[b]DACYIRA SPACE[/b]
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Marco waited in the cold of space for some time, every once and a while he thought he saw a glint from starship in the distance, but he knew all too well the way space could play tricks on the mind from the years he spent wandering it. He often missed the days he spent captaining the [i]Merchants Revenge[/i], the hunt for pirates when they became an issue. Though he gained a reputation for ruthlessness among other companies during that time Marco knew the reality that was that often he practiced mercy. Still it’s more effective propaganda to report a ship kill than a capture his father would say. Nostalgia rolled in his mind for some time as he waited for the ship he knew would come, in his time dealing with pirates he had often found being bold to be the best way to avoid a shooting war. Eventually the communication came through, Marco recognized the question, he had asked it more than once himself. Why should I care? It was a question that nobody asked without expecting the unexpected.

Marco opened up his end of the communication and his face showed up on the screen. His suit was obvious, and the fact his hair was perfectly clean showed he was no normal ship’s captain. Marco responded, “Well I suppose your reasons for caring are your own, but my name is Marco Astani, and it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m here because you took something we would rather have been left alone, so someone has to rectify the situation. Now as for how I intend to do that, well we can discuss that on your ship.” Marco paused for a moment and then added, “Also don’t worry; if I had armed men on board I would be considerably more pretentious. I also wouldn’t start drinking this early.” Marco took a swig from his flask that lasted longer than most people could bear, considering what it contained. Once he finished Marco put it back into his suit pocket and closed the transmission, he said what he needed to and the rest was up to the pirates, though the thought crossed his mind how simple an ending it would be if they happened to blast him right there. Then again he had seen enough people end like that; he supposed it was the most common way to die. It could be an unexpected arrow through the eye like Axel or a blast from a ship without warning, all rather ordinary in a macabre way really. Marco thought for a moment of how unusual it really would be for someone to die an extraordinary death. Eventually he purged the thoughts from his mind and focused on what promised to be a truly interesting response, if it involved more than cannon fire that was.
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[b]CANTON/ASM TERRITORY, MOUNTAINS FOOT HOSPITAL[/b]
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Mira Comb looked down on the poor man from the observation window; he looked more broken than most who had the misfortune of experiencing native attacks, though none of them could be considered whole. She asked the question once again, “John? John please listen we need your record of events.” 

It didn’t matter, the man in the room still walked in circles, it was a wonder he drove all the way back to base. He kept saying, “He’s not gone, sleeping is all.” Again and again the words never stopped. Everything he did was cyclic, as if from the moment he stepped off the truck he was captured by that moment of horror, held captive by his own memories.

Mira gave up and turned to the doctor, he spoke simply, “It’s worse than usual, we can expect a month in treatment at best, he’ll need drugs, is he covered by contact?”

Mira responded, “This one? Yes he’s an internal employee; you can treat him on company expense. By the way this, this stays here; we cannot have fear mongering in this operation. The drivers are nervous enough already.” The doctor nodded and walked away, Mira often found this job a string of menial tasks, but she liked it that way, ordered and clean. Besides whenever that changed it was always bad, whether Marco’s antics, more deaths, or having to speak to the husks of men torn away by experience.