Kotze hadn’t slept this well in years. Sure, he was stuffed into a metal coffin filled to the brim with supplies, and poor ventilation to boot, but when he shut his eyes, euphoria washed over him like a blanket. Was it freedom? If so, the emotion was unwarranted; the Agency would hunt him until the heat death of the universe. Corporations didn’t like loose ends. Maybe it was just the adrenaline wearing off that sent him crashing. Either way, the blanket was ripped off him when the cargo box’s door swung open. The agent took pride in making every step count, moving with purpose and grace like a tiger stalking its prey, which made it even more embarrassing when he fell out of the container, flopping on the ground like a fish. Kotze’s gun slipped from his pocket and skidded across the ship’s floor with a harsh rasp; he scrambled for it, but felt himself lifted up by a strong, cold hand. Kotze’s eyes met his captor’s, if you could call them that. A robot, combat model judging from the shotgun muzzle attached to Kotze’s throat. The agent always found robots unnerving, even when they didn’t have guns jammed in his face. The hulking steel figure told him to stay still, and he almost laughed. [color=silver]“Didn’t plan on it, big guy,”[/color] Kotze replied mirthlessly. 

Stryker was halfway through his coffee when SAL's ping came through, he used the datapad to patch in, his earpiece left back in his room.
[color=orange]"Yeah, what is it? OK"[/color]

Stryker silently slipped out of his seat and walked out. He took the elevator down to the cargo bay and as soon as he emerged, he saw why SAL had asked him to come down. Sipping from the mug as he walked across, Stryker observed the stowaway. Early-mid 30's, unassuming enough. Despite that, he signaled to SAL to keep the gun up, at least for the time being.

[color=orange]"So"[/color] he said [color=orange]"Who have we here?"[/color]

[color=silver]“Newest member of your crew, I think. Kotze. You know, we really need to improve the ship’s security when in dry dock, captain,”[/color] the agent replied with a wry smirk. He spoke with the unplaceable accent common among the second generation of space farers, an amalgam of both Terra-based and alien languages. Kotze didn’t really care if the robot pulled the trigger and blasted a fist-sized hole into his throat; he was a marked man, and all the better if the Agency didn’t get the satisfaction. But pirates were known to shanghai stowaways and drunkards all the time. With a little luck, Kotze's ploy might work. 

[color=orange]"Oh is that right? Now, I did have a bit to drink last night.... not as much as some others on board. And I did make some new hires, but you, I don't remember, so I'm not so sure. Maybe you're just some station hopper looking for a free ride, a former vent rat trying to finally get away in hope of a better life out among the stars."[/color] 
He glanced over the stowaway again, his eyes drawn down to Kotze's left hand, a black carbon prosthetic, not something just anyone would have.

[color=orange]"Well, by the look of that prosthetic there, I'm gonna go with option 'C' ex-military at least, maybe a merc or a spook. So, talk fast, who sent you, and why should I hold back from shoving you out the airlock once we breach the station's atmo?"[/color]

Kotze’s calm demeanor faltered at the scarred man’s last sentence, but only for a moment. A flash of primal, animalistic fear in dark eyes, though he regained his composure quickly. Kotze threw up his arms in a sort of mock surrender. [color=silver]“You’re close. Listen, I’m just another wanted man trying to get off this station without paying fare for a cab. You know what it’s like.”[/color] Kotze had a feeling the mercenary was familiar with the sensation of being hunted. Most people on Helios Station were. Then again, maybe [i]he[/i] was the hunter.[color=silver] “Don’t bother trying to collect the reward. The people after me, my [i]former employers[/i], they don’t exactly play nice,”[/color] he continued, wondering just how fast this robot could pull the trigger. If he could get the muzzle away from his neck, Kotze might be able to turn the barrel towards his coffee-carrying compatriot. [color=silver] “Besides, judging from your ship’s files, you could use an extra crewman. I can clean, I can cook, I can infiltrate level 4 security clearance militarized zones. You name it, I’ll do it,”[/color] Kotze finished with an easy smile, his posture shifting into a more relaxed pose with arms crossed. The simple movement caused the synthetic pain receptors in his shoulder to fire off rapidly, and he winced slightly. [i]Hopefully this piece of shit has a doctor on board.[/i]

Considering the only files saved locally were complete bullshit (save for the Alliance-encrypted stuff on closed systems like Stryker's datapad, private terminal and the requisition terminal) it was safe to say this guy didn't know what was really going on. Stryker decided to take a flyer on him.
[color=orange]"Here's what I'm thinking,"[/color] he began before taking the final sip from his mug. [color=orange]"Tell me your story, the whole thing, truthfully. If it checks out, we'll bring you wherever you're going in exchange for a little bit of work. I'll even throw in a room for you to sleep in and full access to the kitchen."[/color]

Pirates usually weren’t this interrogative with new recruits; they just wanted to know your name and what you could do. Something was off about this ship, Kotze just hadn’t put his finger on it. He decided to give the scarred man something akin to the truth. It’d been so long since he said anything like it, the words felt strange on his tongue. [color=silver]“Alright, alright. Kotze Wylk. I’m from Artemis, little backwater colony on the edge of Alliance space, but I wasn’t there long,”[/color] he said, taking a shallow breath before continuing. [color=silver] “Illitid slavers raided the terraformer’s base. Killed a lot of people I knew. Guess I was lucky, just getting shackled, but it didn’t feel lucky.”[/color] The facade cracked momentarily, the pain of recalling the memory evident in winced eyes. [color=silver]“Worked on their ship for a while, but they got taken out by an Alliance cruiser; the soldiers found me in the wreckage, and of course I signed up to be one of them. Didn’t have what it took to be Alliance, so they gave me the boot, but Zaibatsu Risks Group found me… Intriguing, I guess,”[/color] Kotze chuckled. He didn’t bother explaining who or what the Zaibatsu Risks Group was, the name alone apparently enough of a description. The corporation was a well-known private intelligence agency, one of the best (albeit shadiest), with contracts from both Alliance and Federation actors. [color=silver]“So yeah, I worked with them until they terminated my contract about a month ago. Zaibatsu, they like things nice and tidy, so they’re after my ass. I’m just trying to get off the station before their spooks find me,”[/color] Kotze finished, shifting uncomfortably, obviously not comfortable with this divulgence of information. His least favorite topic of conversation had always been himself. [color=silver] “Don’t bother checking for a file on me. Zaibatsu made sure I’m a ghost, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Now would you get this gun out of my face?”[/color]

Stryker could see it in his eyes, he was telling the truth. Or at least, something close enough to it. He nodded at his robotic companion, but SAL didn't move.

[color=orange]"SAL, you can put it down."[/color]
[color=red]"Captain, I don't think your judgement is sound. The man said it himself, he's a spy, could be up to anything."[/color]
[color=orange]"Trust me SAL, it's fine. There's over a dozen of us and one of him. If he tries to stab us in the back, we'll just space him."[/color]
[color=orange]"Sorry about him, deep-seated trust issues."[/color] he said, looking back at Kotze, noticing for the first time the empty crate SAL had found him in.
[color=orange]"Cargo bay's been closed up all night, you must be starving. How about some breakfast?"[/color]

Reluctantly, the robot pulled the shotgun out of Kotze's face and re-holstered it. Stryker extended a hand to both shake Kotze's and help him to his feet.
[color=orange]"Oh, and I'm Stryker, welcome aboard the Revenant."[/color]

Kotze smiled at the Stryker, ignoring SAL's comments; he didn't hold much stock in robot's opinions. [color=silver] "Trust issues huh? Sounds like I'll fit right in, captain,"[/color] he replied, accepting the helping hand with his prosthetic. The black, grooved metal was warm to the touch. [color=silver]"Breakfast sounds great, haven't had a decent meal in weeks,"[/color] Kotze said as he picked up the duffel bag and pistol. [color=silver]"Just lead the way."[/color]

Stryker nodded, and headed over towards the elevator. SAL didn't follow, instead wandering off back towards the engine room. On the way up Stryker wondered if he should just tell the guy all about Project Revenant. If the guy was telling the truth about being excommunicated from the agency, he had lucked into the best possible crew to disappear with. No, he decided, not yet. He'll learn in time.

When the elevator arrived, they stepped out and took a few steps over so Kotze could see the whole common area. He pointed down to the crew quarters hallway on his left.
[color=orange]"I think room 8 is free, 4th door on the right. Restrooms at the very end of the hall. And the kitchen's just here on our right."[/color] He headed on in and mentioned to Harrison that they had picked up a passenger, leaving Kotze to decide between getting settled away, or eating first.

Kotze was impressed with how... lived-in the ship seemed. Most space-faring vessels he’d been aboard were either sterile and cold or filthy pirate hovels. It seemed like the crew had been living out of the ship for a while. [i]Must be on a long haul.[/i] Kotze was further impressed when Stryker led him to his own room, complete with two bunks; it’d been a while since he had anything of semi-permanence. Hotel rooms and cheap dockside coffins were the best he’d had. Still, he found it unsettling. Surely a ship of this size needed a full crew, yet they weren’t all crammed together like sardines, sharing mattresses in shifts. His wild guess they were desperate for crew might very well be accurate, and he wondered what happened to the last person who occupied the room. 

With a grin and almost playful half-salute, Kotze saw the ship’s captain off. The gleeful expression lasted about as long as it took for him to shut his cabin’s door, when he felt an all-too-familiar darkness nipping at his heels like hounds. Kotze tossed the duffel bag onto the simple bunk and sat next to it. He’d operated almost constantly for a month on the edge of anxiety, blood filled to the brim with adrenaline, that he didn’t have time to see the change coming. Kotze’s prosthetic arm fumbled dumbly in his bag for a bottle of Alpharotec when he felt the famine grip of his .45. Kotze delicately pulled the weapon out of his bag and inspected it. Loaded, with one in the chamber. He wondered what would happen if he pressed the gun against his temple and pulled the trigger. Would he die? Or would his implants keep him alive, shuffling his lobotomized body along like a puppet on strings? Kotze threw the gun across the room and left without the Alpharotec. He passed through the kitchen wordlessly, heading up the stairs towards the medbay to mend his dislocated shoulder, barely noticing his surroundings. [i]Maybe you should be looking for a mechanic instead of a doctor.[/i] Kotze idly wondered if they’d change their mind and cast him off at the next outpost as he arrived outside the medbay door.