[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xo9ZKcF.png?1[/img][/center] [b]Oa[/b] [b]Space Sector [/b] [b]0001[/b] Kilowog faced the galactic map with Salaak and Sinestro. The galaxy-wide display focused on a single star and the lone planet that orbited around it. “Nevis,” said Salaak. “ Space Sector: 1254. They are currently in the midst of a major crisis. Scientific projections give the system a matter of weeks before their star explodes in a supernova. A planet-wide evacuation is currently underway and they are appealing to the Corps for help.” “What’s the population size?” asked Kilowog. “Two billion sentient lifeforms.” “And I’m sure this is not something they discovered overnight,” said Sinestro. “Correct. Their stars’ instability has been a known factor for at least the last few hundred years. It was only a matter of time until this moment came to be, and to their credit they have prepared adequately for it. There is a colony on second world with enough infrastructure to start the settlement process. People have already begun to make the move from Nevis.” Kilowog looked at Salaak. “Where do we come in?” Salaak zoomed the map out. A red line appeared from the Nevis system to another star system. At least a few light years apart. “The journey to their new homeworld is about three days full FTL burn from Nevis. The planetary government's plan is to move the majority of the population out in a massive ship convoy in two days time. And since they pass through Terra Nullius, threats from pirates and raiders are far more real than they are in any other section of the galaxy.” “So watchdog duty,” said Sinestro. “Keep an eye out, fly the Corps' flag, flex some muscle.” Salaak nodded. “And I think it will be an excellent mission for you and your trainees to undertake.” Kilowog raised an eyebrow. “I am… not so sure.” Sinestro crossed his arms and frowned. “And why is that? You’ve been training them for a while now. Slicks have to be thrown into the deep end sometime, Kilowog. Plenty of new Lanterns have been asked to do far more with less training.” “Regular Slicks, yes,” he said with a nod. “But don't forget these are… special cases.” A look of concern flashed across Salaak's face. “Are they not up to snuff?” He shrugged. “Jury is still out. I have two I know for sure are definitely Lantern material, two that are borderline, and the other two…” “Well it sounds like to me a real test is called for, no?” asked Sinestro. “Time to finally see who has the right stuff.” Kilowog saw the little smirk just beneath his mustache and knew exactly what was going through his mind. “And what happens if one of the Slicks gets killed, or gets someone killed?” “It’s a simple task,” said Sinestro. “And if this is too much to handle, then maybe they’re not Lantern material.” A look passed between Kilowog and Salaak. Kilowog heard the rumors about Salaak’s psychic abilities, but in all the years they served together he never had full confirmation. But moments like this made him sure wish his fellow Lantern could read his mind. “They have to learn sometime, Kilowog,” Salaak finally said. “And if things get too much for them to handle simply reach out to 1254’s Lanterns for backup. Anything else we can do for you?” “No,” Kilowog said before a lingering glance at Sinestro. “Nothing at all.” [hr] [b]Venkoth[/b] [b]Space Sector 2813[/b] [b]70 Hours Until Solar Apogee[/b] Zeke put the vaporizer to his lips and inhaled the smoke. He let it fill his lungs before he expelled a cloud of fumes from his slit nostrils. From his vantage point outside his cell, he could see almost the entirety of A-Block from below. The eightieth tier of A-Block exclusively housed criminals like Zeke: Political radicals, dissidents, and terrorists. Though if you asked every single one of the thousands that occupied cells here, they’d say they were freedom fighters unjustly imprisoned. That was a load of bullshit as far as Zeke was concerned. Some of these men had committed terrible acts in the name of their beliefs. Just like Zeke. And they all deserved to be here. Just like Zeke. But just because Zeke was aware of his situation, it didn’t mean he accepted it one bit. But he had a way to change things. He just needed help, but time was running out. “You,” a voice called from behind. A musclebound alien stood in front of Zeke. His gray prison jumpsuit had its sleeves torn off and the alien’s thick arms was covered in crude jailhouse tattoos. On Venkoth, that tats were a shorthand for everything from who you were mobbed up with to how many lives you'd taken. The little dots running along the muscleman's jawline let everyone know he'd killed six men while incarcerated. “The man wants to see you.” Zeke flicked off his vaporizer and pocketed it. He could feel his nerves churning his stomach as he followed the goon down the tier. He was beginning to worry that Strok had either written off his offer, or it had never reached his ears. Communication between cellblocks around here was a bit dodgy to say the least. At the halfway point of the tier was an elevator. A guard in a caged security checkpoint sat in front of the elevator and monitored who came and went. Signs indicated that the elevators were for authorized personnel only, and any inmate who tried to use them would be severely punished. The goon locked eyes with the guard and slowly nodded. The guard looked at him and then at Zeke, but he never really looked at them. Not the way guards did around here. He seemed to let his eyes glaze over and look past them as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in. [hr] “You know you’re crazy right?” Ekis Strok looked at Zeke. His cell wasn’t like any other one on Venkoth, easily the size of the warden’s quarters and maybe even a little bigger. A monitor roughly the area of a regular inmate’s jail cell covered the entire far wall. It showed a live feed of Civua as the entire planet participated in the annual Big Game. Strok wore a loose fitting shirt and pants that looked to Zeke to be made of some fine material. The goon who came for Zeke flanked Strok on one side while an equally large and intimidating bodyguard flanked his other side. Strok was heavyset, a well-fed man was a rarity on this planet, and his grey dreadlocks were swept back and tied into a ponytail. While the copper skin Zeke could see showed no signs of tattoos, he was sure the parts not showing were covered in tattoos. You couldn’t be a shotcaller in Midnight Krew and not carry any ink. “I’ve been called crazy,” Zeke said as a way of acknowledgement. “But genius is often confused with crazy.” Strok chuckled deeply and sat down on a plush chair. He did not offer Zeke a seat. Instead he held his hand out and one of the bodyguards handed him a drink. “Nobody has ever escaped off this godforsaken rock, man.” Strok paused to take a sip of his drink. “The wind rips the fucking meat from your bones.” “Nobody has ever escaped because they don’t know the science behind it,” said Zeke. “In a past life I was an astronomer." Strok raised an eyebrow at Zeke’s claim. “Long story. A story for another time, perhaps. But the winds on this planet are due to its close proximity to the system’s star. Those winds that sweep through, the ones that ‘rip the fucking meat from your bones’? Those are solar winds. In less than three days time, Venkoth will have its solar apogee. It's a once a year event. An apogee means the planet will be as far away from the sun as its orbit allows. During that time, winds will be at their nadir. They’ll still be bad, but there will be roughly an hour long window where it will be enough to walk across the surface and rendezvous with a waiting ship.” Strok snickered and scratched his forehead with a meaty hand. “And why would I want to break out of here? Look around you. I live like a goddamn king here. I want for nothing and even the biggest, baddest motherfuckers on this planet give me respect. I’m gonna die here, and that’s okay with me.” “I didn't say anything about you escaping,” said Zeke. “And you are a king. At the very least you have the connections of one. That’s what I need. Someone who can get the right guards to look the other way. You can do that for me. And I can do something for you. I bet even a king could use two million credits, right? Even in a place like this?” “And where are you going to get two million credits?” Stronk laughed deeply and long. His muscle joined in and shared looks of amusement with their boss. “Aren’t you some collectivist asshole? What are you going to pay me in, bean sprouts?” “You ever heard of the GB&S robbery?” Zeke raised his eyebrows. “No way,” said Strok. “Why do you think I’m in here,” said Zeke. “Twenty million galactic credits, all for the cause. Well, not all. Two million is what’s left of my share. I get out of here and I’ll wire it to your commissary fund.” “Again,” Strok laughed. “You’re fucking crazy.” “Doesn’t sound like a yes or no to me...” Strok leaned back in his padded seat and stroked his double chin. A smile that showed not much warmth appeared on his face. “Deal,” he said. “You’re so fucking crazy I think I actually want to see if you can make it. I’ll get a few guards to look the other way. You wire me the money as soon as you’re free or I’ll make sure Midnight Krew hunts you down and chops you into little pieces.” “Okay,” Zeke said with a sigh of relief. His plan to finally get off this godforsaken planet was in motion. After six years, there was a chance for freedom. A chance to return home and take power back. His thoughts of freedom were interrupted as loud klaxons sounded through the air. Strok’s muscle immediately went into action to protect their boss. Zeke felt a flash of paranoia at the thought that he had been betrayed. The guards had heard their talk and they were now coming for him. [i]"WARNING WARNING PLANET ON LOCKDOWN WARNING WARNING PLANET ON LOCKDOWN ALL PRISONERS ARE TO STAY WHERE THEY CURRENTLY ARE. LOCKDOWN WARNING WARNING WARNING."[/i] “What’s going on?” Zeke said aloud. “Fuck,” Strok said as he switched the feed on the wall-mounted screen. The Big Game disappeared and instead a live feed of Block B, population 2.4 million, showed a calamitous riot in progress. A mass of prisoners fighting each other, guards, and two figures in the air fighting dozens of prisoners from above… “Green Lanterns,” Strok said with just a hint of delight in his voice. “Green Lanterns on Venkoth. Hot damn.” He turned to Zeke, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “A new deal. Your money's no good to me. I’m going to help you breakout… and you’re going to help me kill a Green Lantern.” Zeke was about to respond, but stopped when he saw the cold looks from Strok’s muscle. “...Deal,” he said softly.