Part 4: Title removed due to budget cuts.

Part 2: Title removed due to budget cuts.




: Hmm I thought there would be more fan fare once we got here. Oh well I guess I'd better go check up on Maur in the clinic.




: Hey there champ how are you doing?

: I'm great. They gave me all the free ice cream I could eat!

: That's super. Say let's go down to the depot and pick you up a nice mono sword.

: Yay!




: Buck Rogers?!




: Oh it's you.

: Congratulations on your exemplary performance at the Chicagorg Spaceport. Your courage saved countless lives and preserved the spaceport. Those vile mercenaries won't stop until we're all dead and buried.

: Yeah with no thanks to you. You gave us bolt guns for god's sake. Bolt Guns!

: Because of your performance, I am waiving your waiting period and assigning you to a space tug immediately. Remember, gathering money for the cause is as important as slaying a dozen RAM agents.

: Space Tug? I don't like the sound of that.

: We have everything that you need here. Many things are free: fuel, repairs, medical assistance, and supplies. On other worlds you can draw on an account from the Bank of Luna. You will have available a portion of any salvage you recover.

: What percentage?

: Zero.

:

: Hey zero is a percent.

: You will also have to provide for your own personal equipment and upkeep.

: I swear I will see you fall before I die old man.

: Freshen up, then see me in my office.




: Still not liking that "tug" word.




: Somehow I knew I would find you here wasted off your ass.

: ..I'ms not drunks... I'ms gatherings....informations... Sheee?




: Why is everyone staring at me?




: Well lets hit the store and get some new gear.

: Oh boy mono sword time!




: Hmm looks like they only have regular swords. That's close enough right?

: You're dead to me.

: I call dibs on the heat gun.

: And I'll take a needle gun. Now its time to check out our new ship.




: Oh man what a heap.

: Is that's our ship? It's a hunk of junk.




: Do you really expect me to fly that ball of rust with fins?

: No of course not.

: Whew you had me going there for a sec.

: Of course I wouldn't trust a fine vessal like that to the likes of you. Your duty will be to clean up after the regular flight crew.

:

:sharptop: : Now get out there and get collecting that space junk.




: I'll be your pilot and senior in command today. There's not enough seatbelts or even seats for all of you so just try to not slam into anything sharp. Enjoy the flight.

: Oh god we're all going to die.









: Ah look at it, isn't it splendid?

: What the hell is all that?

: One thousand square kilometers of the finest space shrapnel the galaxy has to offer. Or as I like to call it your new home for the next 6 months. Welcome to hell ladies.

: I wish I was dead...




: Hmm that looks interesting.

: What is it?

: Did I give you permission to speak? Get back to breaking up that slag metal.

: Requesting a piss break here boss.

: Request denied.




: Ok listen up troops. HQ has ordered us to investigate this abandoned and possibly alien infested station.

: Well as long as your coming along it shouldn't be too bad.

: Oh and by "us" I meant you.

: Dammit.




: Ok ladies time to clear out.

: We'll be back for you buddy, count on it.

: Less talking more marching.



: Ugh someone please do something about that infernal noise.




: *Whack*

: Thank you.

: Well so far so good. Everything appears to be normal her-



: Oh god no!




: Did anyone else see that?

: You mean the horrible one armed ghost?

: Yeah.

: Nope didn't see a thing, now excuse me while I go clean the crap out of my pants.




: Ow! Dammit what the hell is going on out there?

: *pzzt* Uh, sorry about the folks I hit the wrong button. I was defiantly not trying to disengage the docking ramp and leave you all there to die. Over. *pzzt*




: It appears we have found the source of our mysterious guest.



: Maybe this audio log will give us some clues.

: First Entry: "Dr. Alexander Williams, Sigma number A9515 1, in earth orbit. Four batches of ECGs on board for final test.
Security informs me that their precious Phase One project is on schedule, but not by much. I should have plenty of time to
perfect my creations.

: "Holzerhein has promised me a percentage of the profits associated with the ECG harvests on the sterilized Earth. Finally
there is hope that proper funding for the biological sciences can be achieved."

:Second Entry: "Progress on ECGs on schedule... batch one shows high adaptability... batch two has survival rates above ninety percent... we will be on schedule for deployment after Earth's sterilization.

: "If Holzerhein is cor - Wait a minute! Power fluctuations... disruption of primary containment fields ... all batches showing
increase in activity. Scot! Emergency shutdown now! Where are you!?

: "Scot is nonfunctional... security is not responding ... setting up a holographic warning to any who comes on board ... hope
it's just a precaution...

: "Projector coming on line ... wait! So quickly!? The gleaming eyes ... No! Get back! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

: Thanks Doc, now I have to clean the crap out of my pants all over again.




: I wonder what was held in these containers. Oh well whatever it was I'm sure it is of no concern to us.




: Oh bother...




: Oh god what are these things?

*hisss*




: I don't know but they bleed, and if they bleed I can kill them.




: How about those? They don't bleed.




: Well...umm.... Screw it I can kill them too.




: Well that was fun.

: Why are you scratching at yourself like that?

: What? Oh that, I'm sure it's nothing.


FORESHADOWING!