[center][b] Galactic Patrol Transmission [/b][/center]

Attention all Patrol Agents! The Butcher of Velbar, the Draconian Mercenary, Serena Drakos, has escaped from Detention Facility A450-98, last seen escaping aboard her starcraft, the Silver Dragoon. Be on the lookout for any vessel invisible on sensors, but visible through other means, as it is believed the vessel has been upgraded with a highly advanced cloak drive, capable of rendering most means of tracking impossible. Her last known sighting was near the-

[b]Click[/b]

[b]Sol System, Sol-A1, A1-64[/b]
[b]Asteroid Belt; Ceres[/b]

Ventilation systems hissed as air circulated throughout hallways, rotating around and around through shafts and ducts, being freshened and oxygen being reclaimed. Waste systems broke down sewage, turning into usuable material, and other quality of life things happened as they did. Sections of floors, walls, and ceilings had corroded, or been cut up, with their coverings turned into part of the outer hull, or wherever patches were needed. Moored as close to the asteroid Ceres as one could get, mining drones had been dispatched to attempt to obtain usuable elements to help repair the alien space craft sitting there. It had seen better days, once a proud command vessel of some long forgotten space navy, now the dreadnought was patched and worn, scorched sections of its hull a reminder of the numerous battles it had been through.

Alone in what had once been the ship's bar, the owner sat alone, eating a meal that like the ship, had seen better days, as the machine that made the food was starting to give out, and in this section of space, repair parts weren't easy to find. Gazing out the observation window, towards a red dot and smaller blue one, the captain sighed softly, shifting the contents of her meal, before groaning, turning towards a speaker in the ceiling.

[i]"Þú kallar þetta vitleysa mat? Hvað átti þetta að vera, steik?"[/i] A few curses in her tongue followed, before a response came back. 

[i]You have only yourself to blame for the food quality. The system requires a restock, which you skipped at our last port of call, in favor of what you called, and I quote "an easy job, then we'll dine on the finest food in the galaxy![/i] A robotic monotone response, which produced only more curses. A few moments more passed, and the captain looked back out, towards the blue orb.

[i]"...Fine. As much as I hate using Common, I'll play ball."[/i] Staring longer, she sighed. [i]"Maybe that backwater planet will have repair parts. Maybe a hundred years made a big difference, given where they were at last time I was here. Get my shuttle prepped, set its navi computer for the best place to look."[/i]

[i]Already done, I have located a city on the eastern shore of the landmass you visited before, anaylsis of radio signals and local chatter indicate this to be the most likely to contain the necessary food and parts. This planet is losing its backwater status, but you may find a "tech museum" to be of interest.[/i] Seconds passed, as the captain sat there, thinking, before a roar of almost demonic laughter left her throat.

[i]"Sounds like the perfect place for a heist! They're just begging to feed me! I'll eat one of their cattle, see if it tastes better than this slop!"[/i] Jumping to her feet, the pirate all but ran out of the bar, dancing around an exposed hole right outside the door, before rushing down towards the hanger. Adventure called her name.



[b]Sol 3[/b]
[b]Mountain City; Mountain Avenue, Night[/b]

[i]"Wowie, what a damn sight, this trashheap might actually be worth sticking around for."[/i] Gazing out from an alleyway, a soft whistle left the dragon as she surveyed the crowds, dressed in a trenchcoat and a sort of fedora pulled low, clothes obtained from her last time kicking around the dirt ball. Dodge City didn't compare to this place. One could argue the whole "noir film" style of dress made the on the run mercenary stand out, but in a city that apparently had its own share of freaks, no one would pay her any mind. Besides, walking about openly would probably piss some of those annoying monothiests she'd run into in the Bible Belt a century before. If any hung around this place and were that level of xenophobic. Couple in the fact that the Galactic Patrol had supposedly begun to keep an eye on the planet out of fear for what sorts of antics humans could cause on a galactic scale, and not flaunting her status as the resident wanted mass-murderer would serve her well.

Inwardly, she'd begun to consider the possibility this planet could work as a home for her own kind, given how easy it would be to hide their identities as dragons from outer space. But, until she was sure it was safe, she wasn't about to risk trying to send a signal to any of the various clans that Earth was open to stellar refugees. Assuming her own clan wasn't still after her for that whole...Orion incident. She grumbled, before stepping out onto the street. She needed a drink, food, and a place to sleep that wasn't her shuttle's cramped cot. She'd scope the museum out later, see if it was really worth sneaking in and taking stuff. Moving through the crowds, she scanned them, looking for possible marks, people who could provide her with the means needed to...get a claw hold. But to the common person, she was just another soul in the night, wandering the main street.