Fire. It was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes. Brilliant, raging flames burning throughout the universe, spreading from one planet to the next. Engulfing each world and every life-form that inhabited them, leaving nothing but cinders and smoke in their wake. It had been a recurring vision for just over a year now. At first, Mez had thought it was just a nightmare, something to keep him awake at night. But as time went on, as he began to force himself to see more of the vision, he soon realized that it was a warning of events that would eventually come to pass. He hadn't needed any help or spiritual guidance to interpret what the fire represented or, rather, who it represented. The Visipian Government were still searching for him, which had only served to increase their rate of expansion. He knew it wouldn't be long now. Here, on the other side of the galaxy, the Visipians would arrive and war would be thrust upon all of them.

Mez opened his eyes only to be greeted to the same, cramped transport shuttle as the one he'd first set foot on three hours prior. The only difference being the small buzz of activity that had arisen now that they'd nearly reached their objective; The [i]Lone Star[/i]. A mysteriously abandoned ship that had randomly arrived in system, seemingly of its own accord. Mez had never believed in ghost stories, however, which is why he was fiddling with his combat blade. The tip of it precariously placed in the middle of his palm whilst he nonchalantly spun it at the handle. If the ship had arrived in system, it was because [i]someone[/i] had meant for it to. And the only way for that to occur would be to have someone on board to pilot it. So whether the rest of them believed it was empty or not, it didn't matter. He would be ready to take down whatever it was that wanted them on that ship.

He scoured the shuttle for the hundredth time. Some of the others had stood up to speak with the pilot; Felix. They were trying to figure out a way to get onto the spacecraft without the need for anyone to actually go out into space. Moves like that were risky even at the best of times. He would be fine though, his cybernetics included an internal re-breather and a transparent, organic ooze-like substance that would cover his being to make him airtight. It wasn't the most comfortable of experiences but he'd be fine to float about in space for as long as he needed. Some of the others, however, didn't have this luxury. But nevertheless, he figured that one of them would eventually come up with a plan and all he'd need to do was sit back and relax. Something as trivial as boarding a ship wasn't a concern for him. Not considering his exemplary success during his time spent in the V.I.R.U.S. Squads.

Upon looking around the ship, he finally laid his eyes on the one person he'd been avoiding contact with for the entire journey. An old partner, a female by the name of Marga. A fellow merc and one of the most renowned thieves this side of the galaxy. The first thing he noted were the handcuffs. Not the standard issue ones that were normally used by the Navy. She'd gotten herself into some trouble, which wasn't exactly a surprise. From the time he'd known her, trouble had been all she'd ever cavorted with. But he knew that wasn't true the moment he thought of it. His gaze followed the length of her arms before reaching her upper body, which remained scarcely adorned in the usual attire she wore. It was tighter than usual, more form-fitting. The shapes and curves of her slender figure could be made out more easily. He could feel his skin tingle ever so slightly as his temperature rose by a degree. Her lithe but powerful legs had commanded his attention now. He remembered their strength as well as the nigh-impossible angles in which they could stretch, a feat that had almost baffled him at first. Images began to show themselves within his mind. Memories of her, memories of them, together. He could still remember her warm breath against him, the soft touch of her nimble fingers and the brush of her hair as the two of them lay together, entwined and entangled. The pair of them writhing about in a strange dance of lust and emotion. He remembered how warm her skin was every time he placed his lips upon her. A wave of warmth flushed over him.

But as quick as it came, the feeling was gone. [i]'Her skin...'[/i] His grasp on the handle of his blade tightened, whitening his knuckles. A darkened glare now plagued his face. He remembered how, for the briefest of moments, her skin had changed colour. To a light shade of blue, accompanied by strange patterns. At first, Mez thought he'd imagined it but as her screams of passion grew louder, her skin became more prominent. More [i]Thuboisii[/i]. His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden spike of pain. The tip of his blade had begun piercing his palm. Crimson liquid oozed from the wound after he removed the weapon. But he knew by now that his enhanced cells would already be hard at work. A singular drop of blood hit the metallic grating beneath his feet but by the time he looked back up to inspect the injury, it had been healed.

When he glanced back in Marga's direction, his anger had dissipated too. Now, he only looked at her with a smirk. Stowing away his combat knife, he leaned back into his seat. [b]"Are they supposed to be some kind of a fashion statement?"[/b] He called out, directing his question towards his former partner.