager. “Excellent work as usual. Your payment will arrive at your quarters within the next few hours. Return to your post.” Tager saluted and turned to exit the cargo bay. JoNs turned and spoke to her remaining enforcer, “Rrowl, turn the Crewman loose. Escort him to sickbay. Have the medical staff treat and remove his wounds, on my orders. If the doctors ask too many questions, tell them to contact me. “And see if they can do anything with this. I don’t know, shove it back in or something...” – she tossed the tooth at Mason, but contined speaking directly to Rrowl. Mason caught his own tooth but stared at it in the palm of his hand as if it did not belong to him – “then return to your duties. You will also receive payment.” Rrowl also saluted and moved to comply with the orders. Kansas walked over to a nearby container, snatching a small cloth pouch from the top. She turned and tossed the pouch in the air. Mason tore his attention away from the tooth long enough to catch the pouch as it arced down toward him. “After you are treated, return to your post. You’ll find two cred sticks in that pouch, worth about 15 credits each. Not much, but a start. Play your dabo chips right boy, and you’ll do very well here. ” Mason saluted with his free hand, wincing at the strain the movement placed on his various bruises. Kansas watched the “new recruit” and his escort leave the bay with a feral half smile. She stayed for a few moments in the slightly darkened cargo bay, enjoying the solitude, reflecting on the day’s business, and letting her senses search for any movement or surprises. Her thoughts wandered to the payment Mason had just received. She had made a tidy little profit on a kit of hypos liberated from the medical bay a few weeks back; she had intended to use them for a mission, but ultimately ended up selling them for a nice little off the market price right here on the Agincourt. Might as well share the wealth…and build some new informants in the process. Satisfied that she was now alone, JoNs exited the cargo bay, business taken care off, intent on taking her post on the bridge. Lieutenant Senior Grade M.S. “Kansas” JoN’s Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

7.21.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Supply and Demand” (Mature) (A joint log by Levy and JoNs) Lt. JoNs strode down the corridor leading to the main sickbay entrance, carrying a small sized plasteel container by the handle. The doors whooshed open obligingly, admitting the Caitian officer to the inner domain of the sickbay. Her feline eyes searched for Dr. Desdemona Levy. Mona looked up from the padd she had been reading in her office. She quickly stood up and walked to the door and looked around for Kansas. She caught the Lt's gaze and motioned for her to come in Kansas headed over to the doctors office with the merchandise in tow. She nodded politely to Levy as she passed her. "Doctor. That shipment that you had security looking for finally came in..." It was a bald face lie, purely for show in case anyone was listening. This meeting had been planned in advance weeks ago between the two female officers. . Mona smiled and let Kansas enter. With a quick motion she locked the doors behind her and walked back to her desk. "So Lt JoNs, come to steal more of my hypo sprays?" With a good natured smirk, the Caitian set the container down on the office desk and regarded the CMO. "Only if there is a profit in it for the two of us, eh?" Her clawed fingertips deftly entered a series of commands into the containers numerical grid, popping the top with a hiss. Kansas reached in and removed five credit sticks, wrapped in a bundle, tossing them to Levy. They clattered across the surface of the desk. "That last batch yielded some very good prices.” The Caitian smiled, baring her fangs. Picking up the bundle she quickly glanced over it. "I am one of the best at this type of thing. I have been doing it for long enough." She gave the Caitian a sweet smile. "So what are our clients looking like these days? I assume the drugs are doing what they are supposed to." "The trade on the Agincourt has dropped off lately, but we still have a couple clients going in the marines. They look like danged walking Neanderthals, but hey, that is the price for strength and stamina." She pointed a claw at the brightly colored cred sticks. "Most of that profit came from the star base layover during our last shore leave." Mona nodded slightly. She ran her fingers slowly across the stack of credits. Not even looking up at the Caitian she harshly said. "Maybe you should try and do you job a little better. I have carried out my part of this deal." Kansas showed no emotion, other then the low tone of growling that entered her purred voice. "Don't ###### me off Doctor Levy. We've been through this before; I sell where the customers are. The crew is getting wary of the command staff catching on; therefore, I and my contacts need to wait until we dock at a star base to sell the stuff, at least for now. You know you could do a little scouting now and then as well." Her tail lashed. Mona crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Kansas across the table. "My dear Kansas, I didn't mean to make you angry. All I am saying is we must all stay on top of things." A smile spread across her face. "And as for the command staff...you forget the type of authority I have. Please don't trouble yourself with that type of thought." "Mmmm-hmmm." The feline security officer lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have the next batch of medical" - she cleared her throat -” supplies ready or not? Mona tapped a small console on her desk and a drawer opened and the side of the desk. She carefully pulled out a small silver case. Setting it on the desk she pushed it across the table. "Of course. I believe it is one of my better batches. I had a nice young Marine tell me so the other day." she paused a moment "you see Kansas, I do really do more than you think" Kansas looked down and fingered the plain silver case for moment before locking her green slitted eyes back onto the medical officer. "I don't doubt it. I just hope that the jarhead was one of the smarter ones. Wouldn't want you to lower yourself or anything Doctor." She chuckled slightly to herself. "One of my smarter ones? I don't think it will be a problem, he didn't even know what he had taken. Most men don't ask if a pretty girl gives them something. It doesn't help that I am a telepath either." Again Kansas raised an eyebrow at Levy, particularly the telepath comment. “No, I can imagine where that is a handy little talent to have...but I do hope you aren't reading my thoughts on a regular basis." A feral smile punctuated the statement. "Wouldn’t want you to have access to any type of security codes that you wouldn’t want to be caught...dead with." The doctor fixed her black eyes on the Caitian for a few moments and then just smiles. "My dear JoNs, I would never do anything like that. It would be a breach of trust." Green eyes and black eyes locked for a moment, mirror images, each holding an equal darkness in their depths. "Of course. Doctor Levy." Lt. Doctor Desdemona Levy Chief Medical Officer Lieutenant M.S. “Kansas” JoNs Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

7.21.06 (2397) ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Firebrand” Firebrand. I was called that many moons ago by the highly agitated Terran XO of the Thundercat. Right before she socked me across the mouth in a disciplinary action. But, I digress. In the Caitian tongue, “phyreb’rrand” means “one who hunts in the night”. In the Terran language, the meaning is “one who causes unrest or strife”. Amusing how one word can have such differing meanings, yet you need to consider the sources. Perhaps both descriptions are accurate, at least in my case. Serving as an officer in the Imperial Fleet has its benefits. I have had the opportunity to observe Terrans up close, learn how they handle themselves. I have developed my own “night hunter” skills and have become comfortable working in the shadows, for this is the only way for a lone Caitian to survive in this fleet of damned souls. You can do your plotting and your planning. Desire that command of your own. Crave power. Wallow in your deceptions. The hunters are out there. Waiting in the shadows. Observing. Alert for the correct moment to attack. Sleep is our ally and your downfall. I am waiting. Observing. Watching. That shadow you saw, was it just a trick of the lighting or was it me on my patrol rounds, observing who it was that you just spoke to in conversation? Will you feel my claws shred into your skin. Will you feel my incisor fangs clamp down on your carotid artery, the warm blood oozing from your body? Or perhaps something as mundane as a bypass of security coding, the implanting of sensitive information on your personal computer, information that you have no business having. And yet, you may not be worthy of my time. But, perhaps you are… The shadow moves. You are alone. The darkness envelopes you as the Reaper calls your name. I am a predator by nature. The night shadows are always a constant, always a threat. And we are always hunting. Lieutenant M.S. “Kansas” JoN’s Chief Tactical – Assistant Security Officer